Warm Bodies: The Little Brown Bear

The Comfort

Evan screamed, his jaws impossibly wide, beyond agony.

And woke up.

The scream echoing in the bedroom around him, Evan curled in on himself on the bed, grasping his chest with a trembling hand as he blinked against the darkness, tears spilling from his eyes.

"Guh..." he moaned, unable to frame words, unable to think, reduced to raw shaking terror by the dream.

Slowly, his breathing calmed as the nightmare drew away from his body and mind. He rolled back against his pillow, his eyes wide, focused blankly on the ceiling he was just starting to see.

"Fuck," he moaned.

Images rushed back over him, of that day, of that moment, his sister lying... her throat...

With a rough growl, Evan jerked up and swiveled his legs off the bed, squeezing the edge of the mattress hard between his fingers.

The moment rushed him again, and he curled in on himself, clasping his head in his arms, clenching his teeth against the visions.

But they wouldn't stop. Reaching to his side table, he fumbled around for his knife, then pulled it close, staring at the tip of it in the weak ambient light of the room before slowly drawing the blade hard across his exposed forearm, cutting through the pale skin.

The pain was immediate, only a shallow echo of what he'd felt in the dream, but it focused him on the present, pulling him from the threatening thoughts and feelings.

Feeling calmer, Evan dropped the blade on the nightstand and stood, his legs shaky, and walked to the bathroom to dress the wound.

The person who looked back at him from the mirror looked so strange. So different than he'd looked on that day. The shock of... it... had turned his hair white. He'd lost a lot of weight, because his diet had... it was harder to find food, and his eyes...

Evan leaned forward to look at them closely. He wasn't sure when that had happened, though he'd noticed it a long while ago. He was pretty sure his eyes used to be blue, but maybe not.

It didn't matter.

Walking into the hallway to return to his room, Evan turned right instead, heading to his sister's room at the end of the hall. Gently twisting the knob, he cracked the door open, poking his head into the dark room.

"Sis? You awake?" he whispered into the darkened space.

There was an answering hiss, and he heard her shuffling forward.

With a sigh, he moved to the bars, and slid down until he was sitting, resting his cheek against the cool metal. He could see her feet now, her form appearing from the dark as his eyes adjusted.

"I had a nightmare sis," he said with another sigh, and closed his eyes.

He felt her lowering beside him, on the other side of the bars, and she made a low keening moan.

Tears welled in his eyes at the sound, and he squeezed them tightly, not wanting them.

Cold, dry, thin hands gently grasped his forearm, and Evan's eyes slowly opened as she pulled his arm through the bars.

Rachel had done this many times before, but it always made him edgy, because her mood could change so quickly. He kept himself calm, kept his heartbeat steady, and watched her through the bars as she lifted his arm to her mouth and slowly drew her dark tongue across the bleeding wound.

He'd meant to dress that. Why didn't he do that?

The wound started to feel cold, as it always did when she did this, and he closed his eyes, allowing the chills to shiver through his body towards his heart, slowing it steadily until he finally, carefully, pulled his arm away.

The keening cry changed to a soft contented hiss, and Evan smiled. It always seemed to make her happy when he came to her like this. When he couldn't take his own thoughts. Being with her made him feel better too. Different. Calmer. Still.

Empty.

Rising to his feet, feeling a slight dizziness that took a few moments to shake as he leaned against the bars, Evan left his sister's room and headed back to his own.

He fell bonelessly into bed, the lingering cold still tracing the branches of his heart as he sank into a mindless void.