Zeke, a reporter with schizo-affective paranoia, gets caught up in a vamp-motivated murder.
Zeke's best work is drafted during "medicinal vacations," where he uses his condition to aid his writing process, short term memory be damned. However, the l...
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Before Zeke turned, his neck hair rose. He experienced the same, bristling awareness as he had when sharing a space with Andrea, the real version of her.
"Too scared to face me, Zeke?"
The voice pulled at something inside of him, urging him to pivot around, almost dandily.
He recognized he voice, had heard it at countless staff meetings, whining at him for a ride home, moaning his name that one, one time.
"Carter?" Zeke intoned, more of a plea than a question.
He was pleading with her to tell him this was a dream. As a dead woman, she could not be standing in front of him, arms crossed, smirking. Zeke flashed back to the glossy portraits of her dead face, splattered with blood, eyes slack. Yet, the current scene seemed entirely real, especially when she coughed, loudly.
Carter's flawless mocha skin contrasted nicely against her white camisole top. Her hair, usually bound in a thick braid, tumbled wildly over her shoulders. He itched to touch it, and saw himself reaching out to do just that. It was the bagel moment all over again, and he couldn't help it.
She laughed, slapping his hand away. At the contact, Zeke's skin burned. He wanted to touch her again, more than anything. Needed to.
"No touching."
His hands hung limply at his sides. The authority in her voice was indisputable. However, she never said he couldn't touch himself. Er, platonically.
Without preamble, Zeke slapped himself. Once, twice, three times a-crazy. Each blow rocked his face to the side, and then to the other side. He wondered what he looked like.
Face burning, he checked, and sure enough, Carter was still in the room. Her smirk had bloomed into confusion, bordering on amusement.
"This is why I need my meds," he said, cautioning himself, and self-aware of how nutso he sounded.
Carter raised a dark and finely penciled brow. "You're on meds?"
"Not lately."
She scoffed, and Zeke shook his head. This latest vacation had been a bad idea. The side effects of going cold turkey:
-nausea -hallucinations -increased appetite
Check. Check. Check.
All parameters he had willingly dealt with to complete a job. Now, he was crippled. Truly cracked.
"You're supposed to be very dead," Zeke told her.
Carter grinned. "Not lately."
She placed her manicured hands on his shoulders, forcing him to sit on the office chair. Things were getting kinky, and he was down for that. Still, he had to know.
"Are you real?"
Carter nodded, bending to kiss him. Her lips pressed against his, sending a small explosion of sensation throughout his body.
