ᴊᴜɴᴏ

He started out as a murmur in crowds of blurry unrecognizable, pointless faces. The story had a pattern, a string of bad luck, disappearing children or those of unsound mind, more often than not disappearing into the depth and nothingness of the woods left stranded and abandoned in the darkness with only the shell of their former selves, dead or alive, remaining.

No one knows when it first started, there were no records of him and his time until the 1930’s when children began to tell stories of his existence. Like most families they believed he was nothing but a character made to play pretend.

Then the illnesses started. The disappearances. The ringing of the mind. The feeling of being watched.  All of it came from the woods.

With constant similarities always striking into light through each investigation of mangled corpses and disappearances of his victims it's no wonder that journalists and reporters made sure to bring his presence to light yet they never had a name for him that stuck.

‘Man of the Woods’

‘The Hunter of the Lost’

‘The Pale Butcher’

He garnered a fuckfest amount of names yet one thing stayed true. Survivors and witnesses to his brutality always reported the same thing to describe him, ‘An inhumane being pretending to be a man dressed in a black and white suit standing as tall as the trees around him. Stares at you with a pale head that bares no face’, others reported of his unnatural body length and size, mentioning the abnormal stretch of his arms and fingers that does not seem to fit well with him and his stature.

Some described the lankyness of the way he walks, his body hunched over when chasing behind you, his legs staggered almost dragging behind him as you hear nothing more than his feet rumbling across the soil and the drilling of what could be his voice or immortal power funneling into your head like siren desperate to be heard before you do something drastic to keep your mind quiet.

No one ever caught him then, some say it was due to the lack of resources and the fact that his appearances were scattered across the country. Who could blame them? How can you capture a man who moves across the country in the middle of the night?

However, one thing was clear. No one knew how to catch something like him. He was an alien, a myth, and a ‘story’ made up by the deranged or survivors of his schemes.

Decades passed and even though his stories have become folklore, science still couldn’t explain the oddities and holes in each investigation in the stories of survivors.

Forensics, Interviews, Scientific Investigations, Theories- in the end they threw the sufferers of the trauma under the category of mental illness and called it a day. Then it was left at that. The world turned and the memories of terror that loomed over the lives of those that lived from him died with them.

Somewhere in the 1990’s to 2000’s,  images of his presence popped up in a forum, most were of blurred photographs and candid snapshots of the creature. Stories from the past resurfaced like memories being reminisced. Now his life has a reboot in the digital world and it is creative and vast.

Despite his existence having a comeback, he was still treated as a myth and a legend. Something families used to scare kids to ward themselves away from being in the woods for too long.

Only a few of them would work though.

══════════════════════

I smell like absolute horseshit.

Why did that fucking cunt have to own a damn farm anyway? Why did I have to bear the responsibility of having to slice and dice this bitch anyway? Boss knows I prefer my girls a little more urban, why do you think I love the Gotham style alleyways so much? I use it to my advantage, duh.

Toby was having his fucking tickity-tack-ticks a little more than usual which obviously tells me (because I have more braincells) that he didn’t have a good time in Boss’s office. Honestly, getting sent there in the first place means you didn’t do a good job in the first place. Masky would know since he’s a fucking screw up majority of the time, but don’t tell him I said that because he’d actually beat my ass so hard I’d wish to be in Zalgo’s harem instead.

I wipe the blood off my knife on my white hoodie, the blood staining it in messy red smears because I love it. What I don’t love is that Betty the fucking cow took an aggregious amount of shit on the ground our nice broad kicked me into. For fuck sake– I might as well gut this damn heifer for ruining my hoodie. I washed this two fucking days ago!

“Toby, you're lagging more than usual. The fuck is up with you?”

Toby wiped his face and the soil from his arm spread across his forehead, “Bo-Boss…”

Always vague when I fucking ask. I’m trying to be nice here dipshit.

“What did he make you suck his dick under the table or some shit?” I check the broad’s pockets for loose change but all my hands feel is a pocket of disappointment. Her valuables are probably back in that farmhouse.

“He wouldn’t ca-call me for- for that when your mou-mouth is bigger.” Cheeky shit.

Toby pulls out a ziplock bag and I start ripping this chick’s shirt- woah nice tits. I hear a “You’re fucking-fucking sick.” I rolled my eyes, “Can we flip this bitch over already?” I placed my right hand under her shoulder and the other on her ass. Toby placed her hands crossed over her tits and then we flipped the broad over to her side then we threw her arms across her chest leaving her side exposed.

Behind me I can hear Betty’s breath hanging over my head. She smelled like unwiped ass and the moistness of her breath against my neck– Ugh. I shivered in disgust, I fucking hate farms. 

Some parts of this broad’s shirt still covered her back and side so I lifted it up just enough to where Jack told me to cut. I traced over the girl’s ribs feeling the curve of the bone until I reached the bottom of her ribcage, then down a little more below. I feel the muscles on the sides of her body and just like how Jack taught me, wherever my thumb was sitting was where the gold is probably hidden.

I make the incision in a slight, diagonal angle, stretching the cut further down the side of her body. Blood began to gurgle out through the cut, then it pools down the sides of her body and into the soil. I make another incision parallel to the diagonal cut to form a ‘T’ shape and peel the layers of skin and muscle like a banana obviously with a bit more struggle because a human isn’t one but you get the picture.

“So what happened with that meeting you had with Boss anyway? You got your phone back and shanked the bitch.”

Toby tickity tics again, his shoulders and neck jerking uncontrollably, “Apparently-” His shoulder juts, “I nearly compromised myself-myself when I was looking for the pho-phone in the crime sce-scene.” I dug my fingers into the cut, warmth and the gushy walls of muscles enveloped my hands.

Blood flowed out some more and it began to stain my jeans and the cuffs of my hoodie. I more or less fingered the thing until I felt something similar to a kidney against my fingers. Bingo. I took my knife and dug into the cavity until I felt small tube-like things connected to the kidneys, then I gave them a good ol’ cut.

“You did go out in broad daylight. That’s like going to a bank naked and holding them at gunpoint.”

Toby huffed and groaned, probably heard the same type of shit from his meeting with Boss. “Then-Then he did his tor-torture thing.”

I winced at the thought, “Yikes. Sounds like shit. What did he do this time?” Slender was our boss for a reason, if he wants us to learn, he’d make us learn. After I saw what he did to BEN while he was in the cartridge, I knew my ass wouldn’t survive that shit even if I wanted to. The perks of torture for Toby though is that he can’t feel shit the sad part about it is that Slender doesn’t need to be physical with you to hurt you.

I take the kidney out and if the smell of blood and shit wasn’t already strong enough, well brother you are only scratching the surface because damn did I smell iron everywhere. You could make a minecart with how much iron was stinking up the damn place. 

My pale hands dropped the first kidney in the ziplock bag Toby had opened for me and I hopped on to the other side of the chick’s body to harvest the other kidney. Blood smears across her back in shades of various red while I measure and find the area I should cut before I make the incision and do the thing again.

“He made me see-see what is happening with my-my mom– threatening her life and all that shi-shit.” Toby stammered out, he had that look on his face that told me that those threats were hitting a big homerun to the shits.

“Huh.. All this for a phone and an already dead broad? Man’s weird.” I yanked out the kidney and dropped it in the open ziplock bag. Toby zips it up and wipes the blood dripping from the lip of the bag on his pants before getting up with a grunt.

“There-there was more to-to it than that.” I brought the blade of the knife and ran my tongue around the flat edge, a soothing metallic trail of blood spilling into my mouth. I tilt the knife that the sharp edge of the blade is directed towards my face and I glide my tongue close to the edge that I nick my tongue. I always loved this damn part. I’m getting hard already.

Toby grunts, obviously disgusted, “Don’t-Don’t you fucking touch-touch yourself. We’re still-still not done.” The grass rustled as he makes a headstart, “Fucking freak…”

I cackled out, “I heard that!”

══════════════════════

The neighborhood was shrouded in a cloud of darkness and the streetlights that should be illuminating my path should be turned on and making this nightmare looking street not look so much like a nightmare and more like a friendlier looking environment where you can walk your dog and your house cats… I miss Roots so much.

It still breaks my mind how me coming here happened because of a lost phone.  Tobias Rogers apparently was alive the entire time for the last how many years and now became a psychopathic maniac that’s murdering everyone from high school (at least that’s my theory) and then he tied me up in my own home then played with my apathetic dog and then stabbed me in the chest then I guess I had a coma and sort of recovered something life threatening in the span of just roughly close to a week and then I was announced as missing and now Rivka my only friend is also now announced as missing.

All of that horseshit happening from Tobias losing his fuckass phone!

The sound of my radio was reduced to a low hum as I indicated to the culdesac where I used to live. This was so weird, I don’t get why all the neighbours and neighbours houses refuse to have a light on at night, it’s really good to have one to fend off any raccoons or animals that would go through the trash bins in the backyard.

I swerve into the empty space of my old home’s driving lane that leads to the garage then shut the car off. The trashy pop song playing died as quickly as the car’s engine rumbled down and now I am engulfed in the neighborhood's eerie, terrifying silence, save for the cool winds, the chirping of cicadas and the howling of the owl who my dad affectionately named, Jerry.

I’m reminded on why I moved out. The streets are impossibly empty, it makes you wonder whether you entered a ghost town or a place actively lived in by people with families and children with dreams about the future and the elderly who lived an era so comparable to yours that they can bestow the wisest of knowledge upon you or the hardest lore about the life they lived. I hope I reach that point in my life where I can tell them my wacky life story of nearly dying but not.

I peek over the wheel and more or less stretched my neck to see whether there were any lights in the house but all I saw was more darkness. I grab my sweater from the passenger seat and throw it on before pushing the door open and heading out of my car. The cold was so harsh that it bit my skin with temptations of frostbite. I really need to get inside. My legs dragged themselves across the pavement and on to my dad’s wooden front porch, I could feel that one slot of wood underneath my feet that wasn’t securely fastened. Dad said he’d fix that, some years in college later the plan still remained a plan.

Speaking of dad, I should call him and tell him about this whole mess.

I fumbled around for my phone and called my dad while at the same time knocking on the front door. Gotta confuse him I guess. Should he take my call or answer the door? I need to explain everything that happened for the last five days , like I died but I kinda didn’t? And my killer was some dude from my high school who burned his house down and who was thought to be dead. I also need to ask what happened to Rivka, like how the hell and when the hell did she go missing? Is she okay? Where was she? Who took her? Is she still alive?

The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.

Wow, fantastic! I dial his number again and pounded my free hand on his front door again.

“Dad? I’m outside, please answer the door!” I called out into the darkness of our house and like before there was no response. This is just like a horror movie and like a stupid protagonist, I’m going to barge inside like a psycho in hunt of my probably dead dad who I truly hope isn’t dead in this scenario. I crouched down on the ground, lifted the mat for the spare key dad usually taped under the mat but I guess he removed it since I’m not living with him anymore…

The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.

My chest began to drum and my brain was racking up terrifying scenarios of what the hell is happening to my dad. What if he died in his sleep? What if he’s being suffocated in his sleep right now? What if he’s actually not here? Now that is one normal thought but he’s not answering the phone when he usually answers the phone– Oh my fuck, what if Tobias Rogers is killing everyone from highschool and their families too?

I dial his number again and trotted over to the side of the house and checked the windows if there was even anyone inside. “Dad?! I’m– I’m here!” I yelled out again and there was nothing. No shuffling, no padding of his heavy footsteps, nothing.

The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later.

My stomach drops again. This can’t be happening. I hobbled over to one of the windows to the kitchen and forced my fingers underneath a slot and with all my might pushed it open. I climbed over the window and forced myself inside. I face planted on the floor and even though I’m sure I broke my nose, I didn’t let that stop me from pulling my legs that hung outside the window inside the house.

My body thumps on to the ground and my nose begins to burn with ache. My eyes watered slightly and I wiped my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie as I looked around the kitchen. It was the same as how I left it, the kitchen island that was the size of my study table settled in the middle of the kitchen, the fridge still has the same recipes stuck on it by the magnets we collected traveling interstate over the years and some from outside the country when we have more than enough money saved up. 

I pushed myself up from the ground and looked around some more. In the corner next to the fridge was a small shelf with recipe books he bought from our last trip in Japan and scattered across the table was some unopened mail, a lot of it actually and it seemed to pile up.

“Dad?” I headed over to the garage to check whether his car was parked inside and it was. So he’s home. Where the fuck is he? I call out for him again as I beelined back to the kitchen to fetch a knife for self defense in case someone that isn’t my dad is here.

I hold the blade with both hands like a gun ready to be drawn at any moment as I glanced around for my dad or any source of light I didn’t see while looking around the house when I was outside. My hands were shaking erratically from anxiety. I need to keep them still, I need to calm down…

I took my shoes off so the sounds of my feet were muffled by the carpet that lined down the hallway. My feet carefully and as quietly as possible creep around the house. I peek in the corner and I see a faint shadow coming from dad’s bedroom on the wall adjacent to his room. The carpet thumped under each cautious step to my dad’s room, “Dad?”

I hear nothing and the sound of my racing heart is pumping in my ears. Is there a thief in the house?

Adrenaline pumped my body and controlling my breathing suddenly became the hardest thing to do. The hall to dad’s room seemed to bridge further and further and further away from me and my head is ringing with this weight that something terrible is actually happening to my dad, not the kind of ‘what if this happened’ kind of weight but the certainty that he is in the position where he can’t speak up and do anything to save himself from whatever is destroying him.

“Da–!” A pale, wet and clammy hand masked itself over my mouth and nose and slammed me into their smelly body. My body freezes and like a dumbass I drop the knife on the ground leaving me defenseless. Fuck! My hands claw against their arm, their pale skin, anything to fuck with this putrid smelling assailant but he is relentless. 

“Mmph!-” My struggle and whimpering noises die at the sound of his heavy, bated breath that crosses between a chuckle and a sort of huff of air, “Would ya’ look at that. Daddy has a pretty little girl waitin’ for him huh?” My heart dropped. What the fuck did that mean? No, No, No! In a fury of all the adrenaline left in me I open my mouth and bite hard against his disgusting sweaty fingers and he cries out, letting go temporarily and I run to make my escape into dad’s bedroom.

“Fuckin- bitch!”

“Dad?! Dad?!-” I screamed, I need to scream and get someone's attention that way if I actually die this time, someone knows about it and that I– at least I hope my life will be brought to justice both me and my dad.

Footsteps raced behind me and they were fast– frighteningly fast that it scares me in a way that I have never felt before except when I ran into Tobias days ago. My feet dragged themselves behind me and I nearly tripped over myself if I didn’t catch my footing the millisecond I nearly toppled  over.

“Playing hard to get, princess?” I didn’t look back. Plus even if I did, I know he wouldn’t be my type.

I beelined to my dad’s bedroom and slammed the door shut, flipping the lock to close and suddenly a loud crash echoed from behind the door.  My knees were weak when I saw the door nearly fly off its hinges when that attacker’s body slammed against the door. 

“Oh my god. Oh my God. Oh my–” I could hear the wood splinter and break apart the more this person is trying to break the door down. Fuck, I need to think fast, I need to– I need to block the door. Yeah, I need to block the door.

CRASH!

Now! I need to– I look to my right and of course! Dad’s dresser! I ran to it immediately and latching both my hands on the very right side of it pulled it to block the door. The friction was rough against my fingers and my hands and muscles began to pound with ache as I grit my teeth and bring this dresser to the door.

“C’mon move!” I groaned as the dresser topples over on its side and blocks the door with a loud deafening crash. My lungs were on fire as I tried to catch my breath, that should stop him for ample time. 

CRASH!

Fuck fuck fuck. 

I look around the room some more, trying to find something to further block this door down from this fucking maniac and at the corner of my eye I see movement. My heart pangs and I turn to face it only to be met with the monster who started it all. The monster who tied me up, the monster who took a knife and stabbed me in the chest where a scar leaves a memory of what the fuck he did to me.

“You…” I could feel all the blood in my body drain away from me and my body goes slack.

He stares back at me behind those orange tinted goggles, in that striped mask and striped hoodie with those tufts of brown hair peeking out. His hand held like a small axe? A hatchet? I don’t know, but now isn’t the time to figure out what the hell he has as his weapon of choice when he is coming towards me ready to kill me again!

His hand that held a hatchet swings overhead and I step back shakily with my arms covering my head as if it will protect me from the blow of his fucking weapon, “TOBIAS, NO- PLEASE DON’T!” I cried.

My eyes were wet and stinging from tears and I wanted to cry again, “I thought I-I killed you-you.” My breath heaves shaky relief from this, I guess the idea that he’s taking his time to interrogate the prey before the slaughter fills me with hope.

“Toby, if you take my kill I will-” The door crashes and splinters of wood begin to fly into the room, “-kill you!”

My body flinches with every slam against the door and Tobias swings his arms again, ensuring I die. A shrill scream escapes me as I dove down into the ground and rolled over to dodge the attack.

“NO! N-not my daughter please don’t do this!” My head cranes to my dad who I didn’t realize was tied and strapped into his work chair with Tobias’ fucking leather belt and duct tape. He planned to kill my dad. I groaned as I pushed myself off of the ground and before I knew it Tobias was taking a heavy step to me again, arms raised with the blade of his hatchet catching the light and–

CRASH!

“Toby I said, she’s mine!” In the gap of the door a face emerges and I see long thick, disheveled black hair, dark bloodshot eyes targeted at me and a mouth that stretches uncannily to his ears. If I looked deeper, I would catch that the ends of his mouth were traced with jagged edges that healed from the scars of a blade. His eyes. They are terrifying. It didn’t hold restraint, they traced the shape of my body and I hate that I caught how he licked his lips as if the idea of killing me, thrilled him.

I hear the woosh of a blade overhead and I stumble back instantly. My dad cries out, “No! No! You can have everything, just don’t take my daughter plea-please don’t!” His voice was guttural and desperate. I have never heard my dad this way before and in that moment it hit me that when I went missing for a while he must have been just as desperate to find me.

My heart hurts and before I could have a moment to weep, I realized that this moment isn’t the right time. 

“You..” Tobias pointed the mini axe–hatchet towards me and I whimpered at the closeness of the blade, “How-How the hell are you a-alive?” I push myself further away from the point of the blade and I feel my head hit my dad’s legs, “I-I saw you die. I know-know you died.”

I have no fucking answer for that, I shake my head, “I-I DON’T KNOW OKAY? I-I DON-”

“WHATE IS HE TALKING ABOUT (NAME)?” My dad panics and I feel the rumble of his anxiety and frustration and his fear run through my body, “He–”

Toby squats down and I tense immediately, lifting my arms above my head like I’m surrendering myself. He doesn’t say anything, rather he guides his hatchet down my chest and uses it to lift the hem of my shirt, slow, and steady as if taking into consideration that the steel would cut me open. I was too scared to even breathe and I just endured it while begging to any God above to make this night mare burn over.

I shut my eyes tight and I feel my shirt expose my belly and slowly up my breasts then to my chin. I hated how sensual it felt and I could only whimper as he let the edge of the blade of his hatchet continue to hold the shirt up to my chin as he studied my body like a psychopathic pervert. 

I breathe shakily and peeked through my lashes to see what he’s doing but all I see is the way he tilted his head as he looked to the center of my chest, the scar. Behind me I could hear my dad cursing him out, shouting profanities I never heard him say before and telling him to stop or he will kill Tobias, but his words fell on deaf ears.

“That healed too fast.” He commented and my shirt dropped down. The cool air that met my body shifts back to the damp wetness of my shirt. He didn’t know that would happen either. What did that mean? Was I Wade Wilson or some shit? Could I heal from disasters like this? I don’t know but the moment Toby leaned back, I grabbed the hatchet and in a fit of all fury and rage that he put me and my family through, I raised my arms to attack him.

I don’t care if I am called a murderer just as long as he’s fucking dead.

I swing my arms downwards and Tobias dodges my attack. He seizes my wrist above our heads and I stumble backwards,  but this time I hold my ground. Glaring at him through gritted teeth as I push with all my might, through the burn of my arms and the ache in my chest, “I’m going to kill you.” I growled.

He laughed at that and I only hated him more. I will make sure you die tonight Tobias Rogers. I pull the hatchet towards me and we’re caught in this dance of push and pull of the hatchet. I pulled the weapon down to my direction and with all the momentum I had, I jumped from where I stood and tried to dig this axe into his chest but he redirects the blow and kicks me off to the side.

A winded gasp escapes me and I wheeze for air as my body slams against the wall.

“NO!” Through blurry eyes I can see my dad shimmying in his restraints and I push myself up before jumping on Tobias’ back. I wrap my arms around his neck and I put him in a chokehold. We stumble backwards and my back slams against the wall, it hurts but I’m determined to see Tobias in a coffin. Tobias’ arms flail around for a second to balance himself before using the hatchet to try and get a hit on me. I choke him only tighter but it’s like nothing was working!

I felt an ease once he began to wheeze and my arms squeezed tighter around his neck. Tobias uses the hatchet to claw my  arm and I reach out with my weak hand to stop the hit or weaken the blow only–

-Blood splatters everywhere. I heard a thump on the ground and the sound of the psychopath behind the door began to laugh and echo in my head. My vision blurs and my hold around Tobias’ neck falters as I realize that my index finger and thumb were sliced off. Blood oozed and drenched all around my hand and it dripped down my wrist and arm. 

It must have been the shock and adrenaline but in that moment I couldn’t feel anything, I was just so angry. I tightened my grip around Tobias’ neck and yanked down his mask with what fingers I had left. I shoved my bleeding hand into his mouth, choking him in my blood.

His hand grips my wrist, pulling my hand out but I try and force my hand further down his throat. He’s choking. Good.

I squeezed his neck some more and Tobias began to slam my back against the wall, again and again. The hand that wielded the hatchet swung upward and directed it to my head. Shit. I push us off of the wall and we fall forward and slam against the ground, the hatchet in his hand flies off to a short distance away from us.

My hand eased from his body as I felt my body begin to run with such a pain I’ve never felt before, all of it coming from my amputated fingers. Tobias chokes and wheezes for air. I climb over him, smacking his face against the ground as my bleeding hand reaches for the hatchet. Holding this is going to be a struggle, I reach for it anyway and both my hands wrap around the handle of the blade. I backed into my dad’s position, directing the hatchet to Tobias’s body.

“Dad?”

“You’re crazy (Name)!” He shimmies in his seat and my legs shook as I stood up to face my dad. He’s still tied up, I use the hatchet to hastily cut him off of his restraints and he rips the tape off his skin as he embraced me for a quick moment, “Let’s get out of here-”

“Not quite!” The Pale Psycho from the door somehow broke in and pointed the knife from my kitchen to us and I shield my dad with my bleeding hand,  behind the pale psycho I see Toby getting up after choking on my blood. I could feel him seething.

I hold the hatchet with my not amputated hand and swing to the Pale Psycho. I feel dad run past towards Toby and they get into a bloody fistfight. 

Redirecting my attention to the Pale Psycho I scowled as he licked his lips, “I like you. You bite.” He’s disgusting. He parries my swing of the hatchet and speeds to me, the knife directing itself to my shoulder and I cry out from pain as he pulls it back. I gripped my shoulder and he licked my blood off his blade.

“Fresh ones are always the best.” His eyes never leave mine. My arm is fucked from moving unless I want to be in pain while I try and defend myself…

My hand waves with the hatchet anyway and I swing back and forth to attack the Pale Psycho and his eyes only widen more than they already are, gleaming as he awaited each attack and dodging them in a way I don’t understand. In a fit of frustration I step back and throw the hatchet in his direction and he ducks only for the hatchet to dig into my fathers back.

My heart drops. “NO!” 

The Pale Psycho looks back and cackles as dad toppled over on his knees, wheezing and howling in pain. Dad reaches for what's behind him and I see Tobias wield another hatchet I didn’t see before and swings it to my dad’s face. 

Dad falls on his side, his body thudding against the ground like a heavy boulder. Red stains the floor in waves.

⋆˚₊ 𖤓☽˚.⋆ Next Chapter

Dont worry gang give me five more years and maybe i’ll watch into the spiderverse and finally identify who this miguel guy is.

Anyway I really enjoyed deadpool & wolverine movie and the amount of just innuendos (all courtesy of deadpool duh) was just perfect. I’d also like to add that yes,

That Honda Odyssey scene was my peanut butter and jelly sandwhich.

When wade did that hand thing (yknow the one where its like come here and get it then) i had to look at the metaphorical camera like are you guys seeing this shit? I see it. But do YOU see it?

He was frightfully scared- spirits were real? How dare he laugh at the face of his friend Michael who regaled him of the tale of ‘the girl of the woods’. Yet here she was standing before him glowing in white with patches in the lower half of her dress soaked in crimson.

Spirits he had to admit were beautiful.

That was until she turned and began to bawl her eyes out once their eyes met her hands drenched with blood as she cried,

“I’m gonna die! I’m leaking blood!”

The day he believed spirits were real was also the same day he realized that perhaps spirits weren’t real as well.

—

“I’m Leon… What’s your name?”

She wipes her tears with the ball of her wrist as she tightens the sleeves of Leon’s jumper around her waist, “(Name)...”

Leon nodded, still at awe of how pretty this girl was despite her wailing at the sight of her blood leaking out of her. The young blonde looked down at her pale dress, dark with crimson and earthy soil.

“I’m sorry I’m staining your jacket, Leon…” She mumbled bashfully, her eyes evading his as she placed both her hands behind her to grip his blue jumper.

Leon shakes his head, “It’s okay. It’s what my friend does when his sister has her period.”

She turned her attention away from Leon and sniffled, “Thanks, Leon…” She paused and jogged forward to face him, “I promise, I’ll pay you back tenfold okay?”

She lifts up her bloody pink and Leon grimaces at the sight, he chuckles nervously, “Let’s make that pinky promise when your hand’s clean.”

—

Leon shot out of his bed from a thunking coming from outside his window. His room was shrouded in darkness and shadows, and as his eyes adjusted to the rays of his nightlight that shone on his bedside table and his mind is recovering from that disorientation you feel when you are suddenly awoken from deep slumber where you were still living through the motions of your dreams.

The thunking doesn’t stop, it only seems to get louder.

Leon gently rubs his eyes as he stumbled out of bed , tripping over his duvet as he peeked outside his window. The streets were barren and empty. All there was that stood outside his room was the cool breeze and the quiet of the night.

Did he imagine that thunking?-

Out pops the girl in white, “Hi Leon!”

“Woah!-” Leon’s gasp gets caught in his chest and he flails backwards before he crashes down on his toys scattered about on the ground.

(Name) peeks from his windowsill, eyes wide and bright, “Did you break?”

Leon moans in pain from his train set slamming against his spine, “-No…” He lays flat for a moment, basking in despair as he looks to the ceiling for hope to save him from the hell of pain that has been inflicted upon him.

She reaches over the windowsill and climbs up his window before throwing herself inside. She padded inside with steps as light as a cat and she crouches down next to Leon, poking his side with a stick, “-What are you doing this Saturday?”

Leon wipes the tears that crept up his eyes from the sudden onslaught of pain as he sits himself up, “Do you know what time it is?”

She tilts her head, “No?” She leans so close that he can smell her laundry detergent and he gets a much closer view of her gorgeous eyes. His skin flushes and he’s grateful for the darkness of his room to hide it.

“Leon, you didn’t answer my question.”

He scratches his bedhead and she picks up a red train from the tracks.

“Uhm- homework probably…” He smooths down the messiness of his hair,  “Dad says I need to study since I failed my Math test…”

She sets the train down and smacks both his cheeks together so that they form a pout, “It's my birthday that day so make sure not to miss it okay?” She digs her hands into the pockets of her white dress and hands him a small envelope with his name scrawled out with her crappy handwriting.

“Wha-?! Your birthday?!” He takes the envelope and skims through the contents of the invite. It was simple, made from coloured paper from school and a dark sharpie marker that says, ‘yu’ve been invited to my birthday!’ at the bottom was a small doodle of his German Shepherd ‘Lonnie’, himself and his toy trains around. Flipping the paper to the back, another drawing from scented pens flooded his nose and there was a small party of a drawing of herself surrounded by balloons and a cartoonishly tall cake.

She nods and tucks her hands under her knees, “Uncle said I could invite one friend.” She looked at Leon and she smiled shyly, “And you’re my one super duper big best friend.” His eyes widened before softening, “Thats..”

She cuts him off with that look on her face that he knows he can’t ever refuse, “I really want you to come.” (Name) adjusts herself, “And- And you don’t have to bring any presents since my Uncle said that my room is too small for them.”  She added nervously before a beat of silence fell.

Leon’s hand plays with the hem of his astronaut themed pajamas, “I’ll tell dad.” He mumbled and she leapt from joy before tackling him in a bone-crushing embrace- “Thank you, thank you, thank you! It’s this Saturday, in my house at lunch ti-” She pulls away, “You know what? I’ll come get you! Just make sure you’re ready and dressed nicely!” She pulled away and before Leon could stop her, she threw her legs out the window and disappeared.

‘See ya’ later Leon!’

—

Grief truly was the most terrible and beautiful thing that the heavens ever permitted this race of humanity to ever experience. 

Leon had to learn that at the age of fourteen, where his body is changing, his voice is cracking, and he has this intense desire to try and impress (Name) more than ever— that aside he hoped how much he’s bawling his eyes off wasn’t a turn off because to put it simply,

Lonnie was dead.

His German Shepherd who he had since he was seven years old died, not of old age, but of a workplace accident.

Lonnie was trained to work alongside his father who spent most of his days in a factory to develop and process automotive parts, sometimes her nose just got too curious and suddenly her head was stuck on the conveyor belt and before his father knew it he heard the whimpering cries of Lonnie and when he turned to face Lonnie and scold her for licking the metal parts all he saw was 1/4th of the dog and her beautiful auburn fur darkening with oil and blood.

He hated his father for having something as careless as this happen under his watch.

Now he’s standing in front of her headless carcass which laid on the snow a day before Christmas in their backyard.

He cried for Lonnie and wept for her short lived life and (Name) cried with him because she loved Lonnie. Both children reached out to run their bare hands upon her fur which was matted with her blood. Leon’s heart only ached more with anguish as he wrapped his arms around what was left of Lonnie pulling her in a deep embrace that he hoped that she could feel how much he loved her through this gesture of grief.

(Name) wipes the tears from his eyes as she wrapped her arms around Leon, blood from Lonnie seeping through their puffer jackets and staining them. The blonde’s face blossomed with despair, his eyes swelling, and he laid his head on (Name)’s chest and she pulled both Leon and Lonnie close to her chest. Her heart aching at the sudden loss.

From a distance, his father wept for Lonnie and he smacks his head as he berated himself for letting such a freak accident happen to such a beloved member of his very own family. He practically ripped the ounce of joy that Leon had in his life. His wife sneaked an arm around him, soothing him as much as she could.

This was one horrible Christmas Eve and no amount of presents can help him recover from such a day as this.

—

“Leon, what do you think of this?” 

(Name) emerged from the curtain and Leon crossed his arms, eyes dragging from her feet, to the dress, and up her face. She’s so pretty and every fabric that draped over her was comparable to Aphrodite being dressed in velvet.

He’s still mad to be here though. Not because they have been stuck in the store for the past two hours, or because she woke him up from his very important afternoon nap following his soccer club— no. Leon isn’t that immature. He was annoyed frankly that all these dresses will be spent being looked at by that greasy haired kid from their Biology class, Peter Owen Mcintosh.

Awhile ago she spoke about Peter so much that he memorized Peter’s full government name, birthday, class schedule, and home address. He doesn’t even know his own friend Peter Johnson’s home address and he’s known Peter Johnson for the last three years of high school!

“It’s good. I guess…” Usually he’d parade (Name) with criticisms of how each dress complemented her because she trained him to do that, but the idea– no fact, that Peter Owen Mcintosh will most likely be taking this off of her later was drilling his head.

“Yeah but do you think Peter will like it?” She sighs at Leon’s blunt and deadpan delivery, and her confidence skyrocketed so high it went back to earth. “Gosh! Maybe I should just cancel this date to the drive in-” She slips back behind the curtain to try on the tenth dress she brought with her, “I mean it's not like I’ve been wanting to watch Clueless since the trailer got out.”

Leon leans back from the soft cushion and he feels his ass starting to numb and even though it sucked that her affections for him were practically zero he still urged (Name)  to go after her own happiness, “You should go. I mean you like Peter right?” 

There was silence for a moment, the one that usually followed when she was too focused on changing to properly answer. He stands and begins to peruse the rows of dresses behind him, fingers absentmindedly running across each fabric, feeling the softness brushing against the pads of his fingers.

He was his own enemy when it came to this because now he is wondering and creating detailed images of how Peter will be distracting her from the movie. Will he throw an arm around her before the movie plays? Will Peter lean in close to her face to make her heart race because she’ll wonder whether he was making the moves to actually kiss her? Oh great now he imagined them kissing– 

The curtain slid wide open and the initial anger that had Leon’s brows furrowed together and lips tied to a knot dropped along with his heart falling down his stomach that broke into a series of butterflies flapping around his belly itching to get out once his eyes fell on her.

It was a loose white dress, it was light and flowed like oceans wading with each step. (Name) looked absolutely beautiful and ethereal. She looked like she encompassed the power to heal the hurt and to bring hope to the hopeless.

“Wow…”

She stood there for a moment, a bit awkward, “Is that a good ‘wow’? Or a ‘Wow that looks like a dress from my moms closet’ wow?” Her eyes darted from his own then down to the food, suddenly overwhelmed with bashfulness.

Leon’s walk towards her was subconscious and he didn’t even realize he was even moving until her pretty eyes were in much closer view. His hands were shaking as it played with the sleeves of the dress, “It’s like the one you wore when we first met…” He said softly.

She blushed and she jabbed his shoulder lightly, “Don’t even remind me. It’s such an embarrassing memory.”

Her words were a blur in his ears as he brought his hand to cup her cheek, “You’re so pretty.”

He couldn’t control his face, he was so star struck, so enamoured, so at awe at how this girl he grew up with has grown to become such a wonderful woman and her she was, in his hands so close and so within reach yet so far. His eyes softened to something he usually hid with a smile or a nonchalant look outside her peripherals yet all of it, his affections for her were dropped right in front of her this very moment.

“I don’t want you to wear this on your date with Peter…”

Her eyes popped with surprise, “Wha- but you said I looked pretty?- This is a missed opportunity-” She protested but he interrupted her, his chest bubbling with all his despair and affections that were left unseen fell forth from his lips and before he could stop himself silence followed his brief confession.

“Because I like you and wearing something that reminds me of the day we first met on this date with Peter will ruin me.”

Both were wide eyed. Stunned beyond belief.

Upon realization, his face flushed with crimson and he staggered backwards like he always did when he was stilled with shock and surprise, only this time and for the very first time it wasn’t her surprising him but rather himself.

His body ran cold and hot at the same time. Leon’s fingers felt frozen from rigor mortis and if he were to catch his face in the mirror behind her he would have caught how flushed he was that he looked like he was about to burst with blood. His heart hammered against the cages of his ribs as if begging to be let out of its prison and boy oh boy did his mind run faster—

What have I done?

Why did I say that?

This is goodbye.

He thought. His hands dropped from her face and down to his side. His father’s watch gleamed from the department store’s painful glares. His pretty ocean eyes glossed with embarrassment as it dragged down to her pretty white dress.

“Uhm—” He was such a crybaby, “ —Sorry…” He stepped backwards some more, distancing himself from her as he sucked in a hard breath to try and keep the tears from rolling down his face. He sits himself down on the seating couch adjacent from the dressing curtains and keels over in the fetal position as he covers his face with his hands.

This was it. This was how he was going to lose her. He will lose her in the most amazing fashion of being a dumbass and her realizing it and distancing herself from him because why oh why would she see him any differently? She will feel awkward knowing someone she cares for in the mere painful level of friendship has these grand uncontrollable feelings of adoration and love for her for who knows how long.

Leon wept like a child lost in the crowd, his throat croaks with silent whimpers and cries. His chest hurt to breathe but he wasn’t going to bring his hands away from his face, not when he knew she was still standing there. She’s probably thinking of a nicer way to decline his confession but he can’t take that right now. 

“Oh…”

He just continued to weep that his tears flooded his hand and dripped down his arms, “ —I’m sorry…”

The seat next to him dips and the shame only worsened before he felt her head lean against his arm.

“Leon?”

He shakes his head and she sighed. The cushions next to him ease up and he cries a little more. She kneels before him, patting both of his knees.

“Leon, look at me.”

He shakes his head, blonde hair ruffling from the rough motion and she lays her chin on his lap, “I’m not mad, Leon.. Don’t cry…” Her hands soothingly ran back and forth against his thighs and he lifted his head from his hands, snot dripping down his nose, eyes wet and swollen with tears, “I-I know you won’t be mad.. I’m just-” His voice cracked and his eyes welled once more with tears, “ –Don’t leave me.”

He curls in himself even more and she breathes out softly, she pats his hair, “I guess that means I don’t have to worry about the date then…”

He sniffles and wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, tears still rolling down his flushing face. “Just-just go on that da-date-” He says shakily as if trying to catch his breath, “-I’ll get-get over this stupid thi-thing–”

(Name) reached out and held his face with tenderness and despite the urge to pull himself away from her hold he only leans in, relishing in this small moment of pure love he will ever get out of her before she disappears from his hold. Her thumb catches the stray of tears that stuck to his wet face and oh if he didn’t fall for her hard enough he might as well fall through the earth if it meant being looked at by her just like this– something that looked like she adored him and if he could pretend– loved him.

“ -I’m not going with Peter today.”

His lips wobbled as he tried to force an angry expression on his face but he just looked like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t-” His breath catches,”-Don’t pity me. You know I ha-hate it when you do that.”

She squeezes his cheeks briefly before wiping more of his tears away, “I’m not.” She digs into the bag that was tucked under Leon’s feet and takes out a small packet of tissues which she used to dry and wipe his face clean, “I’m just saying there’s no point in trying to find a reason to like Peter Owen when you feel the same.”

His heart stopped, eyes red and wide with disbelief. She continued to wipe his face and he gripped her wrist, “Don’t say that. That’s not cool for my self esteem right now.” He mumbled and her eyes glanced up to meet him. 

“Leon, I like you.”

He shook his head, “Stop trying to make me feel better by bringing my hopes up like this– You know I can’t handle it.”

She pouts and brings his wet hands to her chest, “I’m not lying. My heart is going crazy right now and I’m just pretending like I’ve not been crazy about you since– I don’t know–Forever?” His fingertips could feel how fast her hearts raced and when he sat through a few more seconds or minutes staring at each other he’d catch how the tips of her ears and her neck were blossoming. He glanced down at their hands that laid on her chest, her hands were cold and nervous.

Yet despite these symptoms he still couldn’t believe it.

(Name) leaned close to his face, her softened, before she pressed a tender kiss upon his lips. Leon stilled and his lungs were empty of air. She didn’t stop and she held both sides of his head to kiss his wet face, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyebrows, and lastly the tip of his nose.

Leon wasn’t crying anymore, that was for sure.

“Do we wanna go to Emmy’s Diner and watch Clueless in the drive-in together?”

His gaze was on her like she was the heavens and he was rendered speechless. His squished face which formed to a pout like she used to do when they were kids nods gently.

—

“Okay. This is the moment of truth.” She says.

It was the 5th of September. Autumn has arrived at their door and so did a series of acceptance letters, both envelopes were addressed to their respective receivers which laid on their shared bed, at the centre of their wonky makeshift circle. Both sat crossed legged with (Name) embracing a shark Leon won for her from their last outing at the carnival (he wanted to show off the skills he learned from the academy).

It was the final moment. The deciding factor of their life after they have spent months and years of coffee for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while pages of textbooks and training became their best friend to succeed and pass the grueling process of being a part of their college courses.

Leon went to church after training in the academy every week before this acceptance letter to pray that his application to the Raccoon Police Department would be accepted. 

(Name) on the other hand wore the white dress she bought for both hers and Leon’s first date since she believed that it brought luck to both of them in times of need.

The letters were bright against the blue sheets of their bed. The print with their names at the back of the envelope staring back at them, daring them to reach out and read through this flimsy paper that decided the start of their careers.

Leon reaches for (Name)’s letter first.

(Name) does the same and reaches for Leon’s.

It was quiet. The air was heavy and tense with something that made it hard for them to breathe.

Leon looked up from her letter, “What does it say?”

She was quiet and her eyes fluttered from the page then to Leon. At first her expression was empty but then it shifted to something somber and before Leon could reach out and read the letter himself she jumped over him, letting go of the shark plushie and the skirt of her dress fluttering behind her like the wings of an angel.

She wraps her arms tight around him, knocking all the air out of his lungs, “I’m so proud of you! You got accepted!-” She kisses his cheek again and again and again and his heart flutters with joy and love. 

(Name) leans back and hands him the letter for him to read:

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

We are happy to offer you the position of Probationary Police Officer (PPO) at the Raccoon City Police Department…

Your starting date will be on September 29, 1998 and you are to report to Senior Officer Lieutenant Martin Branagh of…

He pulls her in his arms and kisses her tenderly with the confidence he grew to have since years of being together. They pull away and he’s all warm, red, and flushed with sweetness.

He cups her face and she squishes his face with both hands, his lips formed into a pout, “What did mine say?” He grins, all cheeky, “Wha- do yu fink?”

Leon lifts the letter to her face and as she reads each and every line, her giddiness vibrates through each and every word. Once she finished reading the letter she practically pounced on him with joy as she kissed him over and over and over until they had to gasp for air only to return back to their kisses. 

(Name) pushes Leon down on the bed and he follows because he trusts her to take care of him like he always would. “I’m so proud of you.” She mumbled against his lips and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, “I’m more proud of you (Name),” Her mouth takes him in again and he was getting dizzy from how much her kisses were rendering him in this state of heavenly euphoria.

“ –You were studying so hard and–” Leon gasps as her hand brushes the skin of his belly, “Oh God, if you’re going to keep this up I might lose it–”

She giggles, hand dragging up and settling in the dip between his chest, “ –Don’t you think we should celebrate for working so hard, Officer Kennedy?”

Leon flushes in a haze of affection and desire, “I hate it when you do that…”

She laughs against his chest, his flushed and embarrassed expression following through his face with the pout of his lips and the furrow of his brows.

She tilts her head as she tucked some hair behind her ear, “I love you, Leon.” It never failed to kickstart his heart like it used to when their relationship started.

He looks at the light switch across the room, mumbling back, “Ti Amo…” She grinned, all bright like it didn’t make him melt, 

“Ti Amo, Leon~.”

—

She wasn’t answering her work phone.

She was mad for sure. Leon sighs for the nth time since standing at the phone booth before placing the handset back on the receiver. His cents were gone. Swallowed by this phone machine and he can never get them back. He’s hoping that the stars make a miracle happen and have some quarters scattered across the pavement on his way back to their shared apartment so he can make another call to (Name)’s office lounge in the Raccoon City High School where she worked.

Leon debated on visiting (Name) during lunch hours but he stayed up late playing Ocarina of Time and he is dead exhausted.

—

His heart was pounding out of his chest and Leon wondered how many voicemails he missed from their answering machine since arriving in Raccoon City. 

Leon wanted to physically hit himself in the face. How did he not hear of this whole virus outbreak thing when it was literally a police officer's job to be notified of anything serious such as this? Did he miss a call? Fuck, did he miss it when he was wounding the tape from their answering machine?

This didn’t look like the Raccoon City he drove through in the morning when he dropped (Name) off at the high school. The streets roamed with those inanimate rotting corpses that staggered with every step, their body wet with red and earth. Their skin cold and pallor, eyes pale with a thin, cloudy film over their entire eye and it gave a sense of vague familiarity of someone’s soul that used to live there. Only that person was dead now, gone in the abyss of the virus’s unimaginable powers.

They walked stiffly towards him, rigor mortis setting in that the way they walked with this unsteadiness that was far from human. Some of them crawled towards him as if the nerves of their lower half died somewhere but the strength of their hunger overpowered their will to just die.

These monsters–zombies growled with their exposed, rotting, and gnashing teeth as they reached for him and Leon swiftly dodges the onslaught of their attacks, rolling under some barbed wire before pushing this flimsy dumpster from where he came from before speeding forward to the Raccoon City Highschool.

Where was she? Was she hurt? Was she safe somewhere?

Please, Please, Please let her be safe. Let her be with other survivors. Let her be all in one piece.

Leon’s footsteps were heavy against the pavement, echoing behind him as he twisted his body to the left and ran off in that direction of this narrow and tight alleyway. The smell of the undead was strong and rancid, it prickled his nose in the way that his eyes would water from the potency.

An undead growls and emerges from the dark. Leon nearly froze but he knew the gravity of the situation, it was either to waste his bullets or run. He glances at the zombie and his face paled, his already racing heart dropped down to his stomach.

It was one of (Name)’s students. He was in utter disarray, clothes frayed at the seams and other parts torn apart. 

He remembered she told him once that there was an international kid that was transferred to her class, Akihiro, who they all called ‘Aki’. She said he was one of the most liveliest people she had ever met. He livened up the class when he brought in his camera and made silly little photographs with the other kids. When one of them was sad he’d always quote a book he read back when he was in Japan in his broken English. Despite a majority of the time he’d struggle to properly quote the words in English he always managed to lift the spirits of others.

“He’s a really good kid with a really bright future…” She said once.

Now that boy stood before Leon, not as a man but as a severely ill boy who cannot be cured. Leon wanted to cry, this boy who staggers towards him, this boy who had a life of stories to tell, this boy with friends back in Japan who are waiting for him to tell them the stories of his experience living here in the United States, this boy with a family wishing and hoping for his safe return.

That boy was gone and all the people who knew him will only remember his face before boarding that plane.

Aki’s steps were wobbly, his hazy eyes directed to Leon, his throat produced an airy, guttural sound then his lips croaked:

“お母さん...”

Leon stepped back, he didn’t understand Aki but as the young Japanese boy reached out, he pointed his handgun towards him, “Aki..?”

At the sound of his own name, Aki stopped. His voice called out again, “お母さん?...” It croaked like before only this time it was for confirmation of whoever he called for.

He reaches out blindly and as Aki steps into the light overhead, Leon’s eyes stung with wet tears. The flesh of Aki’s shoulder was ripped away, the muscle was torn with it. Blood rolled and dripped down Aki’s forearm, the ground leaving a trail.

“You’re just a boy…” He muttered.

Aki steps forward again and Leon couldn’t bring it on himself to open fire.

—

Each step down the halls of this school that used to harbour the life of students who thought they were ready to leave the school at the end of the day was shrouded in darkness.

It was getting clearer with every door Leon opened that survivors were people who got equipped with a better hand and the students and staff who reached their claws towards him were those who didn’t. Yet he remained hopeful, some of these people must have survived the slaughter. (Name) should survive the slaughter.

Leon blitzed past them, not after Aki, he can’t shoot them when he knows killing them meant destroying them as a whole, even when it is entirely necessary in this fucked up apocalypse. Instead, he lays out a plan, entrapping the undead that ran after him into a room and locking them inside by pushing some tables, cupboards, and metal shelves by the door and praying they don’t knock it down when they smell fresh blood roaming the halls of the school.

“C’mon (Name), where are you?”

 He mumbled to himself, his voice wavering and far from the initial confidence he had when he started his hunt to find her and his heart lurching more and more in the depths of despair.

Upon reaching the door to the second floor staff’s break room, he stops and pulls out a key he found locked in another ironically locked box. He shoves the key in the lock and it clicks open successfully.

He gently pushes the door open and steps inside, warily. 

The room, like the entire school, was unlit, except for a flickering lightbulb from the staff window which blew in a cool breeze.

The staff’s office was so quiet and surprisingly, peaceful. Like he could rest here for a moment. Like he could save his progress and use this place to gather himself before returning back outside to look for (Name) because she had to be out there. Someway, somehow.

He shuts the door behind him, locking it just in case and boarding the door with an office cabinet before wiping the sweat off his brow and resting his head against the wall.

A break… Thank fuck.

He sits himself on one of the swiveling seats and throws his head back and he lets out a heavy, weighted sigh…

“(Name), where are you?”

The ceiling was casted in shadows and for once throughout this already hectic night he allowed himself to rest. Turn his mind off and think of something lighter, hopeful…

He closes his eyes and for a moment he pretends this zombie infested building was brighter and that the growls and moans from outside were the chatter of students moving to their next class before the bell rings. He imagines (Name) sitting at this very desk, grading papers, reading through the curriculum for this year's class– The idea makes him smile and the worry of where she was lightens slightly.

He imagined that if he didn’t take the path to become a police officer he would be right behind her this very moment, holding out a fresh mug of coffee with her name sharpied right at the bottom so it doesn’t get mixed up with the other staff. He imagines bending down to brush his lips against her cheek, asking her what she wants to do once they're back in their shared apartment. He can already predict that she wanted to sit on the couch while they watched the MTV station over pizza but he asks anyway because he likes the way she says it.

God, he missed her so much.

He wipes his face and suddenly the bright chatter of outside shifts to reality. He’s currently stuck in the apocalypse, the woman he is looking for, the love of his life, nowhere in sight.

A sharp crash of broken glass and ceramic echoes from the door to his left and adrenaline kickstarts his heart and his hand to his gun holster. He gets up from his seat, hand now warily pointing his handgun to the direction of the crash.

“Hello?” What kind of start is that? Are you actually begging to get mauled by a zombie Leon?

He steps towards the door and he hears a slow, steady, guttural breathing. If you were someone who just started out the night in this hellish place you’d be forgiven to think that it was a survivor, trying to calm their breathing and making sure they won’t be heard by the creatures outside.

But Leon has spent hours in this hellscape, he knows that from that sound alone, it was someone who was in the process of getting turned. Another person who was handed a terrible set of cards in this fucked up game.

He turned his heel, reaching to push a table to that door before he stopped himself. Something inside him urged him to check the person, just to make sure. He stops himself from pushing the table before turning his heel again, his footsteps low and slow as he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

The flashlight slips from his hands, it clatters against the ground and rolls back and forth, the light casting shadows across the room before it halts to shine a heavenly glow on the girl dressed in white.

She was dressed in the clothes she wore on their very first date in that drive-in.

Leon’s breath catches, his vision blurs into a haze.

He finally found the girl he was looking for 

“(Name)?”

She responded to his voice, her voice, soft, light, and ghastly.

“Leon…” His blood ran cold. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. Not when the girl he has spent the entire night looking for, in the dark halls of the school they used to roam where he fought off relentless undead that went after the trail of his blood, stands there seemingly unscathed until the light from his torch shines against a patch of her skin where a bite mark so deep encircled her arm like a parasite.

She steps forward to the sound of his voice, his breathing, his presence and all Leon could do was watch as the woman he adored staggered on weak legs toward him, her white dress, drenched in blood catching between her legs as her eyes filled with that haze he saw on many of the undead look to him.

(Name)’s breathing was hoarse like her voice box was rattling against her throat and her breathing was steady and croaky.

Like many of the others, (Name) reached out to him and for once he wanted to reach out, to hold her and embrace her, to kiss her and bring her so deep in his arms that she returned to the way she was before.

But this was reality and his arms around her will only give this version of his love a taste of his meaty flesh.

Leon’s stomach coiled in itself, his hands palmy and clammy with sweat and dread.

How did this happen?

He was too late.

He failed her.

He failed you.

His eyes began to water with tears and memories of the past, present, and would be her future played in his mind like a movie.

“(Name)-” He gasps and his handgun falls to the floor as he reaches to cover his face like he always did when he cried, “ —I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” He drops to his knees and sobs like a child. 

He calls her name, apologizing over and over and over and over.

His chest was tight and heavy. His shoulders shook with every breath he took and each apology was riddled with the weight of his sorrow and love for her.

“I’m so-so sorry (Name)--” He chokes on to a sob. His voice echoed throughout the room where she stood and with every call of her name, she didn't respond. She looked past the boy who shrank himself into a ball and rather than comforting him like she always did, she gazed at the nothingness she saw in the vision she had now.

Leon lifts his head, blonde hair ruffled and messy from how much he grabbed them. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, he picks up his handgun and points the barrel to the woman he lost.

He yells with frustration as though to drown the sound of what he lost and his index finger settles on the trigger. His hands were rattling against themselves and although his aim was directed on her, he could feel his hand shake as he tried to calm himself and direct his barrel toward her.

“Leon…”

His name stills him and through tearfilled eyes, for a moment he remembered a night on one of their dates. She called his name, voice hoarse from crying over the ending of a movie they watched, and all he could remember was how pretty she looked when she grinned at him as she dried her eyes. She laughed at herself for crying at such a predictable ending and he remembered reaching out to touch her face, tucking her hair behind her ear and she leaned into his hand, her pretty eyes full and so lovely before he kissed her.

Leon sniffles and his hand drops to his side again, face wet with tears, “I’m here, angel…”

(Name) followed his voice and he stood still, waiting for her approach. When she was close enough, he held her hand, coiling his gloved fingers around hers. She was as cold as dead.

Leon pulls her closer, her dress brushing against his pants and in a moment of desperation, he takes a shaky hand up and tucks her hair behind her ear. (Name) doesn’t react, she had been gone and lost for a long time now. He doesn’t react in any way as he pretended, just for this very moment that the world wasn’t on fire.

He cups her face, thumb grazing across the cool, paleness of her cheek, “I’m so-” He chokes on his words yet again as tears filled his eyes, “-I’m so sorry, angel.” 

(Name) was still in his arms. She couldn’t hear him. His wet eyes glanced up one more time, memorizing the shape of her face, the feeling of her body close in his arms, and this stupid, and beautiful white dress she wore on every first time she shared with him, for the very last time.

His hand lifted towards the side of her temple. She didn’t seem to recognize anything and at that moment she looked so peaceful.

“Ti amo, (Name).”

Before he realized it, the affections he had for you were hidden in the layers of sitting next to you during meetings, shielding you with his body once the world became a battlefield, when his eyes unconsciously hunted for yours when he was in a room of people he didn’t recognize.

It only grew when your world got too loud, he would find you sitting on the floor of his room as your hands glided across the page when you began to draw. Those times were always filled with deafening silence, but you manage to make those moments sound pleasant when your pencil sketches lines and shadows of images that caught your attention.

On one occasion he decided to ask what it was you liked to draw. Your eyes would smile knowingly as it met his own and you’d just mutter, “Things I like…” It was always vague and he never understood it until he caught a page with images of those around you. Price with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Gaz out of uniform cradling a cat. Johnny sitting on the floor with a towel over his face after a run. Then himself. 

Most of your sketches of him were never finished, particularly his hands and his face. The images were there, his shape was there, his mask was there, but never his eyes or any indicator of the man behind the mask.

“Was it difficult to capture my likeness?”

Your hands stopped sketching the world outside and you’d nod slowly, the kind where you’d nod to appease the speaker than to speak your truth.

He’d press you further because he wanted to know and then you said, “If I draw you exactly. I might never see you again.”

He’d tilt his head, ask for you to elaborate and as usual you’d respond to him with typical vagueness that fell in line with poetry he didn’t really understand.

He should have asked you more about it then.

—

Simon knew above all that he was an imperfect, ugly, hypocritical man. He knew it when he woke up in the morning and washed his face and what stared back at him was the reflection of his father. He can’t bear the sight of his own face.

Yet he hated how you made him tolerate it. Made him learn to like it, even a little bit.

When he’d brush his hand across the scar that marred his face he’d close his eyes and imagine it was your fingers delicately tracing the shape of his skin while you poured his cup with the poison of your tenderness. 

He’d bring his hand over your own, squeezing softly as he’d bring his lips at the point of your wrist, grateful that you see him. Grateful that you could hold him longer than a second. Grateful that you could still look at him and still call him by his name without the ounce of bitterness that he looked the way he did.

He adored you so much it hurt to breathe when you were near, it hurt to be away from you knowing that when he’d glance at the corner where you’d draw, you weren’t there. It hurt to know that when he laid in bed he’d imagine that this flimsy pillow he pulled deep into his chest was you. He was pathetic when it came to you and always will be.

—

When his heart stilled at the realization of how much you complemented the days he spent with you he was star struck and so deathly afraid because he knew you realized it too.

You knew it and you liked him. You adored him. You loved him. 

You said it yourself.

You said it looking at him dead in the eye, his face in your hands as you drew on his skin with coloured markers. 

You said it on the cargo plane back to base with your face muddied with earth and dirt as you grinned at him.

You said it when you laid on his bed together with legs tangled between each other.

You said it when the car park was dark and your staggering footsteps trailed behind him when he forced himself to say goodbye.

Simon forced his gaze away from you as you ran after him. He forced every painful step he took forward and away from you because deep down inside he knows the moment he stops walking he will simply stay just for you. He forced himself to muddle those deep, honest words you spoke into twisted lies because he cannot allow himself to believe that for once in his ugly bloody life was he worth enough for someone like you to love him.

His chest stung when you wept behind him, begging for him to turn around to to simply just talk to you, and with every breath you took he simply kept moving forward. All you saw was the back of the man you thought you knew.

When the door slammed shut the sound of your cries stilled an echo within him and the muffled sound of your voice sounded like fingers pointing in his direction that said, that this happened because of you.

—

“Ghost…”

“I’ve got to go. Price needs to see me.” He didn’t spare a single glance in your direction and it stung.

“Ghost, please talk to me.” Your soft voice lulled him and he wanted to look at you, go down on his knees and apologize for making you cry, but he didn't. 

Rather he pushed past you, shoulders brushing against each other as he could hear your voice call for him again.

“What did I do?” You quicken your pace to match his, “Please just- tell me what I did wrong. I’ll fix it- I’ll be better! Just please stop ignoring me like this-” You say, hurried and out of breath, eyes begging to meet him and your gaze was never returned.

He arrives at Price’s office, door just within reach when you step in front of him, blocking his path and for once after weeks of trying to forget your face, your voice, your presence– his world returns to him only this time its a still frame of your reddening face and watery eyes and he can just feel how much he hurt you. How much he took from you that he knows he can never give back.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Simon.” His body stilled at the sound of his name. Your shaking hands nervously squeezed to a fist, like the way you used to when you first became a part of the taskforce or when you take on a mission you lacked the confidence of fulfilling.

“What did I do? Please just-” Your voice cracks, “I want to fix it. I want to just talk and at least be– friends again..”

He stood like a formidable wall, casting you in shadows from the bright, gleaming ceiling lights only this time, this wall wasn’t protecting you anymore.

“Fix your act sergeant.” Your breath hitches and as his heart claws itself inwards he pushes on, “Since when have I ever cared about you?” He bends down to your level and the hands that once cradled you with fondness became vines with thorns that prickle and poked into your skin that bled.

His hand itched to wipe your tears only he dropped them down on your shoulder, pushing you aside. “I’m not your friend, sergeant. You’re most certainly not mine either.”

It was too loud and the lights were hurting his eyes.

He opens the door to Price’s office and you grab his sleeve.

Simon forces a sigh and rips his arm away from you as she shuts the door behind him.

—

He squeezed his pillow tight into his chest, pretending everything was alright, that he didn’t turn away from you, that he didn’t make you cry, that he didn’t lie to your face that you meant nothing to him.

But he knows that the damage has been done.

You hate him. You need to hate him. You need to hate him so much that his blood is fire against his bones. You need to hate him enough to hate himself. You need to hate him enough that he believes the lies he feeds himself because any ounce of mercy from your kind eyes will melt any preservation he had to ensure he suffered for you.

What he did is the right choice. Simon can’t allow himself to be loved by you when he knows by the end of the game he will simply just hurt you and everything you have built together.

He will hurt you more being with him than being away from him.

He is fire against your still waters and he knows he will burn everything around him that the warmth you thought eased your soul was destruction in disguise.

He will hurt you, scar you, bite you, and burn you so deeply that the marks of how much he destroyed leaves a mark on your heart and you deserve so much better than his flames. You deserve someone who doesn’t ruin you when they stay. You deserve someone who can nurture you to grow to someone better than who you are now. You deserve someone who can make you happy. You deserve someone who isn’t him. Simon Riley, the scarred face bastard who was so scared to be loved by you that he pushed you away hoping you’d forget him forever.

Simon nuzzles his face into his pillow, pretending it's your shoulder and the memory of what was stung and comforted him.

This is for the best. Even if it hurts.

—

From then on the eyes that used to linger on him and his form disappeared. Now they gaze at someone else, someone far more charming, kinder, safer. Someone who eased the nervousness of your shaking hands before an operation. Someone who stopped at the sound of their name being called. Someone who wasn’t afraid to hold you and be loved by you so loudly that it deafened everything around you.

It relieved him so much that you were in the hands of someone who can properly cherish you without hurting you.

It relieved him enough to breathe like his ribs didn’t hurt him. It relieved him that when he walks down the hall he doesn’t hear you right behind him. It relieved him that he didn’t have to hear you sketching in his room late in the afternoon when your world got too loud. 

It relieved him so much not to be loved by you.