PLAYTHING

I woke up, my head pounding like the floor at a heavy metal concert. My body ached, and my muscles protested when I tried to move.

God, what had I done? I felt like I had run a marathon, then gone ten rounds in a kick-boxing match. I opened my eyes and-

Oh, shit. Everything came rushing back at me. The night before ran through my brain in a matter of seconds as I realized just where I was.

And who was lying next to me.

I distinctly remember the hunter falling asleep at my feet. He was now pressed quite close against me, and I wasn't really okay with this shit.

So, taking a deep breath, I started to scream and flail around, punching and kicking and swearing until I felt my lungs would explode.

Yeah, that got him off the bed pretty damn quick. All my fear from the night before had transformed into fury as I continued to scream at him. I almost felt bad for him as I watched him trip over his own feet as he tried to edge away from me. Who was the one pissing themselves now?

My victory was short-lived. He stood and opened his mouth at me, hissing. Most likely pissed off that I had kicked him good and hard in the leg. Serves him right, the sly little bastard.

I shuddered, trying to calm my nerves.

Just what did he want with me, anyway? If his intentions had been purely sexual, he would have fucked me last night when he had the chance. Now, if he wanted near me, I'd fight tooth and nail to make sure he stayed at least arm's length away. I had been terrified before. As of the moment I opened my eyes, I was full of rage.

“Don't you hiss at me, you prick!”

He flinched when I yelled at him. His teeth gnashed together and he flexed his fingers, stooping slightly as if he wanted to jump. Still, he had stopped hissing.

I took a few seconds to look around the room, ignoring the hunter's restlessness. Screw him. If he wanted to jump at me again, I'd punch him in the God damned dick. I was beyond pissed off.

We were more than a few stories in the air as was made obvious by the fact that when I looked out the window of the bedroom, I could easily see the top of a few buildings through a few broken mini-blind panels. I wasn't sure how high up we were, exactly, but I'd easily assume more than four or five floors.

Meaning I couldn't jump out the window to escape.

Damn.

I looked to the other side of the room and saw a dimly lit bathroom. No windows. Fuck. I was hoping for a fire escape.

When I stopped to think about it, I had to pee like mad. My eyes shot back to the hunter. He hadn't moved since I'd looked away, but he'd closed his mouth. His hands were still opening and flexing closed and he was still crouched over a little bit. I looked to the bathroom again, then back to him.

Slowly, I scooted to the edge of the bed, being careful to keep my swollen ankle straight. My eyes never left his face. Took a deep breath and stood, keeping the weight off of my foot. “You'd better not follow me in here,” I growled as I backed into the bathroom. He stayed put, at least - for all I knew - until I was behind the bathroom door. The top hinge had been snapped off, making the door sit at a weird angle. I pushed on the back, but it wouldn't move to shut. Screw all of it. I dropped my pants, had my pee, and brought them back up as fast as I physically was capable of. The loudness of the toilet flushing startled me.

I edged back into the room.

The hunter was still near the corner, where I had previously banished him to. His neck was craned toward where I stood in the bathroom door. He almost looked curious. Almost.

At least he hadn't ventured into the bathroom when my pants were down. That's all that really mattered to me.

I hobbled my way back to the bed. The pain in my ankle was searing, but my now-empty-bladder was thanking me. I sat down, scrunching back up against the headboard.

My stomach let out a tremendous growl.

Shit. I hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon, a few hours before I'd been flung out of the window. I'd be embarrassed, but given my company I didn't feel it was warranted.

I glared at the hunter. “I don't suppose you have anything to feed me?”

He was still.

“Didn't think so. Great. Kidnapped by a zombie to be kept as a pet and eventually starved to death. Just what I always wanted.”

Sarcasm wasn't becoming, especially not with the venom I was spitting it with, but I really didn't give a damn. I was hungry, I was hurt, and I was pissed- to hell with the rest of the world.

He moved and I jumped. Awesome. I was pissed and twitchy.

At least I wasn't on the rag, too. That would have been super.

I peered after him as he disappeared down the hallway. I heard the sliding door open and shut, and I pondered the implication of the question I had asked him and just what he was doing. It wasn't as if he had understood me, right?

It was eerie alone. Really eerie.

The entire building was silent, no matter how I strained my ears. There wasn't much sound that filtered up from the streets, and I doubted there would be when we were so far up. I thought a moment about getting up and trying to escape out the front door of the apartment, but knew that, despite hating to admit it, I was helpless without a gun. The fear of being alone suddenly encased me when I heard a shrill scream echo up from the streets below. I felt alone. Bill, Francis, Louis- they had most likely made it out of the city, assumed I was dead, and-

The screen door opened and shut again. Damn, that was fast. Then again, hunters were some of the fastest things around. Not to mention agile. And dangerous. That didn't make me feel any better, given the situation; I was completely at his mercy.

He entered the room, and, on instinct, I flinched away from him when he neared the bed. His face was still obstructed by his hood, not to mention a massive amount of dirt and filth now that I considered it. I couldn't see his eyes. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to.

His hand came forth, something held in his skinny, clawed fingers. I looked down at what he presented me with.

It was a severed hand.

Still bleeding.

My body reacted instantly. I edged away from him, bothered by the fact that he'd presented me with dismembered hand.

“That's fucking gross,” I scolded.

He hissed and bared his teeth, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, taking the hand with him. I watched as he left, leaving the door to the bedroom wide open, though I couldn't see too far past the door frame.

It was several minutes before I heard him begin to move outside the door. Holding my breath as I heard him rustle around in the other room, I pondered what he was up to as I tried to force another urge to vomit down. Crunching. Scraping. Open close open close.

I heard him come nearer to the room before I saw him. He leaned down, over the end of the bed, unloading a large armful of crap onto the covers.

Slowly, I looked down to inspect what he'd dumped next to me.

Food.

Actual food.

Okay, it was junk food, but at least it was edible.

He wasn't sure if I ate meat, so he'd offered me the hand first. I did eat meat, just not human, infected or otherwise. Now, he was seeing if I could eat what was in the cupboards in the kitchen of the apartment.

Oh, holy fuck.

My head snapped back up and I looked into the shadows that hid his eyes.

“You understand me, don't you?”

I was awarded with a shrug in response.

My blood ran cold. Every nerve in my body screamed out in panic.

This shouldn't be happening. Zombies were soulless. Zombies were stupid.

Zombies didn't understand you, didn't offer you food when your stomach growled.

He pushed some of the containers and bags that littered the end of the bed toward me. His heavy grunt made me jump.

Zombies didn't tell you what to eat when you were too dumbfounded to even blink.

It. Wasn't. Fucking. Possible.

He crouched down next to me and pulled a bag of potato chips from the pile he'd gifted me with. He pressed it against my face, unexpectedly. I turned away from the cold feel of the bag on my skin.

I heard him make a distinct sound of agitation.

He bit down on a corner of the bag and ripped a huge chunk of the packaging off, spitting the plastic to the floor. Slices of fried potatoes hit the floor in a cacophony of crunching.

I just sat there, mouth hanging open like an idiot, staring at him.

I watched as he plunged a hand into the bag, pulled out a chip, and presented it to me, awkwardly.

I was shaking at this point, terrified that the being who sat before me wasn't completely vacant, like all others of his kind. It terrified me to think that there was still a spark of humanity left in him. Zombies weren't meant to be humanized- they were meant to be shot as survivors tried to escape their clutches. It was in all of the movies, all of the games.

Apparently, he wasn't a movie buff, and he must have not played any video games.

I felt something poke the corner of my mouth, and was surprised to see that it was the chip the hunter still held clumsily between his fingers. For lack of a better idea, I closed my lips around the chip and pulled it into my mouth.

It was salty.

Too salty.

But damn, it was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

I chewed and swallowed. This apparently pleased the hunter, as I was awarded with another chip, and another and another after I finished.

He kept feeding me as I began to shake.

I don't know when I started to cry, but he kept feeding me without so much as flinching. I'd finished nearly half of the chips before he put the torn bag down and procured a bottle of water from the assortment of goodies in the pile. I watched him stare at it, almost dumbly, for a moment, then take the cap in his mouth as he tried to open it.

When his attempts proved futile, though the bottle was severely gnawed on, he handed it to me. I had to reach out with both hands to grasp the bottle, as I was still shaking. I think I'd stopped crying, but I wasn't sure: my whole body felt numb. The cap was still sealed, so I figured there was nothing wrong with it.

I up-ended the water bottle and downed a good half of the liquid inside. It was cold, but damn good.

Pulling the bottle from my lips, I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. I was surprised to see the hunter fidgeting with something in his lap. Looking down, I saw that he was trying to open a candy bar wrapper. He tore at the plastic, like he had with the chip bag, and finally gave up, biting the wrapper and tearing the chocolate free.

He broke off a piece and, like he'd done with the chips, tried to coax me into eating it. I turned my head, effectively smearing chocolate across my cheek. I held out my hand, expectantly.

“I can feed myself.”

Either he was ignoring me, or he didn't care what I had said.

With his free hand, he grabbed my chin and tried to get me to face him.

I flinched at the sudden contact, jerking my head away.

He dropped the hand that had touched my face, unaffected by my reaction.

It almost looked like he was concentrating on something.

Still, I knew the spike in blood sugar the chocolate would provide me with would be only beneficial at this point. I opened my mouth.

He fed me the rest of the bar in pieces. When I finished, he reached for another but I held my hands up in front of me and shook my head. “I'm full.”

His gaze – or what I assumed be his gaze, as I could only really tell where his was general line of sight might be based off where his hood was facing – looked from the food, then back to me.

I ventured a guess and figured he was asking me if I was sure.

Communication with a zombie. This was getting freaky. Not that it had been normal before or anything.

“I'm full, really.”

I reached my hand up to wipe the chocolate from my cheek, but was startled when the hunter grabbed my wrist, stilling the motion. I jerked my hand toward me, trying to free my grip, but his fingers held strong.

When he pulled me toward him, I tried to push myself backward. When he leaned toward me, I found myself stuck between him and the headboard.

I turned my head and closed my eyes, fearing just what it was the hunter was about to do.

What happened next wasn't anything near to the horrible death I had anticipated. I think death would have been preferred.

He opened his mouth, leaned toward me, and licked the chocolate off my cheek.

I shuddered.

He only got more courageous. After the chocolate had been cleaned off of my face, I felt his other hand reach up and rest on my thigh.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

I felt him sigh against my cheek, then press his face against my neck. What was he- oh, God.

I was being nuzzled. By a zombie.

Not good.

I felt his teeth rake across the skin under my ear. I involuntarily shuddered again, my skin breaking out in goosebumps.

Apparently, he liked that. A lot. I felt his smile as he drug his lips across my earlobe.

I guess it hadn't crossed my mind that the shirt I was wearing still had a gaping hole down the front. I wish I had thought about it because one second I was busy trying to figure out what to do with the zombie nipping at my ear, and the next I found myself wondering how his hand had managed to find its way up my leg, across my stomach, and down my shirt. Thank God I was wearing a bra.

Okay, I'd had about enough. I hadn't even let my last boyfriend get this far.

I reached up with my free hand, twisted my arm a little bit, and – POW – elbowed the bastard in the side of the head.

Sure, he'd been thoughtful enough to feed me. That didn't mean I was going to let him mack on me, thanks.

He jumped off me after I'd hit him. He didn't hiss, like he had earlier when I'd flailed on him after waking up and finding him right next to me, but he did have the dignity to look a little dejected.

Which was a hell of a lot better than I was feeling.

“Get out!”

He looked to the door after I'd shouted at him, then back to me.

I took one of the pillows from off the bed and, holding my shirt closed with one hand, threw it at him.

He dodged it easily enough, but got the message and scampered out of the room.

I fell against the covers, bringing them up and over me, knocking a few containers of food onto the floor in the process. My heart was beating in my ears, loud and clear. I tried to get control of my breathing pattern, but I wasn't doing very well.

Great. I was stuck in an apartment with no gun, a bum foot, and a zombie who apparently wanted to screw me. I didn't see how my situation could get any better.