PLAYTHING

When I woke up, he was next to me again. I didn't flail like I had the day before, but I was still fairly pissed about the incident from last night and wasn't soon going to forget it. I took one of the pillows still left on the bed and smacked the hunter with it. Hard.

He woke up, startled, and rolled off the bed.

“Serves you right for trying to creep back up here with me. I'd have thought you learned your lesson last night.”

I watched him as he crouched next to the bed. His face was still obstructed by his hood, even at such close proximity. I vaguely wondered if I really wanted to see what his face looked like in the first place.

Something foul crept up to my nose and assaulted my sense of smell. I looked around, hoping he hadn't brought me another severed hand. I realized, with a sour stomach, that the smell was coming from me. I still had puke on me from the boomer, still the lingering smell from the smoker, and I had cuts and scrapes and dirt covering most of my skin. I didn't even want to think what I had stuck in my hair.

I looked at the hunter, my eyes narrowing.

“I want to get cleaned up. I want to shower. If you come into the bathroom while I'm in there, I'm going to kick your ass.”

He tilted his head.

I didn't know where my courage had come from, but I wasn't about to question it. I had elbowed the hunter good and hard against the side of the head last night – I'm sure I had a bruise – and I knew he wasn't going to soon forget it. For whatever reason, I was beginning to figure that, even though he kept trying to get into my pants, he wasn't going to hurt me. He'd made that clear last night when he had been decent enough to feed me. When I'd yelled at him to get out, he'd at least left me alone. Which meant that while my power over him was slight, I still had some.

Better than nothing.

I shifted to the side of the bed, opposite the hunter, and swung my legs down. My ankle was still screwed up as I couldn't put much weight on it yet, but I figured that because the pain wasn't all that great, the injury must have been minor. Most likely a twist, or a very minor sprain.

Still, I didn't think I'd be able to stand and shower with it the way it was. I'd just sit in the bath, then, and get clean that way. So long as I wasn't covered in vomit any longer, I didn't really give too much of a damn about the 'how.'

I flipped the switch in the bathroom, surprised to see the lighting still worked. The apartment complex must have had its own, private generator that, somehow, was still going. True, only one light bulb was functioning, but it was better than sitting in a bathtub in the dark.

Turning, I faced out into the bedroom. “You come in here and you're in big trouble, you got me? In fact, I want you out of the bedroom, too.”

The hunter, looking somewhat akin to a kicked puppy, stalked out of the bedroom. I didn't hear the sliding door open, so I knew he was still within the apartment complex, but I was nonetheless glad he was out of the room.

I pivoted on my good heel and limped back into the bathroom. Situating myself on the edge of the bathtub, I turned the knob labeled 'hot' next to the faucet as far as it could go. It took several minutes, but a rush of hot water finally poured from the spigot. Oh, thank God. One thing was going my way so far.

Letting the bathtub fill with water, I hobbled out of the bathroom door once more, looking toward the door that lead into the main room of the apartment. It was mostly dark past the door frame. The sound of sneakers pacing back and forth hit my ears. The hunter walked by the door, peeking inside when he saw me. He cocked his head to one side, then went back to whatever it was he had been occupying himself with before.

He might have lacked the ability to speak, but at least he listened well enough.

I pushed thoughts of him out of my mind and concentrated on my objective; the unopened box of Hostess powdered donuts that was situated next to the end of the bed. I snagged it, my small spark of joy in an otherwise dark room, and gimped back into the bathroom.

The bathtub was nearly full, so I slowed the raging faucet to a gentle stream and began to look through the cupboards.

Jackpot.

I found three clean towels, neatly folded, under the sink. I took two out, keeping the third for backup. I took the only good washcloth, however. Had to get clean somehow.

In the drawer nearest to the floor, I found several unopened boxes of generic bar soap. I grabbed two, thankful that whoever had lived in the apartment seemed to like keeping extras around. The next drawer up I found an unopened three-pack of toothbrushes. There wasn't any extra toothpaste, sadly, but I was at least happy to have scored this much.

I hopped back over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet. It hurt to take off the shoe on my swollen foot, but I had to admit that it felt better once my toes were free. I eased my socks off, too, wrinkling my nose at how dirty my feet were. My pants were the next step, followed by my ripped shirt until I was clad only in my bra and panties.

I sighed, taking note that even my undergarments were dirty. Man, I was going to have to wash my clothes by hand after this. I'd have to find a new shirt, too. Lame.

Whatever.

I got naked and eased myself into the too-hot bathwater. I knew I was going to be pastel pink afterward, but the water felt so good on my skin I wasn't too interested in thinking about what would happen when I got out.

I leaned over the rim of the tub and popped open the box of donuts. Oh, dear God- the sugar was intense on my tongue, the factory-made sponge cake suffocatingly puffy in my mouth.

It was heaven. Or at least what little I could find, given my situation.

I ate the whole damn box.

My conscious spoke up, afterward, scolding me for such an indulgence. I could hear the motherly voice in my head: 'Those damn things are going to go straight to your ass!'

Ah, let them. It had been worth it.

Opening one of the boxes of bar soap, I lathered up the washcloth and went to work. I scrubbed my skin until the bathwater was piss-warm and murky brown, then I drained the tub and began to fill it up again. I rinsed out the washcloth as best I could, lathered it up again and set to work once more.

I used the razor I found on the edge of the bathtub to shave my legs. I was clean, sure, but I wanted to feel nice, too.

There was dirt and dried blood under my nails. It was a bitch to get out, but I managed. I emptied the tub again, glad that the water was significantly less brown than before. I turned the faucet up, but didn't bother to plug the drain. I tore out the rubber-band and let my hair fall free, then shoved my head under the running water and scrubbed mercilessly at my scalp, draining half of what was left in the shampoo bottle on the shelf next to the tub.

Four times. I washed my hair four times.

I turned off the water after I had scrubbed my face, squeezing the excess water from my hair and listening to the sound it made as it the side of the tub.

I froze when I heard the sound of a door being pushed open.

He may have listened well, but he had one hell of an attention span.

I grabbed a towel and held it over me, my heart racing as I heard his sneakers slowly traverse the distance from the bedroom door the bathroom. His shadow blocked out the light from the window when he appeared in the doorway.

I flung the shampoo bottle at the door.

“Get the fuck out!”

I could hear him scrambling ass over elbow out of the way of the airborne bottle, his quick feet easily carrying him to the next room. Peering around the corner, I looked out of the door.

Needless to say, I was a little shocked to see a pile of clothes in the doorway.

I got out of the bath and reached for what was on the floor. A button-up shirt, a pair of boxer-shorts, and a mismatched pair of socks; he'd brought me something to wear.

Well, I felt a little bad about throwing the shampoo bottle so hard. But only a little.

I stood and dressed, pleased that the clothing had obviously been tucked away in a drawer somewhere. It still smelled like fabric softener, which was nothing more, really, than a hollow comfort I tried to ease my alienation with. Fabric softener reminded me of home, a place that I'd most likely never get to see again.

Well, I was clean at the least.

The hunter, however...

I limped into the doorway of the bedroom and called out.

“Hey!”

I heard the shuffling of feet. He poked his head around the corner, as if he were worried I'd throw something else at his head.

I picked up the shampoo bottle and looked down at it. Then, I turned my gaze to him.

“You smell. Let me give you a bath.”

His posture instantly sagged. If he were a dog, I'm sure his ears would have been flat against his head and his tail between his legs.

Like I gave a damn.

“I said you stink. In the tub, now.”

He sulked all the way to the bathroom.

“Hoodie. Off. Pronto.” I wasn't messing around. He stank like something awful, and was covered in filth. If I had to be stuck with him, I'd at least make sure he was partially clean.

His head faced down, as if he was looking at the shirt. He shifted uncomfortably, then tried to pull the hoodie up and over his head.

I should have realized it wasn't going to work.

He got stuck, his arms over his head. I heard him let out a deep snarl, twisting and turning. His anger was getting the better of him as I heard a seam in the shirt begin to snap.

I put my hand on his elbow and gripped the fabric. “Stop it. Let me help you.”

He stilled at my touch and let me ease the sweater off of him. For the first time, I saw what he looked like underneath the layer of shadows.

I had to remind my heart to beat.

It was both absolutely terrifying and completely enthralling to see the hunter without his hoodie on.

He looked...

He looked human.

His skin was paler than what one would consider normal – an almost sick, sallow color – and discolored in certain places. His hair was jet-black and cut short, though it covered his eyes, and his cheekbones were high. Angular nose, strong jaw, well muscled build -

Dammit, Zoey, stop eying him like a steak.

He turned his head toward the tub, curling a lip and flashing his teeth in an act of animalistic defiance.

“Quit being a baby.” I reached over and helped him pull the t-shirt up and over his head as well. “Can you manage the button on your pants?”

His hands dropped down as he fidgeted with the metal clasp. Obviously, it wasn't going to work. I swatted his hands away, unbuttoned and unzipped, then turned my back. “You can get the rest.”

I heard a ruffle of fabric, then a scuffle. He wasn't going to fall over, was he? I swear, he-

I was pressed against the counter with the hunter leaning against my back, his hands on either side of the sink to steady himself. I looked down, feeling out of place and rather awkward and instantly caught sight of the problem.

“Take your shoes off, stupid. You can't get your pants off with yours shoes still on.”

He was still a moment longer. I felt his breath exhale over the skin on my neck as he pulled away. A muffled growl and a few moments later and I knew he was free of his clothing.

Great. I was in a bathroom, alone with a naked zombie who wanted into my pants. My whole body went cold and clammy.

I held out the other clean towel behind me. “Cover yourself up with this, and climb into the tub.”

It was an understatement to say that I was relieved when I didn't feel him press up against me again and instead heard him situating himself in the bathtub. When the room fell silent I turned around and didn't waste any time: I turned the water spigot on, making sure it wasn't too hot, and lathered up the washcloth with the extra bar of soap I'd pulled from the drawer earlier.

I went right to work.

God, he was filthy. I didn't even bother plugging the drain. Instead, I reached over and turned the shower head on.

He hissed, obviously not pleased with my decision, but I wasn't going to take any of his bullshit. “I told you to quit being a baby. If you're going to be around me, you're not going to smell like shit anymore.”

His hissing stopped, but he tried to glower from under his soggy bangs.

It was a while before I got most of the dirt off of him. I was going to have to scrub the tub if I ever wanted to bathe in it again, but at least the pungent smell of dead, rotting ass had dissipated. I scrubbed his nails until they didn't look like he'd been playing in the mud any longer. They were still longer and thicker than a normal humans', but I guess I really wasn't expecting different. His hair was a bitch to clean because he kept trying to dodge out of my grasp. Once I told him to quit his bitch act, he stopped fidgeting so much.

I leaned back from my position on my knees, using the side of the tub to help myself stand. “You know, you're not so bad to look at when you're not covered in crap.”

I was trying to be nice, paying him a compliment because he had behaved fairly well under the warm spray of the shower.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say.

Or the right thing, depending on how you looked at it.

His lips curled up into a fiendish smile as he leaned toward me. By the time I had taken a step backwards, he had stood up.

The towel dropped to the floor.

I clutched the washcloth in my hand tightly, moving my gaze to anywhere his waist wasn't. I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very small.

His smile widened as he reached for me.

I froze, my heart in my mouth.

His hands went straight for the button-up shirt I was wearing. His clumsy fingers pawed at me, but he managed to get a good grip on the cloth before long. He pulled the top apart, sending two of the buttons flying across the room.

He had a thing for my boobs, apparently.

Which I really wasn't down with.

So, blood beginning to boil, I smacked him full across the face.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you pervert?” I twisted out of his grasp, holding my shirt closed with one hand. A few steps away I turned to throw the washcloth at him.

I hit him square in the face.

Two points.

“Get back in the tub and finish washing yourself.”

I walked out of the bathroom, red in the face and pissed as all hell.

It was a fluke that I noticed the dresser on the opposing side of the room had been ravaged through. I limped over and dug through the clothing, pulling another shirt from the drawer. Changing quickly, I fished around the drawers for a pair of pants hopefully large enough for the hunter to wear. I was still pissed, sure, but I wasn't about to let him roam around the apartment naked.

I found the largest pair of sweatpants I could, as well as a pair of boxers. It was strange, as I went through the drawers, that I only encountered clothing meant for man. Not that strange, I suppose, if whoever had been living here was a bachelor.

Pausing and stilling my hands, I realized that the apartment I was trapped in most likely belonged to the hunter before he had become infected. It would only make sense: he had taken me here, a place where, when he was human, he had felt safe and at home. I'd bet anything that the clothing I was wearing belonged to him. He was smarter than I gave him credit.

But he was still acting like a horny teenager.

Knowing I couldn't walk far with my ankle still screwed up, I hopped on my good foot and eased myself down on the bed. I balled up the boxers, then rolled them up in the sweatpants. Sticking my tongue out for effect, I tossed the wad of clothing into the bathroom's open door.

Another two points.

I heard the water shut off soon after. He'd most likely struggled with the faucet knobs, but I wasn't about to venture in again to help him.

“I threw some sweatpants and a pair of undergarments in there for you. Don't come out until you have them on, you hear?”

The rustle of cloth sounded.

Smart man. Zombie. Thing. I would have clocked him against the side of the head again had he come out of the bathroom in his birthday suit.

It was several minutes before I heard him emerge. I turned, pleased he'd figured out his pants. His feet and chest were still bare, but at least he didn't stink anymore.

He held something out for me. It was his hoodie.

It was also filthy.

I grimaced, holding my hand out and taking the article of clothing from him. “I'm not going to let you wear this thing. It's disgusting.”

He whined, a sound much like what I'd heard the other night.

I rolled my eyes. What a baby.

“Fine. I have to wash my own clothes anyway. I can wash this too, if you're going to pout about it.”

I stood and pushed past him. His face had lightened, and he followed me into the bathroom. Falling to my knees, I filled up the bathtub with warm water again, plugging the drain. I leaned forward, dumping his shirt as well as my clothing into the hot water. It took a while, armed only with bar soap and hot water, to get all of the stains and dirt and grime and filth off of our clothing, but I managed. My arms ached afterward; apparently, washing clothing by hand exerted muscles not used during daily life.

I found his wallet in his pants pocket. I placed it next to the bathtub, not wanting to get it wet.

I didn't notice he was leaning over me, peering curiously into the bathwater, until I moved and bumped into him. His chin was almost resting on my shoulder.

He was completely clueless about personal space, it seemed.

“It has to dry. Then you can wear it.”

I hung our clothing over the rail for the shower curtain. I hobbled back into the bedroom, hungry again. I sat down, then leaned over and procured a bag of Wheat-Thins from the pile, accompanied by another water bottle. He'd brought me quite a bit to munch on, but, aside from the water bottles, it was all junk food. I could snack on this, sure, but I wouldn't be able to go very long with only chips and powdered donuts in my stomach.

He sat opposite me on the bed, and held out his hand toward me.

I looked at him. “You want some?” I asked, stuffing a few of the crackers in my mouth.

He blinked at me, then looked at the box.

I'd take that as a yes.

I pulled out a handful for him, depositing the offering in his open palm. His skin was smoother than I recalled from the night before – perhaps the grime and dirt had made it feel calloused – and I turned away when I noticed I was staring at his bare chest.

I heard him crunch on the Wheat-Thins. I was probably going to have to shake off the covers, considering his hand-eye coordination. He couldn't even unbutton his own pants; why did I think he could eat cleanly on his own?

Dammit, Zoey- he wasn't a possibility. Even if he had the build of an athlete all of the high school girls creamed their panties fantasizing about. Just ignore him. Ignore his six-pack and toned arms. Ignore his strong neck and large shoulders. Ignore- oh, fuck it all to hell. I turned my back toward him, facing the window.

I felt him paw at my shoulder a few minuets later, holding out his empty hand and asking for more food.

I turned and faced him, after I'd pacified him with another handful of crackers, and forced myself to quit acting like an idiot. I was not one acting like a horny teenager- he was. Damned if I lose my self control because the zombie who nabbed me and was keeping me as a pet had a rockin' bod.

You know what, Zoey? Just shut up.

I focused on nothing, letting a cool calm overcome my mind, as he and I finished the box. “Go get you hoodie. I'll help you put it back on.”

He didn't need to be told twice. He hopped easily off the bed, disappeared into the bathroom, and brought his sweater back. I instructed him to put his arms over his head, and dressed him like an adult would a child. When the hoodie was situated in a position he liked, he reached back to pull the hood back up over his face.

I stopped him, placing my hand on his elbow and looking into his eyes. “It scares me when I can't see your face.”

It was the first time he'd looked me directly in the eyes. His eyes were a milky white, but I could see the faint outline of his iris. It gave me chills and made my breath hitch at the same time.

He lowered his hands, leaving his hood off.

My heart was beating like a damn drum in my ears, and I wasn't sure the exact reason.

“I have to use the restroom. Don't follow me in there, okay?”

I didn't look to see if he had acknowledged what I'd said; I just took off into the bathroom. I damned the broken door and its inability to close. I needed space – I needed air. I splashed some water from the faucet on my face.

My foot hit something. I looked down.

It was his wallet. I'd pulled it out of his pants when I'd been washing our clothing earlier. I picked it up, curious. I flipped it open and looked through it.

The damn thing was empty, save for half a Driver's License. I flipped over the card. All of the personal information had been chewed on, ripped apart, or rubbed off.

And saw his face.

When he was human.

His eyes were the most piercing blue I'd ever seen.

I heard the bed creak; he was getting up. I tossed the wallet back on the floor, stuffing the picture into the breast pocket of my shirt and began to shuffle toward the door.

When I entered the bedroom, he was on the edge of the bed, peering down at the pile of food he'd brought me. He picked up a bag of Fritos corn chips and handed it to me. I indulged him, opening the back and handing it back. It was strange, watching him eating. Sitting down, I positioned myself against the headboard.

I had only meant to close my eyes for a moment...