PLAYTHING

I woke up with a heavy weight on my waist. I opened one eye, weary of how close the hunter had come today, despite the pillow to the face from yesterday and my flailing kicks and punches from the day before. His hand was nestled easily across my hip, his eyes on my face.

“Move your hand, or lose it.”

His smile was feral, fiendish, like he was just daring me to take him on in a feat of strength. We both knew who'd win. I'd still put up a damn good fight, though.

“I said get your hand off me. Now.”

His smiled faded and his hand eased off me, but his eyes, clouded though they were, shined with mischief.

Great. Just what I wanted when I woke up- a playful zombie in my bed.

I rolled my eyes and crawled out from under the covers, my neck somewhat stiff. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move, as I slowly stood up and stretched my arms above my head. He sat up, positioning himself in a half-crouch, still on the bed.

His bare feet reminded me that I didn't have anything on my feet either. I walked to the dresser, my ankle still somewhat stiff from the twist, and took out a pair of socks. I sat on the edge of the bed, cramming my toes inside and pulling them as high as they could go. They stopped below my knees. Despite the fact that I was sitting there in a loose button-up shirt, boxer shorts, and knee-socks, I felt somewhat naked.

I stood up quickly, trying not to put too much pressure on my bum foot. “I'm going to raid the kitchen. I can't keep eating junk food forever.”

He hopped of the bed and opened the door to the rest of the apartment, bolting into the darkness.

I carefully groped around with my feet, hoping I didn't trip on something and fall face-first over an up-turned arm-chair. A table lamp flickered to life across the room, and I turned my head to watch the hunter remove his hand from under the lamp's shade. He leaped to the other side of the room and did the same.

The apartment was fairly small, with no divider between the kitchen and the living room.

It was also trashed. Claw-marks marred the refrigerator door in the kitchen. Two cupboard doors had been torn off their hinges, and another hung loosely by a single screw. Over half the drawers were missing, and I only spotted the remains of one on the floor. Across the, room, a coffee table was at an odd angle, two of its legs having been torn off. I could see one leg protruding from the middle of what once was a flat-screen TV.

“Why the hell would you do that to your TV?”

He ignored me.

I saw the screen door I'd been carried through, taking in a better view than what was limited to me in the bedroom. We were easily more than a few floors off the ground, and the lights from the city below flickered on and off like stars in the night sky.

I shuddered, reminding myself that I was all alone in the city.

The only living thing amongst a city of the damned.

I forced the lump in my throat down with a hard swallow, trying to banish such depressing thoughts from my head. I turned and made my way to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards, moving cans and boxes aside.

A few cans of soup, some canned fruits and veggies, ramen noodles; simple things littered the shelves above and below the countertop.

I tried my luck with the fridge, reminding myself that the apartment miraculously still had electricity. Milk two weeks passed its prime, mealy apples, shriveled carrots, something in Tupperware that looked as if it might bite were I to open the lid, old Chinese food in paper take-out boxes; nothing even remotely edible, or at least appetizing.

There wasn’t much to choose from. Not that I had expected a great deal in the first place. I settled on a can of peaches, popping the tab and pulling it open. Damn, I loved those pull-tab cans everyone was in the habit of making. Made my life so much easier, let me tell you. I didn’t bother with a fork. Instead, I drained a good half of the syrup out of the can and into the sink, washed my hands, and simply at the fruit with my fingers.

I heard whining behind me. The hunter was behind me, too close for comfort really, looking at the can of peaches I had already started to munch on.

“I’m not sharing. Do you want your own can?”

He tilted his head but didn’t move otherwise.

I pulled another can from the shelf, setting my already open one on the counter so I could open the one for him. I poured out some of the juice from his can down the sink as well, knowing that he wasn’t even going to think about using a fork.

He ate like I did: dipping his hand into the can and pulling out a slice of fruit, then dropping it in his mouth.

His version of eating was a hell of a lot messier, though. At least three peach slices ended up on the floor. I’m glad I’d drained some of the juice, too, because he managed to practically wash his face in it.

I finished my can a little after he’d finished his. I stole the washcloth hanging from the faucet and wet it. “Bend down.”

He was hesitant at first, apparently having suddenly remember the bath I’d forced on him yesterday.

“I’m going to wash your face.” I stuck the wet rag to his face before he could even try to hiss in protest, which I’m sure is what he was going to do. I scrubbed the front of his face a bit, wiping clean his skin of any trace of fruit juice.

No matter how used to him I became, it was still a little daunting when he stood so close. He was taller than I was, easily by a whole head, and he was at least half again as big. His face was framed by his square jaw and high cheek bones, and his eyes, despite the hair draped in front of them, were evenly shaped.

Not this bullshit again, Zoey.

I threw the washcloth into the sink and put the empty can on the counter, not really keen on hunting for a garbage can at the moment. The hunter followed my example, placing his own can next to mine.

The peaches just didn’t do it for me. I wanted something warm in my tummy. I dug back through the cupboard with the noodles, pulling out an unopened bag of the twisted egg noodles. I shuffled around through another few places, finding a small pot.

I turned to the hunter. “Go into the bedroom and get me two bottles of water, okay? I’ll cook us something.”

I didn’t have to tell him twice. I was surprised to find that I usually didn’t. He brought the bottles back for me, and I used a little water from one to clean out the pot. I emptied both bottles and then set the dish on the stove, fumbling for the knobs and cranking the right front burner as high as it could go.

It took a few minutes for the water to boil, and I passed the time by looking through the various drawers trying to locate silverware. I did find a strainer to eventually drain the noodles with, and a wooden spoon to stir it all with, but I was having no luck with silverware.

“Where the hell are all of your forks? I can’t find shit in this place. Half the damn drawers are gone. Looks like you had quite the temper tantrum.”

When the hunter didn’t offer any assistance by means of helping me locate the aforementioned silverware, I rolled my eyes and sighed. Fine, I’d eat the pasta with my damn fingers, and he could too.

I dumped the noodles into the pot when the water came to a boil.

I rested my hip against the counter, putting an elbow against the granite countertop as I leaned my chin on my palm. “Damn, this is boring. Don’t we have anything to do? A book to read; a magazine to page through; a deck of cards?”

The hunter leaned over my shoulder, looking at the boiling water, transfixed.

I’d take that as a no.

I waited for the noodles to soften, then drained them and plopped them back into the pot. No use dirtying more dishes, right? I waited a few minutes, cooling the hot noodles down by blowing and fanning them. I dug a few out with my fingers and was pleased with the texture.

He startled me when I realized his chin was almost close enough to rest on my shoulder. I shrugged him off and took a step back, causing him to take a step back as well. “Give me a minute,” I told him, stuffing a few more noodles in my mouth. “I’ll let you have your share, don’t worry.”

He stood next to me and watched me eat for the few minutes it took me to wolf down the food. When I felt full, I offered him the bowl. He stuck his hand in and groped around for a morsel, but was denied by his clumsy hands. The noodles slipped from his grip, and he quickly became frustrated. He hissed at the pot, as if he could scare it into giving him food.

I swatted his hand away, finally. I pulled a few noodles out and offered them to him. He accepted, his hand outstretched, but still had trouble getting the food to this mouth. A few of the noodles fell to the floor, like the peaches had.

“You can’t even feed yourself.” I sighed and brought out more noodles in my hand. Seeing no other available course of action, save for finding a damn funnel and shoving the noodles down his throat, I pressed the offering to his mouth.

He ate like he was starving. His consumption of what I’d cooked was almost greedy as he took mouthful after mouthful from my fingers. I pulled the last few noodles from the bottom of the pot and offered them to him, placing the empty vessel on the counter.

What happened next wasn’t at all what I was expecting.

He accepted the last bite, of course, but it quickly became apparent that I was for dessert.

His lips closed around the noodles and he chewed them only a few times, swallowing quickly. I went to pull my hand away, but his fingers pulled my wrist back toward his mouth.

My breath hitched as his lips closed around the tips of my index and middle finger. He pulled, almost gently, with his mouth. I felt his tongue caress my fingers.

I swallowed. Hard. My chest was suddenly so tight I felt as though I might pass out. I took a step backwards, but he moved with me, easily. I felt the edge of the countertop dig into my back, and I realized, with a great spike of panic in my chest, that he had me pinned by the hips against the wall.

He pulled my fingers from his mouth, turned my hand over so that my palm was facing him, and promptly laid a rough kiss in the middle of it.

I tried to open my mouth, tried to tell him to knock it off, but when he moved his lips to my wrist and began to bite at me, I lost all conscious thought.

His actions were both smooth and clumsy at the same time, though it sounds impossible. When he pressed his lips against a new part of skin on my bare arm, he’d bump his nose against another part. He was like a caged lion- he was all strength and power, and just when you thought you were in control, he would do something to let you know you had no sway over him.

My heart was pounding in my ears, and my head felt like a drum it was beating so loud.

He kissed and nipped and nuzzled his all the way up my arm, to the base of my neck, before I could even try to fathom what to do.

I remembered how pissed off I’d been when he had pinned me down in the office building and nipped and kissed at me. This shouldn’t have been any different, yet I couldn’t gather enough strength or anger to raise my fist and hit him again.

When he raked his teeth roughly against the underside of my neck, I shivered.

For no good reason, and for every bad one, I tilted my head up, allowing him better access to my throat. I was terrified by my own actions, but couldn’t stop myself.

He growled against me, planting his free hand firmly on my waist, pressing his hips against mine. Oh, dear God, what had I started?

I felt him nuzzle my neck with his nose. His lips eventually found my earlobe, and when he tugged at it and growled at the same time, I knew I was in way over my head.

“Stop.” It was a whisper. I wasn’t sure if even I could hear it, though it’d come out of my mouth.

But, sure enough, in the span of a breath, he was hissing and pulling away from me. He didn’t stay put, and instead b-lined straight for the sliding door. He swung it open and slammed it shut.

I stood there, alone in the kitchen, clutching my hands to my throat and shaking.

It was terrifying to think he’d stopped at all, but that’s what I realized exactly what kind of power I held over him. He may have been the caged lion, willing to kill me as soon as look at me, but so long as the cage was locked, he was at my mercy.

I guess I had the key to the only door.

I moved myself into the bedroom, not willing to take any chances on my now wobbling legs.

Fuck.

This wasn’t okay. Zombies didn’t do shit like this with humans. He was smart, I’d give him that, but just what kind of shit did he think he was pulling? He’d kidnapped me, brought me food and kept me alive, and tried to mack on me on several occasions. What was his deal?

It was almost an hour later when I heard the door open again.

I jumped at the sound. He stalked into the room shortly after, and plopped another armload of goodies at the foot of the bed.

Magazines; books; a deck of cards; a stuffed animal; he was handing me a peace offering. I’d complained about being bored.

It was weird to think he would go through the trouble of taking care of me at all.

It was weirder to think that he could, at any time, pin me down and have his way.

But he didn’t.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly why.

I looked up at him, awkwardly, as I reached for one of the magazines.

“Um, thanks.”

He stalked out of the room.