Dating in a Post-Zombie Apocalypse World
It was close to 3 am when we got back to his apartment, collapsing onto the couch. I lay back with my feet on the ground, feeling the multiple beers consumed throughout the night buzz through my body.
“Hey, want to get into the shower?” Jules looked over at me.
Fuck, so it’s going to be like this, huh. What was I expecting, coming back to his apartment? I guess I’m just not so good at the whole One Night Stand bit- I’d have been down to just sleepily talk until we dozed off, and grab breakfast sandwiches in the morning. But sex would be cool, too.
“I don’t know… I’m so tired…”
“I’m okay if you don’t want to. But don’t you think it’ll be fun?” Jules had on this innocent expression, with these undeniable puppy dog eyes. So. Fucking. Earnest. Sure, I was tired, but not that tired… I guess this was one of those ‘you only live once’ moments. “Sure?”
The next moments were a blur; the early morning hours and beer had come to their natural conclusion, and in that hazy state Jules and I made it into the shower. The lights were bright, the walls an unflattering sterile white, but I was too drunk to get in my head about any of my usual body insecurities. What came next, standing under the warm water, felt like an attack, a passionate affront of kissing and touching thrust onto me. These hickies are definitely going to leave a mark, I thought as he concentrated an inordinate amount of time and effort on my neck. But god, he was hot. He began guiding my head down to his penis, and I knelt, taking him into my mouth.
“You’re so sexy”, he moaned- reacting almost performatively loudly, I noted- and put his hands on the shower walls for support. Maybe this will be over sooner than I thought, I pondered, closing my eyes from the stinging spray of water. Suddenly, I could feel his knees growing weaker. He was slipping, a bit, and he seemed to be desperately holding his weight up with his arms, gripping at the shower walls. At first, I took this to mean that I gave incredible blow jobs, but I considered that maybe he was drunker than I thought. I stopped for a second, peering up at him and trying to blink the water out of my eyes.
“Are you okay? Jules?”
Jules didn’t respond. He kept slipping, trying to hold himself up, but the walls were slick. He fell onto his knees, and his eyes were wide, as if shocked, locked onto mine.
“Are you having a heart attack? What’s happening?”
Jules began convulsing violently, eyes bulging. “H-help…”, he managed to stammer out, foam beginning to form around his lips and escaping in flecks with his utterance.
“Oh shit, oh fuck.” I jumped out of the shower and dove into his bedroom for my cellphone. Dialing 911, I rushed back into the bathroom. He was still convulsing, his limbs spasming and his eyes rolling back into his head. Then- silence. He seemed to have passed out.
The 911 dispatcher picked up. “911, what’s your emergency?”.
“Um, my, um, this guy passed out after spasming for a few minutes.”
“Ma’am, I need you to exit the room immediately. Get out of the building, then tell me the address.”
“But what if he, like, chokes on his vomit or something? Is he going to be okay?”
“Ma’am, leave immediately. He could be turning as we speak. Leave now.”
I knew all that, of course. PSAs warning of this exact situation have played over the last few months until most people had probably memorized every line. This was textbook stuff- the foam at the mouth, the convulsing. Hell, I’d seen it myself back on the metro, when this all started. But, Jules was safe, he’d gotten checked recently, or at least he’d said so, and man, he was so beautiful.
I heard the tell-tale moan coming from the shower floor, where Jules had crumpled. “Ma’am?”, came the dispatcher’s urgent voice again. Another moan from the bathroom. I froze. I hate to admit it, but when push came to shove, I froze. His re-animated body began lifting itself up and out from the shower. I mean, to be fair, I really couldn’t believe that this could be happening. Jules said he was going to paint a portrait of me the next time we hung out, and I had many romantic aspirations riding on that promise.
“MA’AM”, the dispatcher yelled through the phone. I jumped into motion. Ignoring the dispatcher, I ran into the bedroom. My bag, where was my fucking bag?! I ran out into the living room. It was strewn by the front door- bingo. I pounced on it, panickily fishing until I found my newly purchased pepper spray. Thank god Kayla’s barrage of articles about sex predators and Tinder dates gone violent scared me into buying one. For good measure, I grabbed my keys. Key fist, baby.
Jules came lurching out of the bedroom, moaning. Even undead, that boy was handsome. I mean, I had never seen such nice abs in the flesh (now, in the dead flesh).
“I’m sorry, Jules. I really liked you.”
I pointed my pepper spray and deployed it in Jules’ direction. I discharged that spray right at him, and I didn’t let go, watching his grey, unseeing dead eyes go from grey to red under the firm stream of spray. While Jules- the zombie- did seem momentarily confused, and paused, he didn’t crumble to the floor, screaming (moaning, rather) in pain, as I had envisioned. Before I could dash out the front door, he had gained on me, reaching his arms out, grabbing at me, his oh-so kissable mouth gnashing towards my neck, his now painfully red eyes looking at me almost imploringly. I’m not proud to admit that I was definitely screaming at this point, yelling/crying expletives, or praying for my life, or something along those lines. I was desperately defending myself from those vying chompers as I tried to edge towards the front door, when he made a sudden, very strong lunge at my neck. I put my hands up, to buffer my neck, absolutely certain that this was the end: a bite mark to match that deep purple hickey he’d earlier left. I felt the jarring contact of his face into- Key fist. My keys were firmly lodged into his forehead, from which his thick, dead blood oozed dark red, inches from my face. Letting out one last (somewhat performative) moan, Jules- the zombie- slid to the floor.
Picking up my phone, which was strewn across the room, I asked “You still there?” “Yes. Are you okay?”, dispatcher lady asked incredulously. “Yup. Send in the clean-up crew.”
I took one last look. He was still rock-fucking-hard.