Warm Bodies: The Little Brown Bear

The Thin Man

Screaming, R launched himself up from his bed, arm thrust out to push the girl away, his heart hammering a panicked rhythm.

But she wasn't there. Nothing was there. Just his ghostly hand, illuminated in the pale light from an outside streetlamp, against the bare wall of his room.

Holy FUCK.

As the nightmare slowly fell away from him, drawing the adrenalin from his body and leaving him drained, he drew his legs in and sat there, forehead pressed against his knees.

Jesus Christ.

"Again?" came a soft, groggy voice at his side, and a warm hand pressed gently against his bare back.

Julie.

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay. But R... that's like, the third night now?"

Nodding again, he turned to look down at her. She'd propped herself up on one elbow and was blinking up at him as she rubbed her eyes. Her blonde hair fell back from her throat and shoulder as she did so, exposing naked skin.

Shit.

Normally he'd be all over that skin, her throat was a total turn on for him. But not tonight. Not after that. It was too much.

He quickly turned and twisted off the bed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice rising in worry.

Nodding again, he shrugged into his clothes, pulled on a jacket and headed to the door.

Managing a small smile, he turned back to her. "I just need some air, I'll be back soon. Go back to sleep."

Julie frowned, but nodded. "Okay." A small sigh left her. "R... are you going to tell me what it's about?"

"I can't... not right now," he answered honestly, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him without waiting for a reply.

The hallway was empty, but that wasn't a surprise. He hadn't look at the clock before he left, but he figured it was probably around two in the morning. That'd been the case the past two nights he'd had the nightmare, so why would it be any different tonight?

Fucking dream.

God, if only it was just a dream. Completely fabricated, completely made up. Just his mind doing stupid shit with the weirdness of the day.

Then he could tell Julie.

But he couldn't.

Because it was real.

As his stomach twisted in on itself with his thoughts, he picked up his pace, skipping quickly down the stairs, and out the double doors of the apartment complex into the chilly night.

The air embraced him like a ghost as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the cold seeping quickly through his jeans, and the jacket he'd thrown on, a little too thin for this time of the year. It didn't matter. It felt good to feel the sharp bite of winter. It'd been the first one he'd felt in eight years after all.

R turned to his left and started walking, down a dark street framed by looming, empty skyscrapers. No destination in mind, just wanting to move, get away from the memories. It didn't work.

It'd been going on winter all those years ago when he'd wandered as a lost corpse and found that bench in the park, had sat there listening to the music that had enveloped him for days, since he'd left the airport. Since he'd lost his family. He hadn't known that then. Hadn't understood what he was doing. Where he was. Why he was. He'd been sitting on that bench for an entire day, surrounded by dead things, knowing he desperately needed something, but too distracted by music to care. Something in him had been whispering, commanding him to act, to search, to find. But the music drove it away and it had grown quiet, dormant.