Love Bites ~ Craig of the Dead au ~ Tricia x Karen fan fiction [COMPLETE]

17

I quickly hide my hands behind my back and turn to face the masked woman. She's bloodier than she was before and her mask is torn on her left cheek.

"Did you look?" She growls, her face so close to mine I can smell the mask.

"Where?" I ask innocently.

"Don't play dumb with me. Sit back down with the others. It isn't your turn yet."

When I don't immediately move, the woman shoves me with so much force I topple over and almost fall on Henrietta. I quickly apologise and sit beside her with Karen on my other side, trying really hard to hide my untied hands.

Beside me, Karen is struggling to breathe. She isn't making any sounds but tears are streaming down her face like waterfalls, gathering at her chin and dropping down every few seconds. She doesn't look at me, but rests her head on my shoulder.

"It's time." The masked woman growls.

She yanks Karen to her feet and drags her towards the door.

"Trish!" My girlfriend cries, looking back at me helplessly.

"Please, she hasn't done anything to you!" I yell, "Let her go. Have me instead!"

The woman doesn't reply. With long, skinny fingers, she strokes Karen's tangled hair and hums quietly. It's not a particularly sinister tune but it still sends a shiver down my spine. Another finger attempts to slide through Karen's hair.

"No."

The woman tightly grabs Karen by the hair and tugs her out of the room, ignoring her cries of pain. A second before the door shuts, Karen cries out my name and gives me a heartbreaking, soul crushing look. The door slams shut. She's gone.

"Fuck!" I yell, slamming a fist on the wall.

I press my ear to the wall to try and listen in on their conversation, but I can't hear anything, not even a mumble. With a scream of anguish, I let myself fall backwards so I'm lying on the floor, staring into the darkness where the ceiling is. I try not to worry, but my mind betrays me, showing images of Karen being tortured, shot, or bitten by a zombie.

There's a shuffle, and then a hand awkwardly strokes my thigh.

"Is that your arm?" Henrietta asks.

"I'd say you're around an inch away from prodding me in the vagina, so no, that's not my arm." Despite the circumstances, a smile nearly cracks on my lips.

"Shit," the hand is quickly pulled away, "Sorry, I'm not good at this whole 'being comforting' thing. Nobody's ever needed me to comfort them before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Not even Lonnie."

The mention of Henrietta's friend causes an awkward silence. Neither of us know what to say, especially not me since I don't know what lonnie was like and whether she's still alive or not. It'd be a little insensitive to ask, so I stay quiet.

Something smashes loudly in the room beside us. I almost jump out of my skin.

"Jesus Christ." Henrietta curses.

"What the hell was that?" I ask, "it sounded like glass."

There's another smash, closely followed by a scream. Karen. She's in trouble.

"We need to help her. I can't just let her be hurt like this."

I jump to my feet and feel around for the door. My fingers curl around the knob and I pull.

"Fuck."

"What?" Henrietta asks.

"She's locked the fucking thing."

"Shit."

I sit back on the floor and put my head in my hands, holding back another scream.

Is she okay? Is she going to get out of this alive? I'm too scared to speak.

Suddenly, a waterfall of tears are flowing down my cheeks, my breath is hitched and I'm sobbing loudly. My fingers curl into fists and the sobs turn into screams. My throat burns, my eyes prickle and my fingernails break my skin. Blood drips down my palm, down my wrist.

"Hey," Henrietta's voice is somehow soft, unlike her shouty regular voice, "I can't tell you that it's okay and I can't tell you that Karen is going to be fine, but I can tell you that she's a great kid. She's smart, she's funny and she sticks up for you. I don't know how long you've been together, but you seem really close and... I hope she's gonna be alright."

I try to stop crying, but I can't. They're still cascading down my face at an insane rate, however my screams return to sobs and I unclench my fists.

"She reminds me a lot of Lonnie," she continues, "Lonnie was everyone's friend. She saw the best in everyone. We're total opposites, y'know? She'd always tell me off for being too sarcastic or tell me to lighten up if I was too literal. She did my art exam for me when I was feeling really stressed, which is a fucking ten hour exam. Only Lonnie would be nice enough to do that."

By now I've got control of my breathing, only letting out an occasional sob as I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands. It's weird how Henrietta is the one comforting me, when she's the meanest and most sarcastic of the group. If anything, she'd be the one to make me feel worse.

"When I had period cramps, she'd spend her allowance on my favourite chocolate and watch scary movies with me, even though she was terrified of them, or when I was struggling with a class, she'd make hundreds of revision cards and basically teach me the entire course by herself. She was like a mom, a sister and a best friend rolled into one," Henrietta pauses to chuckle, "we'd have sleepovers every weekend at her house because I didn't want to be with my family. Her room was my room, her mom was my mom. We even shared a bath one time because I didn't want to be alone. I miss her a lot."

"What happened to her?" I ask.

"The apocalypse happened on her birthday. We were watching her favourite Harry Potter movie at her house with her parents. They suddenly... went all crazy... it was horrible."

"Did they kill her?"

"No. Well, yes. I don't know. Her dad like... exploded, or something. The room was full of this awful gas so we started going outside onto the patio, but the door was locked and we couldn't see through the gas to find the keys so she..." Henrietta trails off.

"You don't have to tell me if you aren't comfortable."

"No. I have to come to terms with it. I've locked Lonnie away for too long. I have to tell someone," she takes a breath, then continues, "Lonnie threw herself at the window to break the glass. She would've been fine, but her mom grabbed her ankle and started dragging her back inside. Her throat got sliced on some glass on the doorframe. I couldn't do anything to stop it."

Henrietta gags, then throws up on the floor. I don't blame her, it sounds super traumatic.

"That sounds awful. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault," she sighs, "God, that reeks. I'm sorry for puking."

"You couldn't help it," I pause for a second, "did you love her?"

Henrietta gives a small laugh.

"She was my best friend. Of course I did."

Suddenly, there's a bang from next door.