Don't Talk To Anyone | BOOK 2

nineteen

Elle McBriar
May 6th, 1 year and 163 days since the first zombie report

I woke up in a cold sweat.

I looked around, noticing that I'm alone.

I try to sit up but it hurts too much so I just lay there. I don't hear any noises coming from the house.

Maybe they've gone out. But they wouldn't leave me alone, right?

"Hello?" I called out, a croaky voice surprising me. When I hear no reply I begin to panic.

My skin feels hot and itchy as I reach up a hand to soothe my burning skin.

My stomach is exposed as I peer down at myself. I'm wearing a sports bra and shorts. Someone must've changed me.

"Somebody?" I cry.

I feel tears fall down my face as I close my eyes. Where is everyone? Why am I crying? I'm stronger than this!

I wiggle my toes and I almost cry at how grateful I am that I can feel both of my feet. At least nothings majorly wrong, right?

I need to sit up. I need to see where everyone is. I try my hardest, my core burning with every movement.

Collapsing to my knees, the same sensation I felt cane back.

Suddenly, I felt the metallic taste of blood come up my throat as I hurled it on the floor. Pure blood.

Disgusting.

I crawl across the floor, using the door frame to help myself stand.

Blood is dripping from my lips, sticky and warm.

I'm using everything I can to support myself. It's like roller skating, using walls and trees and people to help you stay balanced.

I cling to the walls, limping into every room. I glanced up at the stares, "Stupid stairs." I groaned.

I felt faint as I leaned against the wall. I'm so hot, why am I hot?

I get to the downstairs bathroom and basically die from heatstroke. Why the hell do I feel like I'm on fire?

Closing the door and placing my hands on the porcelain sink, I look up at myself.

Once again, I cry at the person in the mirror. I'm so ugly!

A black eye has swollen my eye shut, I have a bruised cheek, cut lip and eyebrow.

My life flashes before me as I try to blink away the memory of being punched in the face by Mason. Whom I killed.

Dang, I'm killing everyone.

My eye is sore to the touch as I gently dab my tears with toilet paper. But every time I look at myself I cry.

Why does Paxton love me? He could do so much better than someone ugly like me.

I know it's ridiculous to feel sorry for myself, but I can't deal with this.

I sit on the edge of the bathtub, my muscles relaxing as I sink further and further into myself, I feel like falling asleep.

"ELLE?" I hear my name being screamed.

You know when you're half asleep and someone says something and the. you're awake again? That's me right now.

"ELLE, WHERE ARE YOU?"

I jolt awake, wincing at the pain I just witnessed, "I-in here." I call out with all the strength I have.

The bathroom door is pushed open and my beautiful saviour and boyfriend Paxton steps in.