My Zombie Honeymoon: Love in the Age of Zombies Book One (33 page)

Other times she seems almost manic, and absolutely crazy about me. The past three days she’s had to have me seven times. Her shifting moods keep me constantly guessing what’s going on with her. So I try to surreptitiously watch her, gauge her emotions, check her body language. I’m observing her.

I hate to keep my eye on her. I hate to check up on her. I hate to doubt her. But what can I do when she’s acting so odd? I’ve known her for five months and have never seen her like this. There has to be a reason for her change in behavior. Unless I managed to fall in love with someone who has cyclic mood changes, and she’s entering a dark phase. If that’s true, I can deal with it. I just want to know how to prepare myself.

These thoughts are akin to the feelings I had when I freaked out about Wayne, and they’re putting me in a bad mood—which puts her in a bad mood. We’re not exactly fighting, but we’re not quite the bosom buddies we were not so long ago. We still have sex but sometimes days go by without no interest on her part. She also seems to be getting more self-conscious, not letting me see her naked. She keeps her top on during sex unless it’s completely dark. Is she slipping back into her old habit of being ashamed of her body? Doesn’t she know I love her the way she is? She keeps saying her nipples are super sensitive and doesn’t want me to touch her breasts. For a guy like me, that’s very frustrating. Why are they so sensitive? It’s not from me playing with them! Is she using nipple sensitivity as an excuse to hide her body from me? So she’s gained a few pounds. We’re stuck in a basement during winter with very little exercise. It doesn’t bother me. If that’s not it, what is it? Once again I wonder if somehow there’s a real or imaginary guy she’s thinking about and bothered by.  I’m paranoid that when she’s in bed with me, she’s thinking of him—whomever ‘him’ is. Maybe she’s saving her breasts for him.

In the old days I could have followed her, or checked her cell phone records, or rigged up a key logger. Now I can’t do anything but suspect, and suspicion makes my stomach hurt. Which puts me in a bad mood. Which puts her in a bad mood. Which makes me wonder why she’s in a bad mood. Sigh.

February 18
th

When I went to bed last night, it was raining. Overnight the temperatures dropped to just below freezing, and I awoke to a full-fledged ice storm. A layer of ice about a quarter inch thick covered everything. The trees, bushes, mailboxes, cars . . . and zombies. A few had wandered near during the recent warm spell and we hadn’t gotten around to clearing them.

One was particularly close, just at the end of the driveway. It used to be a man, somewhere between thirty and seventy. Its skin is so sallow it’s hard to tell the age; much of his hair is missing, especially on one side. What hair remained was matted down, stiff with ice and wet with the continuing drizzle. Ice had encased the eyes in their sockets. Icicles had formed and were dripping off its nose, chin and ears. Just like all the other zombies, its body was completely encased in ice. The mouth gaped open obscenely, but even it was iced over, the glazed and frozen tongue protruding from one side of the jaw.

Being incased in ice made them look more like statues than ever. And it appeared to stop them from moving, as they stood stock still for hours. Occasionally one would manage to move slightly, and the ice encasing it would fall off and shatter as it hit the ground, the shards scattering across the surface of the snow for many feet. It made an odd rattling sound every time it happened. I saw two of them move slightly and then fall over as the ice on one side of their bodies fell off.

I took advantage of the situation to eliminate as many as I could. Between the physical exertion, the cold, and the rain, I was exhausted when I finished. It’s harder to chop their necks or heads through the layer of ice. When I was finished, I stood by the door, breathing hard, looking up and down the street. There were no more standing. But the rain was mixed with snow as the temperatures began a slow decline, and over the next couple of hours the rain slowly transitioned completely to snow. One of those heavy snows where nearby Blue Spruce trees, obscured by falling snow, turn the very lightest shade of bluish-gray against a slightly lighter shade of gray.

There was very little wind, so the snow fell nearly straight down. By dusk, I’d say three inches had fallen, enough to cover everything completely, including fallen zombies. Then the snowstorm blew past us to the east and the western sky cleared to a brilliant blue just after sunset. The waning colors of dusk bathed the land in shades of blue and salmon against the white of the snow. All the while, snowflakes were still falling from the cloudbank to the east. I headed downstairs and talked Michelle into joining me outside. When we exited the house and turned to look at the surrounding landscape, Michelle gasped. It was impossibly beautiful. It looked like a Thomas Kinkade painting. All the world was covered in a three-inch blanket of snow reflecting the colors of the sky. It looked pure, clean, virginal. It felt innocent. Sparkles gleamed from the ice just underneath the white of the snow. As we stood looking, a tree branch across the street ripped free of the trunk and went crashing to the ground in a muffled
thump!

Looking at Michelle, seeing all the colors of the landscape reflected in her eyes while her auburn hair became flecked with snowflakes, caused me to be momentarily free of my paranoia, and the unfamiliar freedom brought a rushing euphoric release of emotion. With a laugh I abruptly ran and jumped into the yard.  I jumped through the layer of snow and onto the ice where I promptly fell over. It was nearly impossible to walk, and when I slipped and fell the second time, I learned the crusty layer of snow just above the ice is
sharp!
I broke my fall with my right hand, which of course went through the snow and then through the layer of crusty ice, getting bloodied in the process. Nothing serious, of course, but I never enjoy seeing crimson red against virginal white. Not when it’s my blood.

I made my way back to her and together we stood near the door for a few minutes, looking at the trees dripping icicles and covered with snow. For the first time in quite a while, we could hear noise in the distance—in this case, the sound of trees falling over and branches breaking under the weight of the ice and snow. There would be a snap and then a rumble as the heavy branches thumped to the ground. I packed some snow around my hand to slow or stop the bleeding.

Michelle looked lovely, in a way I never thought I’d describe someone: beatific. She was stunning. It wasn’t her clothes or the way she’d fixed her hair or her make-up. It was her face. Her cheeks were all rosy from the chill February air. Her skin was relaxed and healthy. Seeing her brought to mind another cliché I’d never actually applied to someone: peaches and cream. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Her beauty surpassed that of the gorgeous sunset. A thought occurred to me; I turned to her and said “Stay still.” Then I proceeded to unzip her coat and remove it before I unbuttoned her blouse, starting with the top button. She rarely wears a bra these days, so when I opened her blouse I was treated to the lovely sight of her breasts and hardening nipples.

“Kevin, what are you
doing
?!” she asked me with a slight edge in her voice.

“Making art,” I replied, “stay here for a minute. Please.”

She sighed and said okay, so I rushed down stairs to get my camera. When I came back outside, I snapped a few shots of her upper torso, white flakes of snow landing on her open dark blue blouse. The snow landing on her breasts melted, droplets forming in their place. I took a few photos of the flakes of snow, then reached over and took her blouse off entirely. Maybe it was the snow, maybe my state of arousal, maybe the time of month—but her breasts looked larger than I remembered. I didn’t mind that at all! “Kevin! It’s
freezing
out here!” she complained.

“It’s just for a minute,” I begged, then circled her, snapping as many photos as I could. The snow in the background, now barely hued as dusk fell, brought out the warm color of her flesh, and made her dark areola stand out even more. I took a few shots highlighting her face, but my favorite shots were the few I captured of her nipples just as flakes landed on them. The close-ups look spectacular. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a photo of nipples with snowflakes on them, and the ephemeral nature of the images made the photos even more wonderful.

I took a few dozen quick shots before Michelle said, “Okay, mister, enough’s enough. I’m
freezing!”
She grabbed her clothes and headed back into the house. Naturally, I followed the beautiful topless woman like a puppy with his tail wagging. Watching her tail wagging. Once we got back downstairs, I showed her some of the photos and she had to admit she liked them too. Looking at the photos together was arousing for both of us. We spent the next hour in bed, although she wouldn’t let me touch her breasts much, saying they’re too sore.

Snowflakes on Nipples

The snow falls
in the cold December air

I open her blouse
to reveal her breasts

her nipples harden
unmolested

until

a flake
and another,
and then again

lands on her breast
 

hesitates
 

then melts into a small
droplet
resting on her areola.

They say
no two are alike

February 25
th

We were snuggling on the sofa, in the midst of post-oral sex bliss. Or at least I was, since I was the sole recipient this time. I was very content, in a half-stoned, half-energized bliss only Michelle has ever evoked in me simply through the use of her mouth.

She was topless—I like her topless when she goes down on me, it makes it even more exciting—and she leaned her head against my chest. I had a shirt on, but it was unbuttoned and she was running her fingers through my chest hair. I’m glad she likes my chest hair—if she was one of those girls who only liked men whose chests were bald it’d be a pain.

My leg was propped up on a pillow. Every now and then it aches, especially if I’ve been outside in the cold too long. I try to keep it elevated when I’m not on my feet.

I thought Michelle was also in a state of bliss until I felt something warm and wet drip onto my chest. About the same time, I heard her sniffle. In my ignorance, or bliss, or whatever, I thought,
She’s so happy, she’s crying!
This illusion was shattered when I put my hand under her chin and pulled it up to look in her eyes. What I saw in her eyes was far from bliss.

“What are you crying about?” I asked, feeling the stirring of alarm.

She looked away from my eyes. Hmm.

“I’m kind of afraid to tell you,” she replied after a minute.

My paranoia kicked in big time.
Here it comes,
I thought,
she’s going to admit she’s been talking with Wayne and thinks about him all the time. That’s why she hid his photos upstairs. Or she’s going to tell me she found someone else via the radio.

Despite the instant ache in my heart and the painful way my stomach lurched, I managed to calmly say, “C’mon, Hon, you know you can tell me anything. No secrets, right?”

She sighed and said, “It’s not like I could keep this from you anyway.” She sat up on the couch with a resigned look on her face.

My paranoid heart said,
See, what’d I tell you. Here it comes.

“Keep what from me?” I managed to say. And, being the knucklehead I am, I blundered forward, straight into yet another quagmire caused by my own insecurities or scars or well-earned lessons in abandonment. “Are you going to tell me why you hid the photos of Wayne upstairs?”

She sat up straight and said, “What?”

“The photos. The ones of you and Wayne. I found them upstairs. You didn’t hide them very well.”

Michelle moved back on the sofa, away from me.

“Kevin, please. I really don’t need this right now. You’re not making it any easier.”

Oh, so I’m supposed to make it easier for her to tell me she loves someone else?
I thought. I was cognitively aware I was slipping once again into thought patterns bound to cause problems, but I wasn’t able to control them. So I did the next best thing; I kept my fool mouth shut. After a few minutes, I said, “I’m sorry, please tell me what you’re crying about.”

Michelle looked away from me again and said, “I’m so afraid to tell you. I mean, you get jealous of stupid stuff, like those photos of me and Wayne. I didn’t hide them from you. That was an ugly accusation. I put them in the dishwasher because that’s where we put trash.”

My paranoid delusion had no response. It was true. The sane part of me just said,
See?

“I’m afraid to tell you because I don’t know how you’re going to react. The last time I had this talk, things didn’t exactly work out.”

“What didn’t work out?”

“Do you remember when I told you about Wayne getting a job offer and walking out on me? That was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I was afraid to tell you everything.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Now I was confused and concerned. Part of me was completely flummoxed, the other part was prepared for the worst. She was about to change everything.

“He did walk out on me. But it wasn’t because of the job offer. He walked out on me because he didn’t want to be a father.”

“Why would he walk out on you because of that? I don’t understand.”

She was crying a lot now, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, and while giving the appearance of control she still wouldn’t look at me. When she spoke, there was a slight edge of anger or exasperation in her voice. “Sometimes men are such blockheads. He walked out on me because
he didn’t want to be a father
. And I had just told him he was going to be one.”

She was right. Sometimes men are blockheads. I was still confused, still didn’t get it. What was her point? “So what are you saying? That you and Wayne had a baby? That you’re a mom? Or what?”

She looked at me, and with absolutely no humor in her red-rimmed eyes, she said, “You can really be such a dope. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d run away. If there was someplace to go. No, I didn’t have his baby.” She looked down. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her face was flushed and swollen from crying. Her hands were in her lap, and they were fidgeting with each other. “I’m afraid to tell you because I’m afraid you’ll react like Wayne did. And I don’t know what I’d do.”

Suddenly I figured it out. It was like a blindfold being taken off.

“Michelle, are you trying to tell me . . . that . . .”

Tears streaming down her cheeks, with a look of stress, fear, and angst she glanced into my eyes and blurted out, “Wayne walked out on me because I told him I was pregnant. He tried to talk me into an abortion, but I said no. I wanted the baby, and I wanted Wayne to want it too, but he didn’t. We fought about it and he left. He didn’t come home that night.”

“I was upset, and ended up driving to my folks’ house the next day. They weren’t expecting me, and even though they could tell something was up, they didn’t ask. I spent most of a week with them. My dad seemed especially worried about me, and made sure to keep me company much of the time. But I wasn’t able to talk about it for a few days. They finally sat me down and made me talk. I told them everything. They didn’t know I was living with Wayne, so I had to tell them. Then I told them I was pregnant and he walked out on me. They hugged me and we all cried and for a few hours things felt better. But then after I went to bed, I heard them arguing. My mom was very upset and Dad was trying to reason with her.”

Michelle went on, a leaden look in her eyes. “My mom was saying some pretty ugly things about me. I couldn’t take it. The things she was saying—some were outright lies! She told my dad I’d been pregnant before and had an abortion! Kevin, that’s a lie!” She now had a pleading look in her eyes.

“Kevin, you have to believe me! I never got pregnant before! I never had an abortion! Why would she say that? It’s like she was trying to turn my dad against me!” She sighed, soft and long. “It wasn’t the first time she’d been cruel. Dad never knew how things were when he wasn’t around, and being a doctor meant he wasn’t around plenty. When he wasn’t there, Mom used to hit me. When I was old enough, and stronger than her, she went to hit me but I grabbed her wrist and twisted it, hard, and said “You will
never
hit me again!” And she didn’t. She just changed her tactics, and became manipulative. She had me convinced I was worthless, would never amount to anything, and should leave all the thinking to her. I usually did—it was easier than fighting. And losing.”

“A smart girl like you? Why would she—“

“Please let me finish,” she begged, “let me get it over with!” She paused and then continued. “But even though she’d been mean, I’d never known her to try to turn someone against me. I just thought she didn’t like me. Hearing her words, I felt betrayed. I thought back on my childhood. We were a close family. We used to go on vacation to incredible places. We used to go skiing in Colorado, we went to Hawaii once . . . but when I stood up to my mom, things changed. She turned on me. I’d caught a few glimpses of it in the past, but this was full-on distortion. So when I heard her saying such terrible lies about me, I packed up my things in the middle of the night and left without saying goodbye. I drove back to our apartment. Dad tried to call me a few times over the next week, but I wouldn’t answer. I never heard from my mom. During the week I was gone, Wayne moved his stuff out of the apartment. He really did get a job offer in Chicago, and he really did walk out on me. I didn’t lie to you. I’ve never lied to you.”

I was awash in conflicting thoughts and emotions. Part of me was processing the awful story she was telling me, feeling very badly for what she had gone through. I couldn’t imagine my parents turning against me, and I couldn’t imagine
any
mother lying about her daughter to turn her own family against her! For Wayne to walk out on her at the same time,
while
she was pregnant with his child . . . geez. That could really mess someone up.

The other part of me was thinking
Is she trying to tell me she’s pregnant? How do I feel if she is?

I knew it was hard for her to tell me these things. No wonder she hadn’t told me before. It was emotionally wrenching for her to even remember what happened.
(is she pregnant?)

“I was lucky, I had some very supportive friends from church. One of them moved in with me. None of them knew I was pregnant, they just thought Wayne had moved out and I was heartbroken. A few of my friends had gotten abortions, and I didn’t want them to try to talk me into having one, so I kept my pregnancy a secret. I started going to the clinic, started taking pre-natal vitamins, the whole bit. I was still mourning about Wayne, but I was excited about the baby. I hadn’t deliberately chosen my situation, but was going to make the best of it.”

She paused for a long minute. I was watching her eyes, seeing her pupils dilate and then contract. Her memories were being played out in her mind’s eye.

“Then one weekend when I was about six weeks along, while my roommate was out of town I started spotting. And I had a few mild cramps. I don’t know why. I woke up in the middle of the night cramping badly. I had started bleeding but didn’t know it. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. I lost the baby. I should have gone to the hospital, but I didn’t really have anyone to take me. I still felt like it was this big secret I had to hide. In the morning, I stopped cramping and stopped bleeding. I made it to the clinic and they made me spend the night. I was anemic. They told me the baby was gone.”

Damn.
(is she pregnant?)

“So I lost my boyfriend, my parents, and my baby, all in about a month. When I ran into friends, they acted surprised to see me. Mom had started telling people I’d gotten into drugs and was pregnant by a man who abused and controlled me. She said they tried to talk sense into me but I wouldn’t listen and refused to have anything to do with them. I told them I had no idea why she was saying those things. I told them I lived in an apartment with a girlfriend, that I wasn’t pregnant and wasn’t even dating anyone. They could sense I was telling the truth, which left them not knowing what to think. I went home and thought about it. My mom was telling people lies about me. She made it sound like she was a loving mother who was grieving over her lost daughter. She made it all my fault. My own mother, trying to turn people against me.”

“That’s awful, Michelle!” I reached out and took her hand. It was clammy. “What did you do?” I asked.
(is she pregnant?)

“Remember the movie
Sleepless in Seattle?
There’s a scene in there where the Tom Hanks character says something like,
I made myself get out of bed in the morning. I reminded myself to breathe in and out. After a while I didn’t have to remind myself to breathe. After a while I didn’t have to force myself to get out of bed.
That’s what I did. Eventually I stopped fixating on how I’d screwed up so badly. I started trying to pull myself together, and after about a year of licking my wounds, I started nursing school and graduated with good grades. I’d like to think my dad was proud of me, but I never heard from him. I’ve been a nurse for years and had just accepted a job offer from St. Joseph’s. That’s what brought me here.”

I was trying to think of something to say—something like, ‘I’m glad you did,’ or ‘Thank God!’ or something, but it all sounded trite and trivial. Before I could figure anything out, she looked at me with fear in her eyes and whispered,

“
Kevin, I’m pregnant.”

I sat there, staring at her. I felt like my brain was rebooting. Or maybe it wasn’t—maybe it was stuck at a DOS prompt. Or maybe I’d just experienced a mental BSOD. My mouth was probably hanging open.

That’s when my doubts disappeared and my feelings coalesced. I knew how I felt. “You’re pregnant. With my baby.” Her eyes instantly took on a hard light. I saw a fire in them that stopped me in my tracks. I realized she thought I was questioning whether or not it was mine. I may have periods of paranoid delusional jealousy, but I’m not that far gone. Of course it was mine. Duh. I inched my way across the sofa and put my arms around her. At first she struggled, as if trying to protect herself. But when I started trying to kiss her, she stopped fighting. “Michelle, I’m so sorry all the bad stuff happened to you. I’m sorry your mom betrayed you. I’m sorry Wayne walked out on you. Well, no, I guess I’m not sorry about that, but I’m sorry he hurt you so badly. But
sweetheart
,” I whispered, bringing my lips up to her ears, “I’m not Wayne. I’m not going to walk out on you. I’m not upset you’re pregnant. In fact, I’m
thrilled
!” I leaned back away from her, grabbing her hands with mine in the process. I wanted her to see the look in my eyes. “Meeting and falling in love with you is the best thing that ever happened to me. Your being pregnant is a close second.” As I said this, my face lit up in a smile. “I can’t believe you’re pregnant! This is great news! Here, feel my heart!” I placed her hand on my chest, much as she had done to me oh-so-long ago. “Feel how fast it’s beating? That’s because I’m very, very happy. I’m thrilled you’re pregnant! I never thought I’d hear . . .” Now7 it was my turn to get choked up. My eyes were brimming. I leaned in to hug her and felt her arms encircle me. “I thought you were going to tell me something bad, like you had a disease, or you didn’t love me, or you wanted me to sell Amway. I never even considered you might be pregnant! But, my God! I’m going to be a daddy! With our baby! I love you so much!”