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Three days. It had been three days since Brian left his apartment last, and even longer since he’d been to any of his classes.
He knew he was having another one of his depressive episodes, but there wasn’t much he could do to muster the energy to get out of it.
So he continued to lay in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. His phone had been buzzing non stop since school ended for the day, it was obviously his friends trying to get in touch with him again. They’d started texting him the first day he missed class, and he’d read their messages from time to time, but he just didn’t have the energy to reply.
His stomach grumbled, and Brian looked across the room at his fridge. He didn’t really eat much in the first place, being dead and all, but it had been a hot minute since he last ate anything, even by his standards.
After he took the time to mentally prepare himself, Brian swung his legs over the edge of his bed and sat up. The beer cans littered across his floor clinked as he knocked them over. Oh yeah, and he’d been drinking beer like it was water. He reached down and tossed one into the waste bin by his bed.
With a grunt, he pushed himself out of bed and ambled towards the kitchen. ‘So much for the night of the living dead..’ he thought to himself, opening the fridge and stooping down to peer in.
Leftover spaghetti, expired orange juice, half-empty condiments, far too many beer cans, and some wilting bok choy. Not great, but he had been picking bits and pieces out of there for a while, and hadn’t been able to go shopping.
Instead, he poured himself a day-old cup of coffee and stuck it in the microwave, staring at the mug spin in place as he waited. When the timer was finished Brian stirred some sugar into it and wandered over to his window, peering behind his blackout curtains.
He looked down at the monsters going about their days below, he’d always enjoyed watching people. Not in a creepy-voyeurist kind of way, but just out of curiosity. He liked to try and imagine where they were going to or coming from; he tried to guess what they did for a living. Someone in a suit? Maybe they were a lawyer, sportswear? Maybe an athlete? And so on and so forth.
Brian shook his head and tried to refocus himself. Zoning out was something everyone had come to expect from the zombie, that and falling asleep at the drop of a hat. It wasn’t really his fault, though, he often had trouble sleeping, or when he didn’t, he slept entirely too much.
Below him, Brian watched as a car pulled up to the curb across the street. A black Volkswagen beetle, it was Oz’s car, the one he and them had found online a couple years ago.
Shit. His shoulders fell as he watched his friend look both ways and cross the street towards his apartment. They still had their school bag. Had Ozzy really come over straight after school to check on him?
He placed his mug down on his coffee table, then stared at the cans left on his floor. Oz would be upset he had been drinking again, but he just couldn’t bring himself to pick them up. Too much effort.
A knock sounded through his apartment, it was ‘shave and a haircut, two bits.’ the one Brian and Oz used for each other. He shuffled towards his front door, hesitating before opening the door, only for the chain lock to stop it abruptly.
The hallway was bright, compared to his apartment, and Brian squinted when he looked down at his friend.
“B-Brian, it’s Oz, let me in.”
Brian groaned. He really didn’t want to talk about his feelings today, but he also knew he couldn't just leave his friend out in the hall after they went through the trouble of coming to check on him.
He unlocked the door and swung it open, stepping aside and letting Oz enter.
When he relocked his door and turned back to Ozzy- a nickname they’d had for as long as he could remember, Brian’s stomach churned as he saw their expression fall.
“Oh. It’s worse than I'd hoped…”
Brian winced. It was true, his place really was a mess. Clothes, snack wrappers, dirty dishes, and beer cans littered his whole apartment.
Oz turned to the zombie and looked him in the eyes, damn, why did they always have to do this? The eye contact always made him feel guilty, he hated how hurt Oz looked every time this happened.
They didn’t say anything for a long time, until they abruptly dropped their backpack to the floor, and wrapped their arms around Brian’s torso.
Brian tensed, arms at his sides before slowly letting out a deep breath. Eventually he returned the gesture, giving his friend a hug. Oz was so much smaller than him, it always caught him off guard. They weren’t short, but they were lithe and slender. Brian couldn’t help but worry he’d squeeze too hard and shatter them like glass, so he kept his hold on his friend loose.
After what felt like entirely too long, Oz pulled away from Brian and looked back up at him.
“D-do you wanna talk a-about it?”
He shook his head ‘no’. There wasn’t really anything to talk about. It was the same old shit. Brian got sad, stayed in his apartment for a long time, his friends checked to see if he died a second time, and eventually he’d pull himself back out of his rut. He just needed time to get his brain to cooperate again.
Finally, Oz noticed the cans on the floor, they didn’t say anything, but the change in their expression told Brian all he needed to know. And it felt like a stab to the gut.
They were disappointed.
Of course it was disappointment. From his parents, to his teachers, to even his friends. Why did it always have to be disappointment when he inevitably started to spiral again. Why couldn’t they just be angry? Brian could handle them being mad at him, but he couldn't stand it when the people he cared about most were just disappointed in him instead.
He barely registered sitting down on the couch, and didn’t notice at all when Oz began to tidy up the trash laying around.
Brian put his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He hated himself, he hated everything about himself. Why was he such a burden on everyone he knew?
Amira had long since given up trying to empathize with him, she couldn’t understand how cold he felt, and he didn’t blame her.
Vicky was always the first to tell when he was in a sour mood, she’s just so kind and so sweet. Brian hated to see her sad, and usually tried to mask his feelings around her to save her the stress.
Then there was Ozzy.. Oz had been Brian’s friend the longest, and they could probably understand his situation the best. Not that it made it any easier to let them through his emotional barricades.
Fuck, Brian’s throat tensed up and he felt tears well up behind his eyes. No, Brian refused to cry in front of Oz, not again. They’d both cried in front of the other before, but it still didn’t make it any easier.
He stood straight up, causing Oz to jump from where he was in the kitchen.
“B-Brian? You okay?”
Without replying he walked passed Oz and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him before crumpling to the floor. The tiles were cold against his already cool skin, he pulled up his knees and rested his arms on them, slowly, tears began to pool around his eyes, spilling over and running down his face. The salty liquid fell into the gap in his cheek, and he could taste his own sadness in them.
The reminder of his decaying body almost tore him apart. He was a monster. Not like everybody else was, though. He was rotting, inside and out. He hated being a walking corpse.
Much like Polly, Brian had once been a living, breathing human being. He couldn’t remember much from his past life, but he knew he had a family. He felt it in his gut, and he couldn’t help but feel it in his cold, dead heart, too, whenever he thought about it.
When Brian first re-animated, he spent the first few hours in a panic, desperately trying to claw his way out of his own grave. Eventually he was able to dig out far enough that the grave tender took notice and was able to dig him the rest of the way out. Apparently people rising from the dead is common enough in Monsteropolis that they have social workers for the recently-risen, which was how Brian was able to get his apartment in the first place.
He wiped some tears from his eyes and threw his head up, hitting it half-heartedly against the bathroom door.
Thing is, he was supposed to stay dead.
When he first enrolled in Spooky High, all anyone wanted to know was how he died. At first, Brian didn’t know what to tell them, he couldn’t remember anything. Slowly, he regained his memories, but it only served to cause him even more distress. He had been hit by a car, that’s it, no crazy story. So that’s what he told people.
It was a half-truth.
He had been hit by a car, but it was on the freeway, and he had jumped in front of it.
From what Brian could remember, it hadn’t necessarily been pre-planned. He was just walking aimlessly one day after a fight with his parents that finally drove him over the edge.
He threw himself into the road. He couldn’t remember what the fight had been about, but it wasn’t worth what he did.
Of course he felt sorry for himself, but all Brian could think of was whoever hit him. He hoped they didn’t get into too much trouble, he wished he could apologize to them for it.
But he can’t, and he probably never will. More tears began to flow down his face.
The doorknob shook, pulling Brian out of his thoughts, and up off the floor.
“B-Brian, open the door. Please!”
Oz sounded frantic, great, Brian was probably giving the poor kid a panic attack. His hand rested on the doorknob for what felt like forever before he wiped his eyes one last time and opened the door.
‘So... Small’, he thought to himself, seeing oz tremble slightly as they looked up at him.
“C-c’mon, we n-need to talk.” Didn’t he already say he didn’t want to? “You’re not okay!” What lets you decide that for me?
Oz reached out for Brian’s hand, grabbed it gingerly and guided him to the couch. Brian noticed the apartment was actually clean now, thanks to Oz.
He sat himself down heavily on the old couch, causing it to groan in protest. Oz sat down carefully beside him, pulling their legs into a criss-cross position.
“So..?”
Brian’s face ached, he rubbed a hand across it and through his messy hair. He hated crying.
“Thank you.” His voice was rough and low, it’d been a long time since he said anything out loud, and his throat was also tense and sore from crying.
“F-for what?”
“You cleaned my whole apartment, Oz.”
“O-oh, yeah, of course I did! You obviously n-need a hand right now.”
Brian slouched back into his seat, staring up at the ceiling. After a while he turned his head to face his friend.
“Don’t you have a thing planned with Calculester, today..?” It was true, Oz had messaged the group chat a thousand times about it, they were so excited for their date, why were they still here?
“I do,” Oz paused, “B-but I told him I needed to check on you, first, so we’re meeting a bit later today instead.”
Great, now Brian was interfering with their love-life, too.
“You should go, then. I’ll be fine on my own now.”
They seemed hesitant, but he could tell they really wanted to see Calculester.
“A-are you sure?” Their brow furrowed, “I d-don’t mind staying longer if you want..”
Brian sighed and stood up, walking towards the door, “You’ve already done so much for me today, Ozzy, I appreciate it a lot.” He turned to see Oz with their bag slung over one shoulder already,
“Thank you. Again, for everything.” Brian said, offering a hug.
Oz accepted the hug, giving the zombie the best smile they could without any actual mouth.
“O-of course! Just t-text me if you need anything else, okay?”
“Will do.” Brian lied.
Oz then walked out of his apartment, waving goodbye as they walked down the hallway. When they were out of sight, Brian closed his door and locked it again. When he turned back towards his apartment, he swore he could feel the room drain of what little life was there when Oz was around.
He dropped himself back down onto his bed, letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding and staring up at the ceiling. He was grateful to have as good a friend as Oz, but there’s just some things a hug can’t fix.