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For some reason, this had only started when he came back from Raccoon City, which… wasn’t even two weeks ago. Yet Bryan was already used to the creeping terror he felt every time his and Michelle’s room grew dark and cold, even with the heater blasting at max and Michelle’s warm body right beside him. It felt like he was back there again, drowning, like he couldn’t get out of it.
Like some kind of sleep paralysis was taking control of his body and he couldn’t move. No matter how many times he tried to clench and unclench his fists or clatter his teeth, just to remind himself that he was awake, that he was in the real world and wasn’t back there in that hellhole, nothing worked.
But it was hard—it was just so… hard. He knew it wasn’t real, but why couldn’t he just get out of it? Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he call for Michelle to help him? Why?
Ever since he’d come back, it was like he was stuck in a stupid cycle of waking up cold, forcing himself to eat the ashy food Michelle tried so hard to make for him. And it made him feel like a shitty boyfriend. His own girlfriend was pregnant, and here he was, sitting on his fucking ass while she took care of him.
And he’s here, so ungrateful, thinking about how her food tasted like ash, or how the apartment felt like she was trying to freeze him into an ice cube when she’d been working her ass off to make sure he stayed warm. She’d bought him four sets of sweaters and comfortable fuzzy pants just because he wouldn’t stop feeling cold, made sure he wore two pairs of socks on his feet, and cuddled him whenever she got home from work.
Now that he was reminded of work—that, too. She’d prevented him from getting a new job, one that didn’t require him to go to another fucking city and almost get himself killed, of course. All she wanted from him right now was to rest in the meantime and get better.
From what? He had no fucking clue.
He felt okay. He didn’t feel like he was going to keel over anymore, and the feeling of whatever the fuck had been crawling under his skin that night was gone. There was none of that anymore. The cure had done its job, even if every night he felt like it was coming back, wriggling beneath his skin and forcing him to lie there awake until morning.
He was better now. He felt great. He felt like he could push a gosh-darn boulder up a hill and not break a sweat. He could go back to work and make sure Michelle got some rest of her own, take care of her like a good boyfriend and a good father—
But why couldn’t he get out? Why couldn’t he get out? God—please—he just wanted to get out.
He couldn’t stand the smell of copper and the blood stuck to his skin, turning all sticky, or the heavy weight of the gun strapped around his chest and waist. He was sick of it. He was sick of all of this.
He was sick of the phantom feeling of something crawling beneath his skin, up into his veins and inside his blood vessels. He was sick of how he shook at the thought of Raccoon City, and the thought of having to sleep just to go back there again.
Who said he was sleeping anyway? Technically, he was stuck in this pseudo-paralysis dream. Didn’t that technically count as staying awake if his brain was still active and knew that everything he was seeing was pure bullshit?
God, he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep going back to every single thing that had happened that night.
The running. The blood. The terror. The crying. The growls. The pain in his arm that slowly traveled up to his shoulders, to his neck, and eventually to his brain.
That infection ate his brain, didn’t it?
Before he’d been cured, he could feel it. Not just beneath his skin, crawling around, but in his head as well. It was just there, poking at his little, itty-bitty brain matter, probably excited to eat it and force him to slowly lose control of himself…
Become a monster…
Eating that—
Oh god, he feels sick.
“Bryan—shh, baby, it’s okay. You’re just having a nightmare.”
His eyes opened as he let out a choked scream, barely even a scream with how broken his voice was. He felt warm hands on his shoulders, gripping him in a tight but not painful hold as he forced himself to blink away the tears forming in his eyes.
He sat up, his body trembling. He wanted it to stop, but it wasn’t like he could control it. Nothing in his body felt like his anymore, honestly. “I—I—sorry,” Bryan said shakily, pressing a fist into his mouth and biting down on it as he curled into himself, letting out a small sob.
This was the first time Michelle had finally woken him up from whatever it was that always took hold of him at night. It didn’t feel great at all, it doesn’t even feel relieving to get out of it. It felt more like he was just falling deeper into whatever hole he’d been unconsciously digging for himself.
“Hey—it’s okay, baby. You were just having a nightmare. Hey, look at me. Come on, lay back. Come on, baby, work with me.” Michelle hushes him as he continues to shakily let out small sobs, trying to stifle them with his fist, biting down on it hard.
It reminds him a bit too much of the scientists he had…
He—
No. It wasn’t him. It was the infection. It was never him. He didn’t do it. He didn’t! The infection made him do it!
Michelle pulls his fist away from his mouth and helps him lie back down as he lets out shaky breaths and sobs, leaning against her chest. Tears stain her shirt as she hushes him again, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re here, okay? You’re here,” she says as Bryan continues to tremble.
It’s embarrassing. He’s a grown-ass man, yet he feels like he has to be held just so he can fully reassure himself that he isn’t back there, and that whatever happened afterward wasn’t just something his mind made up because he couldn’t accept the fact that he became what he was most afraid of.
Fuck… Fuck—that could be true, can’t it?
There were studies about those kinds of people, people who would create their own fake reality because they couldn’t accept the actual one.
What if he’s like one of those people? What if the real him is actually out there, stuck as some kind of amalgamation of limbs, looking like a fucking monster?
Jesus… Oh god…
“Bryan.” Michelle taps his cheek again, making Bryan startle. He flinches so hard that he almost smacks the top of his head against her chin, thankfully catching himself before he does.
He looks up, faintly realizing that he can finally see Michelle. She’s bathed in yellow light, and he fully realizes that the night lamp has been turned on, though the brightness has been cranked down so it isn’t too harsh.
“You think it’d be better to sleep with the lamp on? Would that make you feel better, baby?” Michelle runs her hand through his hair again, scratching his scalp as Bryan closes his eyes for a moment.
He feels better for a moment—at least, he feels safer knowing that nothing can hide around the small room with the lights on and the doors fully closed and locked.
It’s safe… It’s okay… Nothing is gonna get to him. He’s cured. He’s with his beautiful and amazing girlfriend and their unborn baby.
He’s okay.
“Y-yeah.” His voice breaks, and he has half a mind to feel embarrassed about it. On a good day, Michelle probably would have made fun of him, but nothing’s been a good day ever since he came back…
He’s such a shit boyfriend. How can Michelle stay with him?
[...]
He’s cold—he’s so fucking cold. There isn’t a day where he isn’t cold. It’s still snowing outside, but it’s not as cold as it was back in Raccoon City. Like that night, the snow is barely even snow at this point; it’s just a sprinkle. As both Michelle and Katie (who keeps visiting every other day) have said, it’s more of a cold, damp chill than the bone-shivering cold he remembers.
He’s the only one experiencing this bone-deep cold that he can’t seem to warm himself from. Both Michelle and Katie could be sweating their asses off because of the heat, and he’s still here, feeling like death is holding onto his neck and strangling him. It’s like he just can’t get warm at all. It makes him feel a bit crazy. He’s perfectly fine now. He should be fine. So why isn’t he getting any warmer? Why is he always so cold?
“Bryan, eat your food, okay, baby?” Michelle passes behind his seat, patting his cheek as Bryan sits there, staring at his own plate. His hands rest in his lap as he looms over the plate of mashed potatoes, sausage, and bacon—it’s his favorite. He loves sausage and bacon. He loves them so much that they’re what he often eats even when he’s out. But right now, like any other food, he just can’t seem to stomach them at all.
Maybe it’s the fact that biting into anything reminds him too much of the flesh he had bitten into that night, or the taste of iron and copper inside his mouth that never seems to leave his tongue.
And when he actually does eat, the food turns into ashes inside his mouth. It’s…
How does he even fix this? How can he even tell Michelle that this is what he feels right now? He can’t help but feel like a bastard of a person, forcing his pregnant girlfriend to take care of him when he knows damn well he can handle himself now. He has two of his feet back, two of his hands, and he still has his head. He’s complete in everything he needs. Why would he need to be taken care of?
He’s not sick. He’s back to how he was. He’s perfectly healthy now.
He just needs to get his head out of his ass and stop being a fucking coward.
“Mhm.” Bryan hums under his breath, grabbing his fork and dreadfully cutting the sausages into small slices, just to waste time instead of having to eat the food Michelle had worked hard to make for him. She had woken up quite early today for work and cooked breakfast. It used to be him waking up early and making breakfast for the two of them. It’s supposed to be him doing it even now. It makes him feel bad—feel so fucking guilty, in fact, having to make her do this.
Michelle plates her own food and sits in front of him with a smile on her face. She’s all dressed up, her hair tied up in a neat ponytail. She’s wearing a comfortable dress shirt and pants, her cuffs all nice and properly buttoned—unlike Bryan, who always goes to work looking a bit too haggard. But then again, he never needed to look good for his work. Nobody ever bothered looking at him or talking to him like a normal human person anyway, so why bother?
“Good?” Michelle asks again as she spots Bryan still cutting his sausages into even smaller slices, his head ducked. He flinches when he realizes she’s caught him not eating at all. He raises his head and nods.
“Yeah,” he says after a few moments. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Michelle’s face falls slightly. “Eat your food, okay?” she says quietly. Bryan bites his lower lip and nods again.
The table falls quiet, filled only with the sounds of their utensils clattering against the porcelain plates. Michelle glances up at him again and again between her own bites as Bryan forces little pieces of sausage into his mouth. His stomach aches and cramps, the pain dizzying, but he swallows them all down nonetheless.
He’s wasting food. He’s wasting Michelle’s hard work. He’s wasting Michelle’s time.
“You think you can stay here alone for a few hours? I’ll be back right away. I asked for a half day, anyways.”
Michelle is kneeling beside the couch where Bryan is lying, wrapped up in two thick blankets. The television is on, though the volume has been turned down low—Michelle definitely put it on for Bryan just so he wouldn’t feel as stir-crazy and lonely being stuck at home.
“Yeah.” Bryan mumbles weakly as Michelle runs her hand through his hair, petting it softly as he closes his eyes. Guilt continues to churn in his stomach, making him dizzy with disgust. He wants to vomit out everything he’s eaten, but it would be such a waste of time, food, space—everything that Michelle has given to him would be wasted if he did.
“Good boy.” Michelle smiles and kisses his forehead, then hovers her own lips over Bryan’s again, waiting for him to initiate it. Bryan leans over as well and kisses her softly on the cheek—not the lips. Not yet… He’s… scared of anything that comes close to his mouth, at least for now. Michelle’s face seems to change at that, but she hides it with a smile.
“Don’t miss me too much.” She winks, and Bryan tries to give her a smile, but it turns into a wince.
“I’ll try.” He grins weakly, and Michelle just snorts, standing up and grabbing her bag from the armchair.
“Don’t leave, okay?” she says as she walks to the door, turning to Bryan. He pushes himself up against the pillows to look at her and nods.
“Where would I even go?” He smiles wryly again as Michelle just smiles and nods.
“Yeah, I know. I left some food by the fridge as well, so if you need to eat, you have some, got it?” She tilts her head, and Bryan nods again as Michelle opens the door and walks out, humming under her breath as she closes it behind her with a click.
For a moment, Bryan stares at the door, blinking. His hand fists the blanket, clenching and unclenching as he hopes that maybe Michelle will come back and stay, that she won’t leave him alone in the apartment. He sits there, looking at the door for a minute, then two, then three, then four. Eventually, an hour passes with him doing nothing but staring at the door before he finally gives up and lies down, staring at the ceiling, his breath coming in short gasps.
His eyes move toward the open doorways of the apartment. Their bedroom door is left open, the bathroom as well—every single door is open. Anything could come out right now and attack him, bite him, eat him, sink its teeth painfully into his flesh.
Bryan had never really thought about it back then, but he’s scared to die in the slowest and most painful way possible. Getting shot in the head is probably better, but being eaten alive? Worse. Being the one who gets eaten alive by some parasitic infection while being forced to watch his own body lose control?
Fuck, it’s his worst nightmare.
He doesn’t like this… He doesn’t like being here in the living room, being in an open space with so many doorways that could potentially have something waiting behind them to attack him.
Even the window where the rusted stairs of the fire escape sit outside—none of the windows are locked. Any monster could enter through there and attack him right now, and he wouldn’t be able to fight back. He has no gun, no weapon, no nothing. He would be a free kill.
He would be a free kill. He needs Michelle.
Only Michelle makes him feel safe. She’s the only one who actually makes him feel better at night. Even when he’s paralyzed, just the thought of her being beside him helps him get through some of his worries, even if he’s stuck seeing every face of the monsters he had to kill—had to kill—they were humans too, weren’t they?
Especially that little girl…
Don’t think about it, Bryan. Don’t think about it. Let it run off his back. It’s the past. He got out. He’s safe. He’s cured. He isn’t like them anymore. He’s back to being human, he’s back with his girlfriend, and he’s going to be a dad.
He’s got to get his fucking grip back and haul ass in this household.
The baby will be here in a few months, and Michelle needs someone to take care of her. That has to be him. He just needs… He just needs to get his wits back. He needs to get his normal back. That’s all. This is just the start. He was just fresh from Raccoon City, after all. He’s a bit fucked up, but that’s okay. It’s normal, after all.
Bryan tries to focus on the stupid cartoon playing on the screen—he tries—he really tries, but with all the entrances from different rooms staring at him and the slow build of static behind his ears growing louder, he can’t help but try to bury himself under the blankets. His hands fist the fabric, nails digging into the soft material as his breaths come in pants.
Focus on the running gray cat, Bryan. Focus on the fucking cartoon. He thinks to himself pathetically, wishing that Michelle would just come back home right now… In fact, he could call her. She left him his new phone by the coffee table. He could pull his hand out from under the blanket and take it right now, go to his contacts, call her, and tell her to come back. Everything would be better.
He could do it—he can…
Bryan continues to shake, his teeth chattering. Why is he shaking so badly? He’s safe. He’s back home in their small apartment, with its yellowed ceiling that looks one step away from caving in, but it’s their apartment. He’s miles away from Raccoon City. He’s back home. What is he so fucking afraid of? Why can’t he just fucking chill the fuck down?
He’s not there anymore… He’s not there.
Bryan feels dizzy, his own breaths coming in gasps as the static behind his ears gets louder and louder. So loud that it makes him clench his jaw and shut his eyes. Maybe if he closes his eyes and pretends that it isn’t there, that he doesn’t feel the phantom sensation of things crawling underneath his skin, maybe it’ll mean it isn’t real.
He’s not there anymore…
He’s not there anymore…
He’s not there anymore…
It’s okay, Bryan. Get a fucking grip. You’re back at your apartment with your girlfriend, who’s out right now trying to actually do her job and keep their heads above water just because he’s fucking useless right now. He can’t be worse than he was before, right? …Fuck, Michelle’s mother is definitely going to rip into him if she finds out that Michelle is the only one working between the two of them. She’s going to come here and tell Michelle every shitty thing about him again, just so she can try to sway Michelle into leaving him.
“Fuck… Fuck… Fuck!” Bryan screams, throwing his hands over his eyes and digging his palms into them in anger. He wishes it were easy to dispel the fear, the phantom sensations, the terror, but it’s not. It’s really not. He can’t even look at the scar on his arm without feeling like his own insides are tap dancing against him, the fear making every single vein in his body feel like it’s freezing over.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, curled on his side, making sure his back is facing the couch while he faces every single entrance available in the apartment. He knows there’s no danger right now, but he can’t stop himself from feeling terrified at the thought that, at any moment, someone could come out of there and attack him.
And suddenly, he’s reminded of those internet rabbit holes he used to go down back in high school about stray dogs rescued from actual war zones—dogs that were terrified of doorways. There were countless comments talking about how it was possible that the dogs’ friends had been killed by traps set in doorways throughout the countless abandoned houses.
And now he’s reminded of himself as that dog. Fucking pathetic.
When Michelle gets home, for some reason, she always seems to worry, even if she had done the same thing yesterday and gone to work, only to come back and find Bryan still on the couch, lying there and still looking like he has both his arms and legs. Thankfully, she comes back to the same thing. Bryan is on the couch, the television on, his phone untouched on the coffee table, and even the food she left in the fridge still there. Not once has he gotten up from the couch.
“Hey, baby.” Michelle leans over to press a kiss to his cold forehead—it makes her shiver a little. I mean, how can a normal person be this cold? This shouldn’t be normal at all. Bryan has always been the warm one between the two of them. “Mhnm.” Bryan hums, looking up at her tiredly as he reaches over for her hand, poking his hand out from under the blanket.
It’s cold, too.
Michelle tries not to flinch at how cold it is as Bryan holds her hand. When she looks down at their conjoined hands, she notices how pale his skin is, much paler than before. He’s always been the pale one. Michelle’s tan, of course, her skin always darker between the two of them, smoother, too. Bryan’s the kind of guy who definitely went through a pimply stage back in high school that Michelle wishes she could have seen, or maybe he kept pictures of himself.
Right now, she can see the veins underneath his skin completely. It’s almost like his skin is translucent with how pale he is. It worries her. It worries her a lot. Bryan has worried her a lot ever since he came back home from Raccoon City. He’s explained some of it to Michelle, as simply as he could, because Michelle knows that Bryan knows she couldn’t easily wrap her head around actual zombies existing. Though Bryan had mentioned that it isn’t zombies, that it’s much different, and kind of left it at that.
He didn’t tell Michelle what he saw or anything. All he said was that there were people who looked like zombies and attacked like them, and that he was lucky enough to get away just in time.
For some reason, Michelle can’t help but feel like there are some parts of the story that aren’t true—not a lie, but just not completely true either. Maybe omitted? She doesn’t want to force anything out of him, though, especially with how the nights always play out, with him sometimes waking up and refusing to respond to her as if he’s in shock or her waking up at 6 AM to find him still awake, staring at the door like he’s waiting for something to enter.
Or the crazy paranoia he sometimes shows her, telling her to make sure the doors are locked, every door they don’t need to have open, the windows fully locked. He’s scared of something that could get to him, and she wishes she could help.
“Did you at least eat?” Michelle asks, running her hand through his hair as Bryan closes his eyes for a moment, his hand gripping hers tighter.
“Mhm.” He nods.
It’s a lie. She knows that, of course, but she smiles anyway. This isn’t the time to argue with him and his lack of appetite for anything. Not even sweets can interest him anymore.
He used to like chocolates…
“That’s great. Looks like you’re still all cozy up here. What about a warm bath with me, yeah?” Michelle grins, tilting her head as Bryan silently nods at that, sitting up slowly for a moment, still refusing to let go of her hand.
The bath is quiet, with both of them in the tub. As always, or at least usually, they do this a lot to save water, bathing together. Michelle finds herself leaning against Bryan’s chest, sitting between his legs as the warm—almost hot (maybe this time Bryan will stop being cold)—water sloshes around her shoulders and chest. Behind her, Bryan leans heavily against the wall and the edge of the tub.
Neither of them says anything. It’s pretty damn dry, if Michelle could say so herself. Bryan’s always talking and talking and talking, and this is the first time she finally realizes that between the two of them, it was always Bryan filling the silence with his stupid rambling about the randomest things on Earth that Michelle couldn’t even bother caring about.
“So, you remember Mikhayla? I just found out earlier that she’s four months pregnant—and damn I didn't notice for shit. She asked me to join her little club with mothers who are also one to two months pregnant, and it’s all their first time being moms. You think it’s a good idea for me to join that? I mean—”
Michelle twirls her finger under the water, watching the ripples.
“Yeah, you should,” Bryan cuts her off, letting out a small sigh as he moves slightly and leans against her back, rubbing his cheek against the side of her head. “It would be better, no? You get to talk to other women who are going through the same thing as you… and… yeah…” he says, his voice a little weak.
Michelle hums, nodding. “Alright. Tomorrow I’ll tell her that. She seems pretty excited about getting me in her club.” She snorts as Bryan just hums again.
Then silence comes back again after that—ugh… Damn it, Michelle, don’t you have anything to talk about? Michelle internally sighs, tempted to slap herself in the head, shaking it a little at that. Just as she’s about to spill out some random drama bullshit from her office work, Bryan speaks first.
“I should, uhm… go back to work next week,” Bryan says, and Michelle startles at that, flinching as she turns her head to look him in the eyes. It’s still the same dull, sunken look, his eyes tired. He doesn’t look like he could even last a second standing on his own two feet. He looks like he’s one breeze away from being carried away by the fucking wind itself.
And he wants to go back to work?
“What? I mean—I don’t mind having you here at home.” Michelle turns to the side to fully meet Bryan’s eyes. He just averts them for a moment, looking down before glancing back up at her. “I feel alright already. I’m not sick, just… I mean—I want to help, for you and the kid.” He glances down at the water again, which has gotten a bit murky from the soap, but Michelle understands that he’s looking at her stomach.
“Yeah, but I’m barely a month in. It doesn’t matter. I can still work, and you need to rest after what happened to Raccoon City. Just because you aren’t fully hurt doesn’t mean I’m letting you go—I mean, you refuse to go to the hospital. What makes you think I’m letting you work now?” Michelle says, raising her brow at Bryan, who winces at that, shrugging weakly.
“I can’t just… let you work and stuff. I gotta pull my weight too… since now that you’re pregnant and—I’m, I mean… I’m your boyfriend. I need to haul ass. I can’t have you doing this alone,” Bryan says.
Michelle sighs. “I’m not doing this alone, Bry. You’re here, aren’t you? And you can’t rush healing—I am NOT letting you rush it, in fact. You’re still sick, okay? I mean, look at you. You’re all pale and always so tired. What makes you think you can handle heavy lifting again? If you want that to happen right away, then you gotta go to the hospital and get treated.”
Michelle huffs as Bryan’s frown deepens at that. “And make you pay for it? No, Mish, I can’t do that—hospital bills are high, and I’m not injured or anything… I’m not sick—I really am not… I’m just….” Bryan pauses suddenly, and Michelle raises a brow at that. Just what? “Just… I—I don’t know if I just came back with the right pieces,” Bryan finally says.
Michelle cocks her head in confusion. “A what now?” Bryan’s shoulders just hike up to his ears as he hugs himself. “Bryan, what’s that supposed to mean?” Michelle moves closer, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub and onto the tiles below. Bryan looks away, but she just reaches over and places a hand on his cheek.
He’s still so cold. Nothing changed, even after she decided to plunge him into hot water. “I’m cold,” he mutters, refusing to meet her eyes. “Can we wash up now?”
Michelle’s face falls. What the hell does he mean by not coming back with the right pieces?
[...]
For once, it wasn’t Bryan who couldn’t sleep tonight. It was Michelle herself. She found herself lying on her side of the bed, staring at the dark ceiling. Beside her was Bryan, who had finally fallen asleep, lying on his side and facing her. She had made sure to watch over him this time. Maybe it would make him feel better, and thankfully, it did. Being watched over seemed to dispel some of the fears he had about the empty spaces in their shared room.
Slowly, Michelle reached over for her phone on the nightstand, opening it to see that it was already 1 AM. Jesus fucking Christ… She had to wake up early tomorrow—er, later, since it was already 1 AM, but still, she had to wake up early. Her mind just refused to cooperate with her right now, though, instead running back and forth over what Bryan had said.
Quickly, she typed something into her phone, going directly to Google. She searched for the closest psychologist’s office near their apartment, hoping she could find one that she can make an appointment to. Maybe she needed to stop denying the signs Bryan was showing. Clearly, he needed help.
Everything he had spoken about regarding Raccoon City was terrifying, something you would only hear about in a movie, but it was real… And he had gone through all of it. He wasn’t exactly bound to come back in the right state of mind, and his comment earlier had to be some kind of statement about his own mental instability. She loved Bryan too much to let this slide. They were about to start a family, and she wanted him in her and their baby’s lives. She knew he wanted to be there, too.
He just needed someone who could understand him. Michelle couldn’t, as painful as it was to admit. She could take care of him all she wanted, but if his mind continued to be sick, then he’d stay sick forever.
She could take care of him and heal him from whatever illness he had gotten, but she couldn’t do that if it was his mind…
Fuck it.
Michelle looked back at the appointment button and pressed it, turning to look at Bryan’s sleeping face. She watched as his face twisted, small whimpers escaping his throat. She reached over with her free hand and slowly patted his hair as he continued to whimper.
“Shhh,” Michelle murmured as the whimpers and whining slowly died down. She turned back to her phone, finally making her decision. He could hate her for this decision, but she was getting him a fucking shrink. And he can’t do anything about it.