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The office is cold and white—too white. It reminds Bryan a little too much of the lab, the scientists, the sounds of bones breaking and people screaming. The flashes of white and red beneath his closed eyelids make his stomach churn, and the thought of the taste of iron and blood inside his mouth makes him break into a hard sweat. His mouth begins to water, too, though not for the right reasons.
Maybe it’s because the bile is threatening to rise up his throat. Right now, though, he feels like he’s about to internally combust into a million pieces. Just outside the office is Michelle, probably hoping he’ll come out of this room good as new, ready to act like the old him again.
It’s not that easy. It isn’t that easy… He—he doesn’t even think he can be how he used to be after all the shit he’s seen and done. Honestly, Bryan doesn’t even remember if he spoke at all during his session with the shrink—er, the guy—whatever the fuck his name was. He hadn’t cared enough to learn it in the first place. The most he remembers is looking out the window and watching the snow drift down.
And then, just like a flash, he finds himself sitting outside the office. The cushion beneath his ass is still warm from when Michelle was sitting there earlier, before she was called in after he got kicked out of the room. He’s probably going to tell her that there’s no hope of saving him anymore, and Bryan can’t even blame the guy. Talking isn’t going to fix him, and no one can probably understand him anyway. And he doesn’t mean that in the sense that he’s trying to win a fucking medal at the Trauma Olympics.
He’s not here to show everyone that he’s got it worse. Fuck that. In fact, he wishes none of it had ever happened to him. It’s more that just thinking about it—worse, talking about it—makes him feel like he wants to rip his own skin off or vomit all over himself out of sheer terror. It’s etched into him at this point. He can’t take it off, and he can’t forget about it. He’s stuck like this. He’s broken. He’s lost all the important, good things about himself that made him… him.
Bryan startles when he hears the door beside him open. And there goes Michelle, walking out with a serious look on her face, biting her lower lip. Bryan sits up a little, looking up at her as she turns toward him. For a moment, that sad look returns to her face before she smiles.
“Let’s go?” she asks softly.
Ah… So the doctor definitely referred him to another shrink, huh? Well, Bryan isn’t surprised. This is his fourth one, after all, and none of them could handle him. Not because he’s in there acting all hysterical, but because he just can’t talk at all. He can’t even seem to stay mentally present during the conversation. It’s always the same: his mind strays, and he just floats away. And when he comes back, he’s always sitting outside the office again, with Michelle being called in for an actual assessment and having the results passed on to her instead.
Patient confidentiality be damned. Bryan’s probably a fucking problem right now, both for Michelle and for the shrinks. He doesn’t feel bad for the doctors, but he does feel bad for wasting Michelle’s time.
“Maybe we should just give up on this. It’s not that bad… I’m still a functional guy in society. I’m not gonna go… fucking Michael Myers on someone.” Bryan tries to joke, but it falls flat. He internally winces at his own attempt, too, realizing just how awful that joke sounds. Michelle tries to give him a grin, but that falls flat as well as they walk out towards the empty lobby.
“It’ll work. We’ll find a good doctor for you. I know for sure it’s not gonna be fast, and we sure as hell won’t find a better one tomorrow, but I’ve got a list of psychologists who could help you, as recommended by Doctor Gabriel. We can do this.” She reaches over to take his hand, rubbing her thumb over the back of it as Bryan looks down at their joined hands.
His hands, almost deathly pale, rest against her healthy ones (the sight makes him internally wince in disgust) before he looks back up at her with a forced smile. It feels like he’s trying to dig something sharp into the corners of his mouth just to make himself smile like that.
“Great,” he says, and Michelle smiles at him in return.
“What do you say to a grocery run? You think your body can handle one right now?” she asks.
“Yeah, of course.” Bryan shrugs lazily, and Michelle just shoots him a smile.
“Great. Come on, let’s buy those fucking groceries.”
She tugs on his hand, and Bryan follows as they both step out of the clinic. He opens the door for her, letting her step outside first before following behind her. Michelle shoots him a thankful look, and they walk down the sidewalk together. She glances across the road, looking for cars passing before they cross to the other side for theirs, then turns back to Bryan, only to stop suddenly when she realizes he’s stopped walking as well. He gives her a confused look.
Only for her to grab his shoulders and gently turn him toward her. She fixes the scarf around his neck, making sure it’s tucked snugly enough to keep any cold breeze from getting to his skin. Then she tucks his ears beneath his fluffy beanie and pats his cheek with a small smile.
“Gotta keep the cold away,” she tells him, and Bryan can’t help but smile a little at that.
Oh, Michelle. She’s always been so perfect, always the one looking after him, even when he doesn’t ask her to. He can’t help falling more and more in love with her. He can’t believe he almost died and left his own girlfriend and their unborn kid behind. He can’t even begin to imagine it—him not surviving, him never getting that cure. Would he have become one of those monsters? Would he have just been… nothing?
“We don’t have much shampoo left, do we? Should I just buy this cheap one, or should I get the one we usually use? It wouldn’t make my hair frizzy, right?”
Bryan snaps back to reality, surprised to find himself standing inside a grocery store. A few people walk by, pushing their carts and chatting amongst themselves. Only then does he realize he’s holding a shopping cart of his own—a half-empty one, with things already inside that he doesn’t remember anyone putting there.
Did he do it again?
He needs to stop this. He’s genuinely wasted so much time doing this. But the worst part is that he can’t control it. Sure, he can do it with the shrinks, and those instances are on purpose, but he’s done it to Michelle and Katie, too. He’s come to realize that he doesn’t have any control over it at all. It just happens.
He really doesn’t have a single thing left in his body that he can control, huh?
“I don’t think so,” Bryan mumbles. Michelle perks up at that. She looks almost surprised to hear him respond before turning to him with a small smile. “Welcome back,” she says.
Bryan looks down in shame, scratching his nail against the worn handle of the shopping cart. “Mhm… Yeah. You should buy that nice soap again, the one that smells like strawberries,” Bryan says.
Michelle snorts. “Sure, come on.” She drops three bottles of shampoo into the cart, then grabs its sides and pulls Bryan along with her. He follows as she picks up a box of body soap and tosses it into the cart, too.
“What do you want to eat for lunch?” Michelle asks, not even glancing at him as they walk down another aisle. He watches her toss in a couple of bags of biscuits—some saltine crackers, some sugary ones—before they move to another aisle, where Michelle carefully picks out specific spices and adds them to the cart as well.
“I don’t know… What do you want?” Bryan asks, mindlessly looking around at the shelves. He can’t even be bothered to read half the packaging. In fact, for some strange reason, the words don’t even look like English to him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Michelle shoot him a look. It’s a familiar one, the look she always gives him whenever he throws a question back at her because he refuses to make a decision for the both of them.
Well, what can he do? He’s always been a people-pleaser. That, and he’s been indecisive for as long as he can remember. And apparently, that hasn’t changed one bit.
“...Well, do you want to eat burgers and fries?” Michelle asks as Bryan glances at her, resisting the urge to shiver at the thought of eating something greasy when his stomach still hasn’t moved past the phase of being unable to differentiate actual edible food from the taste of ash and garbage. “It’s your favorite.” Michelle’s pace slows as she says that, like she’s trying to remind Bryan of what he used to like.
He remembers it—his body just doesn’t.
“Yeah… But it’s greasy, and it’s cold. Kinda disgusting if you ask me.” Bryan shrugs, biting his tongue as Michelle goes quiet at that. She doesn’t say anything else, instead dragging the cart along with Bryan through countless aisles, checking the things they need and asking him if there’s anything he wants. His answer is always no, because right now, all he needs is their bed and their blanket. In fact, he’d gladly take the couch for the entire day, as long as he doesn’t have to stand on his feet. They’re starting to hurt from all the walking and standing, but for some reason, he still refuses to tell Michelle about it.
It’s probably his pride, the kind he’s developed as someone who’s used to carrying his own weight and is now nothing more than a charity case for his pregnant girlfriend to take care of.
Or maybe I’m not really cured. Maybe the tiredness I’m feeling means the infection is coming back. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep properly, either—
The thought creeps into the back of Bryan’s mind, and he feels his blood run even colder at the possibility. His grip on the cart’s handle tightens until he abruptly stops it, causing Michelle to stumble backward. Her hip knocks against the side of the cart, and she turns to give him a look.
“Bry?” she asks.
“Sorry.” Bryan stammers, sweating profusely as he loosens his grip on the handle and lets Michelle pull the cart along again. But she doesn’t move.
“You okay?” Michelle asks, her brows drawing together as Bryan quickly nods.
“Fine—are we done here?” He glances at the half-full cart, and Michelle follows his gaze before nodding. “Yeah, I was actually telling you that we’re about to haul this shit over to the cashier, but I think you weren’t listening.” She says.
Bryan’s face burns with shame as he looks down, trying to hide his expression from Michelle. He bites down hard on his lower lip.
“Sorry about that…” he murmurs.
“What are you thinking?” Michelle asks softly. She moves closer, leans against the side of the cart, and taps his hand with her finger, silently asking him to look at her. Bryan raises his head to meet her eyes—always so soft and kind.
God, how did I get so lucky to find a girl like her? She’s just so fucking perfect, isn’t she?
“Something… Nothing—it’s stupid.” Bryan stammers before eventually shaking his head.
Michelle’s expression falls a little, and she lets out a soft breath. “It’s okay if you can’t say it… But—I mean… I want to be here to listen, you know?” She brushes a stray lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as she gives Bryan a smile.
Bryan blinks, then looks down at his hands, noticing how pale they’ve gotten. Had I always been this pale? Wait, no… He shouldn’t get distracted. Michelle is talking to him, asking him to open up and tell her what he’s thinking.
What if I really have nothing to think about? What if I just can’t seem to keep myself in touch with reality anymore? Can I even tell her that?
No, that would be too weird. Michelle wouldn’t understand him. She’d probably think he was getting cold feet about their relationship, and the last thing he wanted was for her to think he wanted to leave her. He wanted to stay. He really did. He just wished he could convince his own body of that, too, so he’d stop losing time and losing himself to something he couldn’t fight back against.
“Okay.” Bryan lets out a soft breath, and Michelle seems to take that as an enthusiastic yes and grins. “Great—come on, let’s get this checked out so we can go home.” She says this as she turns away, practically dragging the cart along with her in her excitement while Bryan simply follows, letting out another soft breath to himself.
Later, he finds himself sitting on a stool, holding a cup of black coffee with a single slice of chocolate cake on a small plate in front of him. Across from him, Michelle scrolls through her phone, her eyes skimming whatever she’s reading. The café is pretty much empty, aside from the two of them and a student sitting in the corner booth, buried in his laptop.
Bryan mindlessly cuts into the cake, leaving more slices for Michelle than for himself, and forces two bites down his throat without letting the cake touch his tongue. He washes them down with scalding-hot coffee, feeling a little strange about how numb his tongue seems to be to the heat.
“I found another shrink who might be able to work with us,” Michelle says suddenly, startling Bryan into flinching as he looks up. She reaches for her own fork, stabs a piece of the cake he cut for her, and eats it in one go before finally looking up from her phone. Bryan gives her a look before realizing that this is probably the part where he’s supposed to respond instead of just staring at her, as if the words will magically come out of his mouth without him having to do anything.
“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Who is it?” he asks.
Michelle looks back down at her screen. “She works with war veterans herself. Saw her on Facebook and checked out her account,” she explains.
“I’m not a war veteran.” Bryan furrows his brows at that. He isn’t, so why is Michelle considering a psychologist who specializes in treating war veterans?
Michelle doesn’t respond to his comment, instead humming as she takes another bite of cake. She swipes through her phone for a while before dropping her fork to type something, letting out a sigh and rolling her eyes.
“What is it?” Bryan asks. For the first time, he feels a little proud of himself for initiating the conversation. He’s actually managing to hold a conversation for longer without falling into whatever weird thing keeps happening to him, the thing that makes him lose time and sometimes forget important details about himself, Michelle, or basically his entire fucking life.
“Katie’s back at our apartment, waiting for us. This asshole,” Michelle mutters under her breath.
“Oh,” Bryan says stupidly. “Are we going home, then?” He’s already got one foot on the floor, ready to step off the stool, when Michelle quickly scarfs down the rest of her cake and then finishes her coffee. Bryan does the same with his coffee before stepping off his stool and waiting for Michelle to do the same. Then they walk out of the café hand in hand and head toward Michelle’s beat-up car.
“What does she want?” Bryan asks as he settles into the passenger seat, relieved that they’re finally heading home. He can’t help but admit that being outside makes him feel a little uneasy, even scared. There are just too many people around, and any one of them could be like those monsters. Worse, what if he accidentally slips away again and gets Michelle into trouble? He doesn’t want any of that to happen. Not at all.
“I don’t know. Probably just to bother both of us again. She’s probably planning to sleep over. I heard her boyfriend’s off somewhere again, so she’s all alone in their house and shit.” Michelle starts the car as Bryan hums under his breath and lets out a soft sigh. He leans his head against the window, staring out at the falling snow.
“Baby, your seat belt,” Michelle says, leaning over to fasten it for him.
Bryan flinches.
Right. His seat belt. How did he forget to do that?
“Oops, forgot…” Bryan mutters under his breath as Michelle clicks the seat belt into place with a loud snap. She meets his eyes for a moment before settling back into her seat and fastening her own seat belt.
“You’ve been forgetting some stuff, huh?” she says slowly. Bryan falls completely silent at that.
“It’s not a problem, but you have to tell me if it does turn into one. I know you’re not a careless guy, Bryan. But… I’ve just been noticing a pattern, and I wanna know if it’s another thing I have to talk to the shrink about,” Michelle says as she pulls the handbrake and steers off to the side of the road.
Bryan stays silent, shame coursing through his veins as he notices Michelle gripping the steering wheel tighter the longer he goes without responding.
“Okay,” Bryan squeaks out weakly.
Michelle’s grip on the wheel loosens, as though she’s physically relieved by his response.
“Okay… okay… good.” Michelle lets out a soft breath, glancing at him and shooting him a smile. Bryan tries to return it, but all he manages is a wince.
“It’s okay when things get hard, Bry. I’m always here, okay? Getting help doesn’t mean you’re weak or that things are ending. It just means it’s the start of things getting better, you know?” Michelle says softly.
Bryan nods quietly.
Sure… Yeah… That—yeah… okay…
“You know, guys, you do know you both have a cat here, right?” Katie asks, lounging by the window leading to the fire escape, peering up through it as if she’s expecting something to come down. Michelle is stuck in the kitchen, cooking something for dinner, while Bryan’s on the couch, sprawled out and freshly woken up from another small nap that Michelle had practically forced him to take. He hadn’t gotten much rest last night, and earlier, he’d almost fallen down the stairs trying to get up to their apartment.
He’s not tired. He isn’t, at least his body isn’t, but his mind surely is.
“What? What cat?” Michelle asks. “I’m allergic to those.” She turns her head toward Katie, who points up toward the fire escape.
“Up there. It’s like a tortie. I’m calling her Tortie, by the way. I saw her the other day eating Bryan’s crackers on the couch while he was sleeping, then she practically flew off and left when she saw me.” Katie grins.
“What? Dude, close the fucking window.” Michelle glares.
“How’d you know she’s a girl?” Bryan asks blearily, his voice a little deep and crackly since he’d just woken up. He rubs his eyes, giving Katie a weird look. Katie just rolls her eyes at him. “Duh. Gut instincts. A girl knows if another creature is a girl,” she says.
Bryan shoots her a dumb look at that before looking over at the television, muttering a small “Jesus Christ” under his breath. Katie grins at Michelle, who’s also smiling, looking a little happy that Bryan has been talking to them more and more.
“You shouldn’t let it in here while I’m here, though, but I’m happy to provide scraps,” Michelle says.
“But I won’t be here every day. I think it’s a stray, since it didn’t have a collar when I last saw it.” Katie hums, then gasps as if she’s just gotten an idea. She glances at Bryan, who’s gone back to quietly watching the television, his arms tucked across his chest.
He wants to pull the blanket from his waist up to his chest, but his arms just feel too heavy today. It probably won’t be long before he’s in that weird trance again, where he’ll lose time in between everything. He can’t help but let out a small sigh under his breath at that.
Same old. But the thought itself just makes him feel depressed. Trauma this, trauma that… Fuck his life and his body. Why has logic never won when it came to him?
“The poor cat doesn’t have anyone to take care of it. I can’t take care of it since Erick’s also mildly allergic to cats, Michelle can’t since she’s the same… That leaves you, Bryan, to take care of the stray,” Katie says.
Bryan blinks in confusion at that, slowly turning his head toward Katie with a disgruntled look. Him? Taking care of a cat? Out of all people? Is she fucking serious right now? “That’s a good idea,” Michelle suddenly says. “You’re allergic to them. I can’t take care of a cat—Katie, what the fuck,” Bryan says, glaring at the other woman, who just grins at him and shrugs.
“Are you really about to let that poor stray die? Clearly, she wants to be taken care of. Look, later she’ll definitely be here.” Katie knocks her fist gently against the windowpane as Bryan narrows his eyes at her. “I’m not fucking taking care of a goddamn cat,” he says lowly.
“I think you should. I heard animals can be good for the mind as well,” Michelle says. Bryan glances at Michelle, who’s shooting Katie a glance as if the both of them are having a silent discussion.
And then he finally realizes—Jesus F. Christ, Bryan thinks to himself tiredly. Of course Michelle and Katie are plotting… God damn it. He’s never been a cat person. “Yeah, that’s what I heard as well, actually. Maybe you wouldn’t even need a shrink anymore,” Katie says. “That’s a bit too far. Cats can be cute, but they aren’t magic,” Michelle snorts, rolling her eyes.
But Bryan wishes Katie was right, and that it was that easy, as Katie snickers. “You wouldn’t know that until Bryan takes care of one. So, what do ya think, Bryan?” She turns back to Bryan again, who’s now staring at the ceiling, tapping his fingers against his chest tiredly.
Does he even have a choice at this point? If Michelle thinks that it would help him, she would want it to happen, and as he had mentioned, he’s been a people pleaser ever since he was old enough to realize that older people would like him better if he smiled and nodded and acted all cute and easy to talk to.
He’s not a cat person.
“Okay.” Bryan mutters, and Katie whoops at that while Michelle grins, looking like she’s completely forgotten about the food she’s supposed to be tending to for all of them to eat. Bryan just lets out a small internal sigh, turning his head towards Katie and the window, staring at the snow lazily drifting down past the rusted fire escape. That cat must have been desperate and hungry enough to come to the most ruined and shittiest apartment building on the street.
Dinner is mostly peaceful, save for Katie talking about some random bullshit that Bryan couldn’t care less about. He spends most of his time trying to cut his food into microscopic pieces and eat it. It’s the same as ever—ashy, sometimes tasteless, and with a texture that feels strange on his tongue these days. It’s like trying to eat and chew on vomit, just a mix of strange textures from multiple meats and slush.
Now that he thinks about it, that’s really fucking disgusting. He should probably stop thinking about it, or he’ll embarrass his ass again by vomiting all over the table in front of his girlfriend and Katie.
After dinner, he’s back on the couch, slumped lazily over the cushions with his blanket draped over his lap. He’s got to do something soon… He’s becoming more of a burden to Michelle than anything else, but then again, how can he do anything if no shrink fucking takes him in? Should he consider faking things just so Michelle would finally get off his ass?
Bryan sighs sharply as he leans back on the couch, letting out a soft groan as he presses the heel of his palm over his eyes in hopes that maybe it will fully clear the haze in his mind that’s slowly setting in. The food he ate earlier sits uncomfortably in his stomach, making him feel strangely and disgustingly bloated. Just sitting in this position makes him feel sick to his stomach, in fact.
He needs to walk… Would Michelle let him go outside by himself?
“Fuck no,” Bryan mutters to himself as he groans again, sitting up as he hears Michelle and Katie’s voices coming from the kitchen, plates and utensils clacking as the two of them clean the dishes. He should get up and help them, but knowing Michelle, she’d just force him onto the couch—or worse, back onto their bed to rest and wrap him up thickly in their blanket just so he wouldn’t be able to get out.
She really has that protective streak in her that makes Bryan feel really bad for letting her do all this shit—Meow.
Bryan shifts, startled, as he turns his head towards the window. The sky outside has already darkened, and snow has piled slightly along the windowsill, coating the rusted fire escape with powdery snow. On top of it is a cat, its tail flicking slowly, one ear drooped down. Its fur is patchy, with parts of its skin showing underneath, and one of its eyes is permanently squinted. By the looks of it, this cat gets into fights daily just for the fuck of it.
For a moment, Bryan stares at the window, looking at the cat as it meows once more, moving closer and pawing at the bottom part of the window like it’s trying to find a way in.
It must be hungry, Bryan thinks to himself.
Well… it isn’t the only one.
The thought comes almost unprompted, dark enough to startle him a bit as he blinks in mild surprise. The thought itself is impulsive, and it makes Bryan worry again, though his thoughts are cut off when he hears faint scratching once more. He finally pushes himself up to his feet, stumbling towards the window and staring down at the cat, which has stopped, looking up at him with its beady eyes.
It looks so goddamn pathetic. This cat with its patchy fur, one drooped ear, and a single eye permanently squinted from what looks like some kind of injury from a past cat fight—no wonder Katie’s already taken by it. Bryan sighs, grabbing the window lock, unlatching it, and pulling it up as the cat meows loudly, standing up with its tail flicking quickly as it looks up at Bryan. It doesn’t enter yet.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Bryan stepped back, giving the cat space to enter as it finally slithered in, moving just a little slowly because it looked worried that Bryan might attack it or something. It jumped down onto the floor with a dull thump before quickly sprinting toward the couch, sniffing around as if it were trying to scavenge for any food left on the floor. Bryan closed the window again, latching it shut before moving toward the couch.
He does remember leaving some crackers by the cabinet at the side… He sits down, reaching over the random trash he has laying around after camping on the couch for days now. He finds the cracker he had from the other day that he’d forgotten about, clicking his tongue to call the cat as he looks by his feet, going, “Pspspspsps,” under his breath.
The cat quickly sprints out from underneath the couch, looking up at him with a loud meow—almost a yowl—when it spots the cracker in his hand. Bryan raises it, waving it in the air as the cat jumps up onto the couch.
“Okay, calm down—calm down. Jesus Christ, here you go.”
Bryan waves the cracker around for a few moments, causing the cat to yowl much louder, though thankfully Michelle and Katie don’t seem to hear it because they’re still elbow-deep in whatever conversation they’re having about some kind of shirt. Actually, he doesn’t fucking know. Whatever fashion shit these days that’s trending.
He lowers the cracker, and the cat practically bites his finger trying to eat it, letting out growls and meows as it continues to munch on it, dropping crumbs all over the couch cushion. Bryan leans back, watching the cat.
“Guess you’re really hungry,” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he drops the other cracker in front of the cat for it to continue eating. He pockets the empty plastic wrapper and watches the cat eat.
He’s not a cat person, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t pet one—which he would have done if the cat didn’t look like it had… a skin disease. It was already kind of disgusting letting it stay on top of the couch. His hand hovers over its head, which doesn’t look patchy, and he pets it with a single pointer finger, debating whether he should wash his hands like fifteen times before touching his face or even touching Michelle after this.
Wait, fuck. The cat hair would have spread all over.
Oh, damn it. He’s got to make sure no cat fur stays on him.
The cat doesn’t take long to finish eating the cracker, and even though Bryan is a little disgusted sliding his hands underneath its belly, which feels weirdly slimy and wet—hopefully it’s just the snow—he gets the cat back outside through the window. He cracks it open and lets the cat jump off his hand as he wipes his hands on his pants, a little tempted to smell them.
It’s definitely going to smell bad.
The cat hisses at him as Bryan rolls his eyes.
“I fed you, and this is how you thank me?” he asks the cat, which hisses again before sitting down in the snow and licking its leg, its tail flicking lazily as Bryan watches it with a small sigh and a slight shake of his head.
Cats.
This is why he isn’t a cat person. A dog would have never hissed at him and would have instead cuddled him to sleep.
But then again, the last dog I came across almost ate me, Bryan thinks to himself dryly as he can’t help but remember the weird, slimy tentacles coming out of that dog’s open face, wrapping all around him and pulling him closer… and closer… and closer—
For some reason, he can’t help but remember the sound of bones snapping when the dog’s face opened.
Fuck—that’s disgusting. Razor-sharp teeth all over the fleshy insides.
It’s just the same with that kid—
“Bryan?”
Bryan startles back to himself, his tongue strangely numb, and strangely, his mouth is filled with saliva. His stomach is rumbling strangely as the cat looks up at him, then hisses again and practically jumps off the fire-escape stairs in its hurry to get away.
A hand is placed on his shoulder as he turns to Michelle, who is giving him a worried look.
“Bry? Something wrong? You opened the window. You’re getting snow in,” she says, reaching over—and for a short moment, Bryan can smell her perfume. He’s sure she applied it this morning, which was hours ago, and it should have faded by now with all the smoke and food that had wrapped itself around her skin and clothes.
But right now, it smells sweet and tempting. It’s like being starved of something sweet for a while, and you can’t help but crave it. And after that, you’ll pair it with a cold glass of water, which makes the treat much sweeter—
“Bryan,” Michelle says again, and Bryan snaps out of his thoughts, coughing in confusion as he chokes on his own saliva, which seems to have built up in his mouth. He swallows it down before managing to speak.
“I—huh?” he asks, confused, as Michelle gives him an odd look, her expression mostly worried. “You alright, baby?” She reaches over to take his elbow, rubbing her hand up and down his arm as Bryan slowly blinks at her.
“I—yeah,” he starts, his voice suddenly hoarse, making Michelle’s brows furrow a little. “Feeling under the weather again?” she asks, glancing at the window for a moment. “Don’t open it next time. It’s cold,” she adds.
“No, I’m fine. Just… there was the cat Katie was talking about. I fed it—I think it left some cat hair around the couch. I don’t know…” Bryan shrugs, and Michelle’s worried expression fades into a small smile.
“Really? Oh, that’s great! The hair is fine; I’ll clean it up. You know, my brother used to have cats, even though I was allergic to them. You could say I’m a bit used to sneezing all the time.” She winks, and Bryan cracks a small grin at that.
“It’s better if you don’t, babe. Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a disgusting cat. Katie fucking lied to us, that asshole. It probably has rabies or some shit, and I touched it.” Bryan wrinkles his nose in disgust, making Michelle giggle.
“Don’t say that,” she laughs. “I will say that. That cat is disgusting,” Bryan groans, and Michelle simply laughs again.
[...]
It’s night again, and Michelle is the first one to fall asleep, which doesn’t really surprise Bryan. She’s been tired for the past few days, having to work, take care of him, and take care of the house—God, she’s doing almost everything in this damn house. The guilt is practically eating him alive.
Bryan lies there, slowly turning his head towards Michelle, watching as her hair fans out across the pillow and around her face almost beautifully. It just reminds him of how fucking lucky he is to have this beautiful woman, someone he’s about to start a family with (which is exactly why he’s got to get his shit together soon). He moves closer, turning onto his side as he looks at her face.
Her expression is slack, her mouth slightly open as she breathes in soft little puffs. For a moment, Bryan simply watches her before slowly reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He doesn’t want it drifting over her face or nose, which would probably make her itch and maybe cause her to accidentally punch him in the middle of the night out of annoyance. Or worse, she might accidentally eat her own hair.
Honestly, he has no clue which would be worse.
Right now, he’s just enjoying looking at her, feeling mostly glad that he has her, that he’s back with her, and that nothing happened in Raccoon City that could have ended with him leaving Michelle to do all of this alone.
They’re gonna have a baby…
Bryan’s gonna be a father, and Michelle’s going to be a mother. He doesn’t really care whether the baby is a boy or a girl. All he cares about is that he’s finally got a family. A real family that won’t leave each other behind… Not like how his dad often left his mom for multiple women, turning her into a bitter version of someone Bryan can no longer recognize. He doesn’t want to be like his dad. He has no plans of becoming anything like him.
He wants to be better. He wants to be someone his dad never was. Someone who stays and actually does his fucking job as a fucking father.
He’s gonna be a dad—
Bryan lurches when he feels his stomach cramp, his body trembling as his skin breaks out in a damp, clammy sweat. He shifts away from Michelle, wrapping his arms around his stomach as another painful cramp twists through his gut. A small, weak groan escapes him.
It feels like he’s about to vomit.
Oh, God.
Quickly, and as quietly as he can, he tries to stand up so he can get to the bathroom outside the bedroom. His legs feel slightly numb, and he almost smashes his head into the wardrobe beside him, but he manages to catch himself just in time.
His stomach gurgles again, and he nearly drops to his knees as another weak groan escapes him. It feels like he ate something bad. Or… something like having the worst diarrhea ever, except this time, it isn’t going down the pipe out of his fucking ass. Instead, it’s coming out of his mouth—
Oh, God, that is such a disgusting image.
The thought flashes through Bryan’s mind as he reaches the bathroom—though he made sure to be a bit gentler seeing Katie fast asleep on the couch, all the pillows kicked off as well as her own blanket. He shoves the door open and flicks on the lights, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. His face is pale, and his eyes are slightly red, probably from being awake since earlier. The last time he checked, it was two in the morning, but that was… probably hours ago now.
He drops to his knees beside the toilet, still clutching his stomach as he gags.
Jesus, what the fuck did he even eat? He gags again, his stomach cramping like hell. Tears well up in his eyes as he holds his stomach, his shoulders shaking while he gags again and again.
Fuck… He doesn’t think he’s ever experienced a stomachache this bad before.
Probably when he was younger and drank expired milk, then spent his time shitting his pants in the school bathroom. But at least that felt better after he’d shit it all out. Right now, he can’t even vomit whatever’s in his stomach. It’s like it’s stuck in there, and whatever he ate must have been expired.
But… Michelle cooked it. Surely she wouldn’t cook something expired, right? And even then, milk was probably the only thing that could fold his ass in half if it was expired. The rest, not so much. He could eat expired corned beef and probably be fine—back then, anyway. Right now, it’d probably taste just like everything else. But the point still stands—
Suddenly, a single flesh-colored, slimy-looking thing (almost like a tentacle from one of those… fucking monsters back in Raccoon City) comes out of Bryan’s throat, and he lets out a choked scream, only to choke on whatever the hell is coming out of his throat. (Which definitely came from his stomach… He doesn’t remember eating a fucking tentacle for dinner.)
Quickly, completely out of his mind with fear—he’s not even thinking logically anymore, much less about how he probably shouldn’t pull on whatever’s coming out of his throat because it could be a nerve… A really big, slimy nerve—he grabs it with his bare hands and yanks.
It feels like something is being ripped out from deep inside him—almost like getting your soul sucked out of some sort. Everything goes black before he can even begin to process what the ever-living fuck is happening in front of him.
Then there’s a loud, dull thump, but Bryan can’t focus on it. His ears are ringing, and he can hear strange sounds of whining and whispering coming from somewhere behind his ears.
“What the fuck was that? Bryan?”
“Bryan?! Shit—”
“Michelle! Michelle!”
…
…
“Oh my god! Bryan!”
…
…
“Hello?!”
“911?! Yes! Please! I need help, my boyfriend is—”
…
…
…
“ —Yes, it’s—please listen to me first, my boyfriend is—fuck—uh—ah—hah…”
“Mish, breathe—”
“I can’t–”
“Give me the goddamn phone, put him on his side.”
“Fu–hah— okay—okay. Here—”
“Hello? Yes, my friend here is….”
…
…
…
Everything completely fades away after that the moment Bryan feels hands all over him, turning him on his side.