Outskirts of Toronto, Canada
August 29th, 2018 - 20:13 EST
rainymood.com
"I-I’m -- I’m so sorry... I -- I-I tried to save her, I did! I tried - and it’s... It’s all my fault." -Francis
It had been several punishing minutes since Francis had taken the final, finishing round to Rebecca’s crown to prevent their undead afterlife from burdening the world - and his conscious. He had taken to riding down the fire escape with his duffel bags slung over each shoulder; his emotions were arised, his common sense blinded... He had to leave, he had to escape that blasphemous building, run for the outskirts of town to have somewhere quiet and natural to mourn. He had went on a slow, militaristic jog down the empty alleyways, avoiding the majority of the infected and ending the two he came into contact with via his knife embedding into their skulls.
After a solid half hour of powering through sleep-deprived, heavyweight-carrying, physically exhausting run, he finally collapses in a nearby plain field to gather what breath he could from the workout. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stand, couldn’t talk - not even enough to think about what had just happened... “Are- Are you Will?” A voice hesitantly rising from a voice unknown to Will... “Wi-....” He wheezed out from his coarse voice, having vigorously strained himself by carrying nearly his wait in ammunition and equipment. It was foolish of him to drain himself of his vitality by such a need to flee from the scene, forcing him to take a pair of minutes to gather the energy to even coherently speak; “Y... y-yeah. H-how did you...?” He tried to lean up his head to see the woman in question, but the weight of his fatigue outweighted his interest; the back of his cranium meeting with the rain-softened soil and caking with a thin puddle of mud. The droplets pitter-pattering on his face from the abyssal black night’s sky, teasing him with the movement he’d want - but couldn’t retrieve from his body. He laid there, temporarily helpless and left to listen to the woman in question.
Hearing the man’s voice, she cringed and slowly took another step towards him. She wasn’t blind; she could see all of his equipment that he had on hand. If this wasn’t the person she was looking for….she definitely did not want to irritate him more than needed. Chelle took a moment to look him over before his voice cut through her thoughts, confirming what she had previously questioned. She couldn’t describe the feeling that overcame her, knowing this man was another part of her sister. One who she never in this lifetime would think that she’d ever get to meet. As he succumbed to his fatigue, she quickly hurried over and dropped to her knees next to his head. She scrunched her nose slightly at his demeanor before carefully propping up his head to lay it back onto her lap. Looking down into his face, she took a shaky breath before the words started pouring from her mouth. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe I found you. What are you doing in Canada? You came at a really horrible time, you know.”
“Was here t-.. T-to visit her...” Francis muttered as the droplets upon his face collected and gathered; two streams gliding down from the sides of his sockets to spill onto her lap, tears hidden amongst downpour. The more he began to recognize the familiar woman that cradled his head, the more he began to face the reality of the moment; Rebecca was gone from his life, and there was nothing more he could do for her. The guilt and shame made itself overt upon every wrinkle and inch of his face, unable to be withdrawn as he had no safe retreat for his mind to be occupied by. Silently sobbing at the lost that not only he had felt, but Rachelle as well. He hiccuped now and again, a habitual mannerism that struck whenever he found himself trying to find reprieve from his body’s demand to mourn and tear. His eyes traversed to Rachelle’s face, beckoning an answer through a quivered breath; “W-who... w-who are you?”
The rain was pelting at the back of her neck as she continued to look down into the face of the man her sister had loved. She could feel the chill sinking into her back and hair as everything quickly grew more damp. Sniffling, she looked around at their surroundings. Nothing except a clear meadow. They needed shelter from the rain, from the infected...There had to be somewhere they could go. Chelle squinted her eyes to try to take in everything better. She could barely make out buildings a couple miles from them. They had to make it there. When the man shook, it brought her attention back to him. He looked so incredibly sad. Did he know? How did he know what happened? Rebecca had only just been killed. He couldn’t know. But- Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. She first saw him at the apartment. He knew. He most definitely knew about her sister. Tears filled her eyes once more as she searched his face, a sob racking her in her chest. “I’m Rachelle...Rebecca, she...She’s…”
Francis’ ocean-colured eyes widened as the revelation clicked in his mind. Who was this woman? How could she possibly have known who he was? Who Rebecca was? Her face seemed so familiar, as did her name - and that’s when it dawned on him who she truly was. The pained expression he wore heavily stuck on him to a point where nothing could further express his sorrow, other than the tears that now made themselves clear as her head shielded his from the droplets. His eyes averted to the side, trying to avoid her gaze that would overwhelm the dam; he couldn’t handle any more of the disappointment in himself, much less the mind in tact to handle Rebecca’s own blood mourning the loss with him. His face turned to nuzzle weakly and pathetically into her lap, admitting his self-loathing as he begged; “I-I’m -- I’m so sorry... I -- I-I tried to save her, I did! I tried - and it’s... It’s all my fault.” He couldn’t begin to understand the pain that Rechelle was suffering; this was just a girlfriend, but to her? This meant something significantly stronger. This was her sister, her family, her blood. How could he hope to think that she’d forgive him for his inability to save her. The anxiety, the fear, the self-hatred all piling in.
The pain this man was feeling was evident. She couldn’t remember the last time she had witnessed a man crying from complete despair- yet, here it was. He must have really cared for her sister. Her beautiful, loving, carefree sister. Thinking of her only brought on another flood of pain and sorrow. Why did it have to be her sister? Rebecca was the good one. She was the one with her head on her shoulders. Chelle was an idiot; she threw her life into some silly dream that seemed so miniscule now. Why couldn’t it have been her? She couldn’t afford to turn into a blubbering mess with this stranger. Yes, she knew a few details that Becca had shared with her, but he was still mostly a mystery to her. And yet she couldn’t help but to react to his pain. As he turned his head towards her lap, she sniffled and gently ran her fingertips over his jaw to comfort him. His words created suspicion, however. He tried to save her? What was his fault? She tried to remember back to when her sister had been bitten. A gunshot rang in her head. It was him. He was the one who shot her sister, her mentor, her role model, in the skull. Sucking in a quick breath, she quickly wanted to hate this man. Her brows furrowed and she shook her head violently, shaking some of the raindrops from her hair. “No...No...You killed her...You killed her! You killed her…” Her anger quickly gave way to more sobs as she hung her head, her entire body shaking.
The ire that drew from Rechelle only fueled the ire he held for himself; he knew no matter the explanation, no grave the matter, it fell onto his lackluster combat reflexes that ended in her sister’s death. He had no excuse, no moral rebound to defend himself. All he could do was suffer the guilt of his consequences and give in to shameful admittance; “S-she was bitten, I -- didn’t want her to suffer...” He gritted his teeth, begging any god there was to alleviate him from this world, this terrible fate that he put onto himself and his lover’s sister. How could he endure this? The whole reason he was here, the whole reason he left Ireland to visit, the whole reason he even bothered to break into the Outdoor Store for protection - to find her. And with that failed, he had nothing left that to accept his fate. “I -- d-didn’t want to become o-one of them.. S-she deserved better..”
Taking several breaths to calm herself, she continued to shake her head as she looked away from him. It wasn’t in her to pull away from him- Becca wouldn’t want that from her. She’d want to still help him, no matter what he had done to her. “I could have helped...Could have gotten to a doctor...I should have been able to find a doctor. Why aren’t there any people to fix this?!” In her heart, deep within her heart and mind, she knew he had done the right thing. He had shown her mercy instead of allowing her to suffer a fate worse than death. It still hurt, nonetheless. Who in their right mind could put a gun to their loved one’s head and pull the trigger? She looked back down into his face and she witnessed his torment. Her face scrunched as she forced back another tremble. He must have really loved her, to be able to do that for her. As he continued to speak, she shushed him and nodded, her fingertips once more trailing along his jaw and cheeks. “It’s o-okay...It’s okay. You did the right thing.”
The drowning man sinking in the ocean of sorrow took hold of her suggestions, silencing himself upon the request of her shushing. The drag of her finger along his jaw and cheeks soothing his racing heart to a gradual stead; it worked, and rather well at that. Every little sensation, every little tingle he could receive to quell the burden was more than appreciated to be received; her words bringing him the life ring he needed to stay afloat for just the moment. Again - unable to begin to comprehend how she’d cope with him of all people in this world. “T-thank you..” His tears came to a halt, finding himself more restful by the moment; he forgot about the world around them, the infection, the horror. His mind drew to a blank, opening itself to his senses more than his thought. He took any relief he could, in any form. In a calm, hoarse voice he’d speak on; “T-there’s a -- tent in my backpack. I-it can fit two, if w-we share. I -- can’t go much further, I’m sorry.”
Bringing her head up to look at the night sky, her face and eyes were stung by the continuous downpour. They couldn’t stay here- it was in the middle of nowhere. Their tent would be easily spotted by anyone who came near them. Chelle looked back down into his face and knew he was speaking the truth- he wouldn’t be able to make it to the next building. The longer they stayed in the rain, the longer the both of them would be susceptible of catching an illness. Nobody could afford to get sick at a time like this. With a quick nod, she eased his head down to the ground before moving to his pack. She quickly opened it and pulled out the tent before going about setting it up. It was a bit difficult to secure it in the wet dirt, but she had gone camping several times with her father to know her way around the spikes. The work was done in no time and she turned back to him. “Do you need help getting in?”
“N-no, I can -- do that much. T-thanks..” He grunted as he’d lift his shoulders with the duffel bags still resting upon the muddy ground; they were waterproof thanks to having practically robbed the outdoor store of its best survival equipment that he could manage to take. The coffin tent held enough room for the two to hold, though having to unfortunately share the same roomy sleeping bag; he did the best he could to remove the his outside articles to prevent the inside bag from becoming covered in mud and muck. Thankfully still adorning a tank-top and briefs to prevent any further awkwardness than he was already forced into. “S-sorry, I’ll try to -- give you as much room as you need.” The words leaving in a submissive, nearly broken tone, as he’d scoot as much as his ensemble allowed him to the edge of the tent’s tarp and faced away from her. He truly meant it, not wanted to make it any more unbearable than the situation had permitted; to be half-naked, sharing the tent with his deceased girlfriend’s sister? How much more of his pride and honour could be left after everything done tonight?
She watched as he slowly brought his body closer to the tent, then turned away when he started to shed clothing. Taking in a sharp breath, she looked down at her own mud-covered, soaked clothing and knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in them. Rachelle wasn’t a prude by any means, nor was she any kind of harlot. This was Rebecca’s boyfriend, for crying out loud. Yet it needed to be done. She needed to get warm, and the only way to do that would be to shed her outer clothing. Quickly ridding herself of the soaked t-shirt and denim jean, she was left in modest, black undergarments. At least they matched, she thought to herself. Her thoughts gave way to shivers as she quickly made her way under the sleeping bag. As she laid there, her body continuing to tremble, she glanced over at him. She could feel the body heat radiating off of him. Biting back a whimper, she grit her teeth to talk through her chill. “W-we need to be n-near each o-other. We n-need the w-warmth from our b-bodies.”
“I -- a-alright..” Without question, he obeyed Rachelle’s word to the letter and begun to turn around as he could. Scooting on his side closer to meet her in the middle of the sleeping back to weakly embrace her against her figure; the body radiating from his body was rather abundant, seeming to be not as affected from the weather from his weather-treated clothing. He remained silent, only exhaling a bloom of visible hot breath from his nostrils now and again. His hips were backed away from hers, not taking any chance of discomforting Rachelle by having such a part of their bodies meet; the last thing he needed to do was give any thought that he’d ever have lascivious incentive - now of all times. The faithful man kept true to his borderline sainthood innocence, closing his eyes after a few moments - and obeying any other suggestions that she would give.
As he neared her, she could feel the hesitation come from his body. The thought almost tugged a small grin at the corner of her lips. Even in her sister’s death, this man was loyal to her. It made Rachelle respect him immensely- if she had known nothing else about him, it would be enough to make it known that he was a good man. The heat from his body soon collided with hers and the shivers began to die down. Her eyelids drooped to a close as sleep overwhelmed her body and mind. Reaching out, she lightly placed her fingertips and the palms of her hands against his chest. She leaned her forehead close to his before allowing her body to give way to slumber.
“S-sorry....” The submissive, subservient husk of a man muttered as he’d lay there, silent and otherwise immobile to mitigate the moment; he was far too deep into the realm of regret and restlessness to bother moving, even if he had wanted to. Once his body took to rest, it would remain there. The only comfort he could find was within the warmth build between both their bodies, and the remembrance of the sensation of her finger that dragged along his cheek and jawline; it was a pathetic and silly memory to hold dearly to, but any comforting thought was enough - enough for now.
