Surviving the Apocalypse With My Yandere Ex-Girlfriend

Sweat dripped down my face as I lay on a bed of damp moss, staring into the darkness beneath the trees.

The forest had gone quiet hours ago.

Lila was supposed to be beside me.

Supposed to be.

That was where I'd left her when we fell asleep, curled beneath the same blanket with her shoulder pressed against mine. I remembered the warmth of her body. I remembered her breathing.

Now there was only empty space.

I didn't know when she'd moved.

Normally, I wouldn't have cared.

Brutal fights had never done much to my sleep. I could get beaten half to death and still pass out the moment my head touched something remotely comfortable. My body had always known how to shut itself down when it needed to.

But tonight was different.

I couldn't feel myself properly.

My limbs were there.

My heartbeat was there.

My breathing was there.

Yet somehow, none of it felt like it belonged to me.

I closed my eyes.

For a while, I tried to force myself back to sleep.

It didn't work.

When I opened them again, I wasn't looking at the forest.

I was looking at him.

The grey-eyed man.

The memory came without warning.

His face was inches from mine.

I remembered the blood running down the side of his neck.

I remembered his missing ear.

I remembered the moment his teeth had torn through it.

But the strangest part was that I remembered my reaction.

There hadn't been one.

No shock.

No pain.

No anger.

Nothing.

I had simply looked at him.

And something inside me had decided he was no longer a person.

He was an obstacle.

I swallowed.

My fingers curled against the moss.

The memory continued.

He came at me.

Fast.

I moved.

Not because I had thought about moving.

There had been no decision.

My body simply knew where his fist was going to be.

I stepped outside the punch and drove my elbow into his throat.

I remembered the sound.

A wet, ugly crack.

He staggered.

I followed.

My hand caught the back of his coat and pulled him toward me while my knee drove into his stomach.

He folded.

I hit him again.

Then again.

There should have been a point where I stopped.

There wasn't.

He tried to create distance.

I didn't allow it.

He raised his arms to protect his face.

I changed targets.

His knee.

His ribs.

His throat.

Anywhere that made him slower.

Anywhere that made him weaker.

It wasn't fighting.

It was dismantling.

And I knew exactly how to do it.

The memory shifted.

Someone grabbed me from behind.

I remembered the pressure around my chest.

The smell of sweat.

The sound of Lila struggling.

I remembered turning.

I remembered the infected's eyes.

I remembered thinking—

Lila.

That should have been where everything became frantic.

It wasn't.

My mind became quieter.

Much quieter.

The lattice hummed somewhere along my spine.

I could feel it then.

Not as a voice.

Not as words.

Something deeper.

A certainty.

My eyes opened wider in the memory.

Blue had spread across my vision.

The veins around my eyes had risen beneath my skin.

I remembered seeing my own hands.

They looked wrong.

Too steady.

Too calm.

The man holding me swung.

His fist connected with my jaw.

My head snapped sideways.

I didn't even blink.

I remember that more clearly than anything.

He had hit me hard enough that I should have stumbled.

Instead, I stepped toward him.

My fingers found his wrist.

I twisted.

He screamed.

I pulled him forward and drove my forehead into his nose.

Once.

He recoiled.

I caught his collar.

My knee hit his thigh.

His leg buckled.

Then my hand went around his throat.

I squeezed.

His hands clawed at my wrist.

His face changed.

Fear.

Actual fear.

I remember looking into his eyes.

And feeling nothing.

That was the part that made my stomach turn.

I knew he was afraid.

I understood what fear looked like.

But it didn't reach me.

There was no hesitation.

No sympathy.

No little voice telling me to stop.

Just the lattice.

Humming.

My fingers tightened.

His feet left the ground.

For one terrible second, I watched him hanging there.

Then I threw him into the snow.

He didn't get back up.

Another one came.

Then another.

I don't remember deciding to fight them.

I remember them approaching.

I remember bodies.

I remember movement.

A hand reached for my shoulder.

I caught it.

A knife came toward my ribs.

I moved just enough for it to miss.

My elbow struck the attacker's wrist.

The knife dropped.

I kicked it farther away.

Then I drove my fist into his throat.

He fell choking.

Someone struck me across the back with a rifle.

I barely registered it.

I turned.

Grabbed the rifle.

Pulled.

The man holding it came with it.

I drove the stock into his face.

Blood sprayed across the snow.

He fell.

I stepped over him.

Another man raised his weapon.

I didn't give him time.

I closed the distance.

My hand caught his jaw.

The other went behind his head.

Then—

I twisted.

The memory became sound.

A horrible sound.

I released him.

He dropped.

I kept moving.

That was what terrified me.

There was no pause.

No satisfaction.

No rage.

No adrenaline-fueled screaming.

I simply moved from one target to the next.

Like the violence itself was routine.

Like there was nothing remarkable about breaking a man's arm to take his weapon.

Nothing remarkable about driving a blade into flesh.

Nothing remarkable about being hit.

Nothing remarkable about blood.

Nothing remarkable about death.

The lattice didn't make me stronger.

Not exactly.

It made everything simpler.

Threat.

Response.

Threat.

Response.

Survive.

Kill.

Survive.

Kill.

And somewhere behind all of it…

I was watching.

I was there.

I knew what was happening.

But I couldn't make myself care.

That realization frightened me more than the violence.

Because if I had lost control completely, I could tell myself it wasn't me.

But I hadn't.

I had seen everything.

I had simply…

Allowed it.

The memory stopped.

I was standing in the snow.

My hands were red.

My breathing was calm.

The grey-eyed man was staring at me.

There was blood dripping from his mouth.

I remember looking at him.

I remember the blue reflected in his eyes.

And then I smiled.

I don't remember choosing to.

That was the worst part.

I woke up choking on air.

I shot upright so violently that my head slammed into something solid.

"Fuck!"

Pain exploded across my forehead.

I grabbed my head.

"Awh—Lila!"

"What the hell?"

She stumbled backward, clutching her own forehead.

For a second we simply stared at each other.

Then I noticed the bruise forming above her eyebrow.

I winced.

"Did I just headbutt you?"

Lila rubbed her forehead.

"You think?"

"I didn't know you were standing over me."

"I was checking on you."

"By headbutting me?"

She gave me a look.

"Apparently."

I wiped my forehead.

My fingers came away red.

I frowned at the blood.

Then looked back at her.

She was smiling.

Barely.

It was shaky.

Uncertain.

But real.

Her eyes searched my face.

"You're okay."

I stared at her.

"Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I—"

She hugged me.

I froze.

Her arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, almost desperately.

Then she kissed my cheek.

Once.

She pulled me closer.

I could feel her breathing against my neck.

She didn't say anything.

Neither did I.

I just sat there.

Still trying to understand the memory.

Still feeling the phantom hum along my spine.

And for some reason…

I didn't tell her about it.

Not yet.

She held me tighter.

As though she already knew there was something wrong.

As though she was afraid that if she let go…

Whatever had been looking through my eyes in that memory might come back.