“I think you should back off on Sissy,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Suddenly, I fucking hated this man.
“Now I see you disagree,” he continued. “Let me tell you what I see. I see a resourceful, strong, intelligent survivor sitting in front of me right now. But I also see an eighteen year-old. Kid, it wasn’t that long ago I was your age, and my God I remember the feeling of chasing girls.”
“I don’t want to hear this,” I said abruptly, heat in my voice. He lost me at the whole, ‘back off’ comment.
“I’ll finish, and then I’ll drop it. Fair?” he asked.
I hated to answer, but said, “Fine,” in a curt, irritated voice which made me sound like a moody child.
He took a pause, and then said, “I’ll make this quick. I did the dumbest things while chasin’ girls. I took risks that I wouldn’t have taken otherwise. You get sloppy around Sissy, which means you put yourself and her at risk in an attack. Now I’ve already talked with Molly…”
“What?” I interrupted. The only thought in my head was, Why would he do that? The question raced back and forth in my mind as I searched for an answer, dreading the only one I could think of. “You want me to stop spending time with her?” I asked, my heart proudly laid bare upon my sleeve.
“I want you to get a more realistic view of our life here,” he replied.
“How am I supposed to not talk to her, Peter?” I asked, cruel and juvenile scorn in the way I pronounced his name. I felt like he was betraying my trust. I felt like he was asking me to never be happy. I felt like he was asking me to ignore the fact that I had feelings for Sissy. I wanted to tell her my name. Tell her my life story. Tell her that I wanted my new story to be with her. Aren’t feelings like this supposed to inspire and drive a man to be better? Shouldn’t he be encouraging this? And it’s not just my feelings, either. Sissy likes me too. He’s telling us both we have to be unhappy.
“Now I don’t know what happened to you, but you don’t know what she’s been through.” Peter said the words in a tone that did not condemn, but it certainly made me feel like he was trying to put me in my place. “You don’t know what she’s running from. Before this gets out of hand, both of you should reassess your actions and the safety of this family. Molly’s talking with Sissy right now, telling her to not get your hopes up too far.”
I went rigid, and then frozen. It felt like my heart had been replaced with dry ice. I became cold, but felt as though I would burn anyone who touched me.
“This is not a normal life, Kid,” Peter concluded. “Maybe when we settle down. But for right now, just focus on staying alive. If you want something to live for, think of how you are going to keep you and her alive until this is over. Show her that you can provide safety and resources. Prove to her that you can be the man she needs, and stop with the high school romantics and childish behaviors. You are a man in a world of killers. There’s no room to act like a kid anymore.”
I stood, my chin stuck out slightly, and replied, “Well then thanks for the great nickname, Pete, ‘cause calling me ‘Kid’ for the rest of my life will really help me feel like a big man in an apocalyptic world.”
“Ki…” he began, but I was already to the door. “Stop,” he ordered as I walked out. If he wanted my attention he would have to call my name.
At the break room table I found Wood sitting by himself, looking guilty. “Where is everybody?” I snapped.
“Kitchen,” he replied.
“C’mon,” I said, and marched down the hall to the lunch room.
I found Dave and Duck playing cards. Molly was whispering hurriedly in Sissy’s ear across the room. I came in and said in a loud voice, “Excuse me.” Wood slid in behind me and walked over to Molly and Sissy. I cleared my throat and began:
“My name is Kyle Moore, and Cheney is my home.” At the mention of my real name, Duck and Molly both gave shocked expressions. It’s the type of look that says, “Are you about to do what I think you are about to do?” Wood gave a little smile like he was about to witness something forbidden. Sissy only stared at me, clearly still upset by what her mother had just told her. Dave didn’t even look up from his cards.
“Before all of this,” I continued, “I was a nobody. I dropped out of high school and took a job working fast food. It was that or be expelled for fighting. I wasn’t respected. My parents were disappointed in me. I had no car, no girlfriend, and no way out of Cheney. I spent my days wandering this horrid little town and spent my nights stealing beer from my dad and drinking with my friends. Now they’re all dead. My friends are gone, and I watched my family get ambushed and murdered.” It was the first time I had said the words out loud, and they came in wavy, emotional notes. I felt good, and riding that feeling I picked up some steam. “They were not murdered by zombies. They were murdered by people like you and me. Just scared people who were looking for supplies and a way to live.
