Fruitbat

4. 4

4

Danny

11:27 pm

“What the fuck?”

Blinding nothingness dims and I focus on the ghoulish blonde grinning over me. His buttery curls are mangled and poking in all directions. Smoky rings frame hazel eyes, and his skin is the color of spoiled chicken. He glows from a fluorescent halo of the buzzing ceiling lights overhead.

“Don’t get up,” he says.

I’m not about to listen to a zombie, huddled over my vulnerable body. What the fuck just happened? I grip a shelf and pry my sore back off the floor, shimmying a reasonable distance away from the mind munching stranger .

“You’re hurt. Sit still, do you need some water?” He flings a fridge door open, gathers a plastic bottle, and shoves it in my face.

I bracket my temples with my palms, to squash the pulsing throbs, and guard my precious brain from the hungry ghoul.

He scurries around the corner on all fours, and returns the same way, rattling a bottle of Tylenol at me.

“Take some,” he commands.

I accept the water and the pills, but glare at the suspicious stranger, now gnawing his lower lip with thick buttery brows, caved in concern. He sits back on his heels, places both hands on his knees, and tilts his head. Like a good boy.

Prettiest zombie I’ve ever seen.

The zombie’s mouth stretches, in a half smile, that pulls at the stone-pale skin across his face.

The pain subsides in my head and back, disappearing as if it was never there, and I move to pull myself up.

He rushes to his feet and grabs my arm, offering to hoist me.

I look up into glistening blue-green pools, specked with golden shards, and melt for a moment.

“I’m okay.” I pull my arm from his grip and climb to my feet, tugging my shirt back down to cover my belly. My back is drenched, and I reek of mop fluid.

The floor is scattered with wet patches, slowly evaporating, and the bright yellow— caution: wet floor— sign is still sandwiched-up and leaning against the rolling bucket of water, at the back of the store .

For fucks sake, Delila? She forgets to put it out all the time. This isn’t my first slip-and-fall, thanks to her. If the store ever had customers, they could cash out big, with a lawsuit. Wait—could I?

“Are you okay?” The zombie leans into my peripheral.

“Fine, “ I bite.

The kindness in his eyes is tender. I relent, softening my tone, and adding, “I’m okay,” as I meet his stare.

His half smile arcs fully and his brows rise in relief.

“Oh, good.” He rocks on his feet, latching his arms behind his back, pushing his bronzed belly forward, under a tattered crop top. A sparse trail of sunny hairs travel from his navel, down into the waistband of white underwear, peeking over blue jeans.

I swallow the thickness collecting in my throat.

“I saw you go down . . . from across the street,” he says, twisting his body and pointing out the glass storefront. His shoulders are broad and flex, poking out of frayed sleeves.

I tug at the hem of my old t-shirt—too small for my plump body—to double-check that my midriff is covered and avert my eyes to the drink coolers, when he turns back to face me. My cheeks burn.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He steps forward.

“Yes.” I say shortly, “I’m fine.” I scoot behind the shelves, kicking the mop bucket, and cross the back of the store, on trek to my station at the counter.

“Thanks for checking on me.” You can go now .

He rounds the front and meets me at my destination, all without taking his eyes off me.

I slip into my cave, behind the register, trying to hide away from the shameful fiasco. Leave it to me, to make a fool of myself, as a gorgeous stranger is passing by the window.

“That was an intense fall,” he comments, leaning on his elbows, over the counter.

I’m sure.

My eyes are drawn to the flex of his biceps and the arc of his long neck. His big bright eyes look me up and down.

I want to shrink into a cubby under the cash register.

“I’m Si,” he offers a hand.

I ignore the greeting and crouch, pretending to carry on with important work, shifting about candy bars in the box Delila left for me to put away.

He folds his arm and props himself up, peering over the cash register at me.

“Danny.” I finally respond, turning my head to stare at the empty space on the candy shelf in aisle two, assessing the urgent task at hand. “Well, duty calls.” I hint, heaving the box into my arms, as I rise to my feet.

Si’s eyes follow as I make my way down the aisle.

He dangles from his elbows, off the counter, kicking his feet, before hopping back. His sneaker squeaks as he bounces up behind me.

It’s going to be a long night.