Furious eyes

by bluebox-blackdoor

Hours after Julie's and R's escape from the Bonies, they reflect on the after effects that will bring their world crashing down once again. Their only chance to survive this new world, and their new feelings, is to create love that will survive death. (A small scene I wrote right after reading Warm Bodies for about the fourth time. I'm a huge fan of this novel)

She stares up at me with red rimmed, blubbery eyes. She speaks to me through her tears. "This pain. Oh this pain! Take it away!". I see my hand cupping her neck, skin soft but fever hot from ferocious crying.

Slowly I lean forward, stooping to level with her tiny, bird like frame. My lips, now pink and full of life, kiss her eyelids, right then left.

I taste salt… taste! I realise this is the first thing my newly blood filled lips have ever tasted.

It feels somehow right. This is what we share, Julie and I. Tears which she shed for joy and sadness, death and life.

A wave of sadness washes over me, head to toe. I feel Julies loss. I feel the guilt she carries on her tiny shoulders. I want to carry it for her on my stronger, broader back.

"How can I live, R?" she whispers.

I say nothing, but stroke her jaw line with my thumb tips, cupping her face. I feel the hot wet drops land on my wrists, my bloodlines.

"With me, Julie." I sigh.

"I will keep you alive… keep you", I trail off. This time not because I have to but because suddenly Julie is staring at me with an almost ferocious gaze.

Her golden eyes surprise me, I still expect azure. I go to say something, anything!

But Julies hands touch my shoulders. She grips my shirt, bunching the material.

Her eyes speak to me volumes. 'I need you, like I need life' they plead.

I realise that I am hyperventilating, my mouth slack like it was for so many years.

Julie pulls me toward her. I feel… what? Fear, longing, desperation. Certainly love. Lust. It is akin to the Hungry Hands I used to feel groping from my core towards live flesh.

She releases my shirt, and moves to my red tie; my link with the pastm my 'Pre-Apocolyptic self' I want it off! Julies hands fumble with the silken material, but my hands cup hers, and guide her fingers. She pulls the tie, my noose, off slowly, the material making a small whirring noise as it glides off. Then she finds my shirt button. Slowly she pops them undone.

We stand so close that our breath mingles, becomes one. It tastes hot and moist and most certainly alive.

She pulls my shit off and drops it onto her chaotic floor, so full of stories. Her eyes follow her small calloused hands, as she strokes my pink, pink skin. The large hole where I took my largest injury is now a scar, which itself is rapidly healing, the skin raised and hot.