He didn't believe in God.
He had never had had a reason to. Maybe he was too vain or perhaps too stubborn to believe in something he couldn't touch.
Nick scoffed quietly, pressing his back harder against the cold cement wall of some cramped and unwelcoming safe room they had managed to hole themselves up in. Outside the wind and rain howled like an angry demon. His heels scrapped against the ground as he pressed himself harder against that unforgiving cement.
He'd be back out there—his eyes wandered to the safe room door that was piled with all the junk they could possibly salvage from the room. Tomorrow would be another day of zombie bullshit. Something new and something more deadly than the next always seemed to find them, beat them, tear them down and leave them on the verge of life only so they could limp to some shitty shack to clumsily nurse their stinging wounds just so they could do it all over again. And out here, in this stupid southern state, it wasn't just the god damn zombies that were trying to kill you. It was everything. The damn bugs, the fucking alligators, the god damn weather for Christ sake. Everything seemed to be trying to kill them.
The conman finally tore his eyes from the barricaded door and hung his head low. He felt this bubbling madness consuming him. He had always known that there were some pretty awful demons in his brain, but he had always been able to drown them out. Be it smokes, liquor or women, he had found a way to ease the demons down and give him one more day. Another day to live, to sin—to do whatever the fuck he wanted.
But after this damned infection, he hadn't been able to do anything he wanted. He shook with the thought of some hard liquor straight on the rocks, choked on his dry throat at the pseudo-taste of cigarettes, nearly whimpered at the thought of supple woman's flesh at his fingertips. God… he knew it'd never be the same. Fuck, for all he knew he was shut in the room with the last four god damn people on earth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He was trembling now, in a way that made him pissed at himself and at the same time terribly afraid. He had been this bad only once before. He could feel that same feeling, that same awful and helpless feeling overtaking him. Twelve years ago he had hit rock bottom when the only thing that had put up with his asshole ego had finally thrown the white flag and retreated from his life forever. God damn that bitch. Curse her to hell and back again. She almost had made him undo himself. But he was stronger than that. A few months binging on cigarettes and booze had saved him from himself.
But tonight he had none of those things. Tonight he had silence, the occasional shuffle and intake of breath as one of his companions awoke in a startled fit of wasted adrenaline and himself…
God—himself! Shit, he was his own worse enemy. He knew that no one in the world would ever kill him. No matter how many people he fucked over he'd be all right. No one could kill him. Not even God.
But that was where fear came in. Nick didn't fear much, but when his mind got going, when it worked into the deepest and most sensitive parts of his emotions, it knew how to get in, dig and dig and twist and jar about all the most dreadful feelings in the world. No, no. No man or zombie would kill Nick. Nick would kill himself first.
His hand shook as it rested on the pistol strapped to his thigh. Man he was really doing this, wasn't he? For a moment he pitied his companions, but quickly realized that the startling sound of one shot would soon be erased. They'd probably be left with bitter smiles and praises. He was an asshole, after all. Although they'd lose a great shot, they'd lose the pessimist. That one that made them always question if they'd really get it out all right. In the end, Nick could care less what they thought. He would be too busy being dead to give a flying fuck.
His trembling hand guided the pistol out and he held it against his shaking legs, trying hard to catch his breath. Shit. This was happening. He couldn't think of any reason to not stop. He had nothing anymore. The world was a fucking war zone, people were eating each other, everything that had meant anything to him was nothing now. He'd never have the life he had so enjoyed. The world was a shit-hole now and the last god damn thing anyone cared about was money—and that was the only thing he had ever had any desire to cherish. You were a man by what you could afford. That was a fact.
But facts these days were becoming fiction.
He closed his eyes and lifted to pistol to his temple. Damn it… just do it. Damn it. Just get it over with. Just one little twitch. One little spasm of your god damn finger will end it all. Just fucking do it already. Just fucking do it.
"Nick?"
Nick's eyes shot opened and he jerked about, nearly pulling the trigger in a panic but his hand had froze. His chest felt like ice but his eyes burned. He was sure his heart just stopped. Good, maybe he was dead.
Although bent on ending it all, his eyes still for some reason could not look away as Ellis cautiously moved towards him—and had he been sleeping earlier, it was not evident in his face anymore. He looked stunned, horrified and terribly too worried for Nick's liking. Nick moved slightly, replacing the pistol barrel more urgently but that desperate look Overalls gave him made him pause.
Ellis continued to move towards him slowly at first, but when Nick just continued to give him that dumbfounded holy-shit-I-can't-believe-you-caught-me expression the man hurried the last few feet and reached out to place his hand over the conman's. Nick continued to give Ellis the dumbfounded expression as the pistol lifted up and slowly away from his head. Nicks fingers twitched and went still as the pistol flopped innocently into Ellis' other hand.
"Holy shit, Nick…" Ellis whispered, setting the pistol aside. He gave the gun a horrified look then turned his wounded eyes back to the conman. "Man, I know it's bad an all, but that ain't the way to go."
Nick stared, breathing ragged and painful sounding. His lip trembled and he wanted nothing more than to shove the hick aside, grab the pistol and finish what he had started. But he didn't. Ellis moved closer and much to Nick's own growing horror brought him into a tight embrace. Nick attempted to fight it, to shove the other way, to scream at him that he should have just rolled over looked the other way and shoved his fucking fingers in his ears. But he didn't. He simply sat there limply as the other hugged him more insistently.
"Come on, man. Talk to me. You know you didn't come all this way jus' to die. Right, Nick? Nick…?"
Damn it… If there was a God he was laughing at him now. Laughing cruelly. Hysterically, like some god damn madman out of some cheesy horror film. Fuck you, Nick. Paybacks a bitch. Fuck. Fuck it all to hell.
Nick resisted the urge to cry as long as he could, but when he finally gave in it came flooding out of him like a storm. He clumsily reached out to hug the other close to him as he sobbed openly into the others shoulder. And bless Ellis, for once in his life he kept his mouth shut and just held him.
And damn it. Why him? Why the kid with the southern twang and boyish smile? The god damn hick? If Nick had any will left in him he probably would have simply throttled the life from Ellis and kill all witnesses to his breakdown. Nick had done nothing to keep the boy from hating him. He had made it very clear what he thought of Ellis. He was an unintelligent, over talkative annoying little fuck. And god damn, that same kid was here holding him, stroking his back comfortingly as he sobbed like a little bitch.
He must have been pretty loud, because Nick soon became aware that Rochelle and Coach were somewhere nearby, alarmed and totally thrown off by the whole Mr. Smooth-Sobbing-His-Brains-Out unfolding before their eyes. Man, this must be some spectacle to withhold. Nick was falling from grace. Fucking far from grace and everyone in the fucking world knew it.
No one said anything for the longest time. Finally his throat hurt too much from raw emotion. The conman released his grip on Ellis and leaned slowly back against the wall. Eyes staring, unseeing; searching in a way that seemed as though he was sifting through some terrible and intangible nightmare.
Finally Nick swallowed, risked a glance to Ellis who was giving him this pained expression and then slowly looked away. Holy shit. This did not just happen. He did not just break down in the arms of the most annoying fuck in the world while Miss-Everything-Will-Be-All-Right and Mister-Nothing-Bothers-Me gaped at the show.
Nick bounced the back of his head off the wall, searching for words but he could think of nothing.
"Nick, honey…" Rochelle started but Nick quickly shook his head. Fuck, he didn't want to listen to it. He didn't care what motherly thing she'd say. What pearl of fucking wisdom she'd spill out of her. Christ, god damn hill billy just fucked his cool exterior for good now. Everyone knew that he had cracked and it'd be harder than shit to glue all the pieces back together.
"Let's get some rest," Coach offered quietly as a long silenced filled the air. Rochelle reached out to gently squeeze Nick's shoulder and she gave him one last look before she and Coach returned to their former sleeping areas. Ellis, however, didn't move an inch.
Nick looked to him, annoyed. The kid still had this stupefied look on his face. The conman swallowed thickly. Fuck, what could he say? 'Fuck off now, I'm fine.' But he couldn't quite say it. There was something in that sad puppy-eyed expression that Nick simply just couldn't tear into it.
"Nick… if you ever need someone to talk to… You know I'll listen, right?" Ellis scooted over so that they sat side by side—leaving Nick and his gun uncomfortably out of reach of each other. "I mean, that's what friends are for, right?"
Friends. Ellis thought they were friends? Nick almost laughed out loud, but he was too god damn sick and tired of feelings anything so he simply closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. He couldn't listen to that babbling idiot. Ellis looked on at the other man for a long time until he rested his head back against the wall and soon followed in a fitful sleep.
A/N:
EDIT: I'm in the process of fixing grammar and mostly Ellis HORRID accent. But this new uploading thing is a pain in the ass :l
Warning: Swearing like a Sailor.
Okay, to be honest... I needed to write this more for myself than for anything else. Just to sort out a few personal things and so in a way I'm sort of unsure of where to continue or if I should. I tend to drop my angst on some of my more favorite characters. Sorry, Nick. I find this scenario probably unlikely, but probable. Take it my poor unsuspecting friend. B(
So, yeah. I suppose I'll see if there's any interest with this and maybe that'll inspire me to continue. I really suck at keeping up with fanfictions since I lose interest, but at least with Left 4 Dead 2 I can play a campaign and think about it without much effort unlike most other games
If I do ever continue this, I suspect it'll be a Nellis story. I'm just okay with that pairing. More than okay.. but whatever. Ranting. Yeah, I do that.
Them 4 belong to Valve.