Silent Desperation

Moonlight scattered over the long since lavish carpet, illuminating the unkempt living room of the shabby apartment. The bottle of whiskey on the table by the window looked like a dimly glowing lamp with the light shining through, the wallpaper that was peeling off the walls looked like intricate designs in the shadows, and the two breathing bodies in the center of the room lay on the floor like there wasn't a care in the world. And as one of these bodies sat up to look at the moon, they sighed with a heavy breath that filled the silence for only a small moment.

Despite there not being much light to see details, Tess could see the plentiful scars on Joel's back. As she lay on her side to get a closer look, Joel gazed at the white orb in the sky, enchanted by the serene simplicity of it.

They hadn't made it to the bedroom this time. As soon as they came through that front door, Joel quickly locked it like he always did and then was on her. But she was the one to initiate it all when she began to claw at his clothing, begging to run her hands on his naked chest.

Today was a normal day. Save for the little knife fight that Tess had gotten herself into. It wasn't her fault. The man she was making a deal with wasn't holding his end, so when she refused to help him out and told him go to someone else, he pulled a knife on her. She was a fast one, though. Before he could even touch her skin with the blade, she had her own out, wielded in a tight grip. But it's not like she had eyes on the back of her head, so all she could hear was the footsteps behind approaching her quickly. Instead of turning around, she dodged to the side and avoided sharp metal digging into her flesh. Just a quick swipe at the surface on her bicep, a small gash really. It wasn't serious in the slightest compared to the other wounds she had gotten in the past.

Managing to get out of the sticky situation, she ran like the wind and got away from the deal makers and their knives, running for the secret passageway only so few knew to get back into the quarantine zone without anyone knowing you got out in the first place. And as she hid her wound under her sleeve, she strode back to Joel's place. But he was just about to leave when she showed up. Immediately, he knew something was up. Maybe it was the way she held her arm close and looked at others in hope they wouldn't catch on that she had a small cut.

He pulled her to the side of the alley they stood in and blocked anyone's view of her with his own broad frame. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave her an accusing look and motioned with his eyes to let him see the damage. So she lifted her sleeve to reveal the wound, feeling slightly annoyed by the disappointed look on his face.

"What happened?" he questioned with a hoarse voice, already taking a bandage from his back pocket that he always held in case something like this happened.

"Just some assholes that got the upper hand," she explained, watching as he wrapped the cloth around her arm to stop any bleeding, not that there was much in the first place. Even if she got the slightest cut on her arm or face, Joel was there cleaning the area like it was nothing. But she hated it. She didn't want him thinking that she couldn't take care of herself, because she could. Her injuries were her own problem and she didn't need someone babying her, telling her to be careful and kissing the booboo. She was strong and it was rare when she even allowed someone to touch her.

"Be more careful next time," he easily insisted, not seeing the way she held back the urge to roll her eyes.

"I am careful, Joel," she claimed with a steady voice. "Stop acting like I can't take care of myself."

Well, she was grumpy and like always, offended. Joel was aware that she disliked his manners when she was hurt. It wasn't like he wanted to make her feel belittled, but she truly needed to be more careful. There were so few people he allowed in his small bubble and she was one of the few, so she had to be more cautious.

"Next time I'm going with you," he stated, not even asking for permission.

Of course he would say that, but that didn't lessen the irritation she felt. "I can take care of myself, Joel."

"Come back without a wound, and then we'll talk about that."

She wasn't a fucking child. Being one of the most capable people in this area, she knew that she could handle herself in nearly any situation. But having this man in front of her basically saying that she couldn't even handle a trip to the black market was a slap to the face. "Yeah, well maybe we won't be talking again," she so subtly hinted. She pushed passed him and started walking away in the other direction of his apartment.

Before she was too far, he grabbed her good arm and tugged her back. She wasn't one to make a scene, so she followed him as he led her back to his place, going into the building and to the second floor. As the key went into the lock, he spoke over his shoulder at her, "I ask you to be careful, Tess. It's not like I don't think you're strong. Because I know you are."

That's all she wanted to hear. When he opened the door and turned to push the bolts in place, she grasped his shoulder and turned him back to her, instantly her hand went the back of his hair into his graying black hair and pulled him to her. Their lips met in a harsh kiss, but neither pulled away or shied away from the embrace.

He could feel her hands already pulling up the hem of his tee, hungry for the skin to skin contact. When his shirt came off, hers did next. Then pants were removed and underwear followed as they tumbled to the floor next to the couch, arms wrapped around his neck and legs going around his hips in desperate need.

And now, here they were, two hours after rolling around on the patchy carpet and excited bodies as the moved in the act of sex. The silver moon played across their naked bodies in the dark and offered little light for them to see much. Joel sat up, seemingly engrossed with the glowing whisky bottle as Tess lay next to him, her eyes roaming the many scars on his back.

A good shiver went up his spine when he felt her fingertips trace the slightly raised, discolored to a pinkish shade skin. A few she already knew how they came about, some were earned before they had met, and certain circular ones that she was always afraid to ask about. These circular ones were small, like bullet holes. There seemed to be five, decorating the left side of his back, up to his shoulder blade.

Feeling brave, she asked about these after an inward deep breath. "Where did you get these ones?"

She didn't even have to refer to them as scars. He already knew what she was suggesting as her touch circled around the long but forgotten bullet holes. If she had asked about any other scar, like the one on his arm when a Runner had gripped so hard that their nails scratched the surface, or the scar on his calf when he was sneaking around a Clicker and a shard of glass cut into his flesh as he was climbing out of a window. But no, she had to ask about the significant scars on his back that meant more than he wished they did. That reminded him of things that he wished he could forget. If he did forget, then he'd forget the dead expression on Sarah's face as she lay in his arms lifeless while blood stained the front of her shirt, evidence that the gun shot was fatal.

"It was a long time ago," he mumbled. "I don't remember it."

Not buying it, Tess sat up and stroked the scars with the palm of her hand and said, "How can you not remember being shot?"

Feeling like she was intruding, his depression turned to annoyance. "I just don't. Alright?"

Oh that temper. It would so rarely come out, but when it did, you wanted to be as far away as possible. Joel was a man of composure and professionalism, not one to let the seam be pulled and to be vulnerable. She admired him that was for sure. And despite the way he would treat her when she was hurt, she admired that concerned side that would only come out around her. She had never seen him so alert and attentive when someone else got the slightest scratch. She often pondered over their relationship. Was it love? Or was it just friends with benefits? In spite of being a woman of orderly emotions and sentiments, she would like to think that the affection she felt was mutual.

She didn't ask him any more about the scars. So easily seeing that it was a subject he wasn't comfortable with, she let it go and made it a note to possibly ask him again later. She understood the hesitance to speak of scars' history. She had a few of her own that she rather not be there, but she also was proud of these scars. Like the ones on her wrists that she had gotten from her abusive father when she was a little girl. When the world was still safe of the infected and when she still lived in Boston. The scars brought back terrible memories and images, but they were reminders of what she had conquered and gotten past all by herself. She was a warrior in her own right. Surviving traumatic things over and over again, but still standing tall with a teaspoon of optimism.

Trying to ignore the whisky's imaginary voice calling his name, he watched as the woman next to him grabbed the blanket from the couch and pulled it over her, covering her milky skin from his eyes. Whatever was their relationship, he was sort of glad for it. It wasn't love, or at least he couldn't say he was in love, but he cared for her. He cared for her wellbeing, her safety and health, and how he treated her. She was a tough one, but she was someone he could feel safe enough to at least let one of his walls down. She was persistent, strong, and sometimes maddening, but she was a person of warm skin and soft touch. Even though she cursed like a sailor, could throw a hefty punch and bragged about being a crack shot, she had surprised him the most by her passion. Whether it was the passion for revenge or sex, she could influence anyone.

No doubt she would get hurt again, but he could trust her and her choices. This world had changed so much since reality television shows, werewolf movies, and taking a drive just to calm your nerves. It was a time when the government was crumbling but continued to fight tooth and nail, a time when your odds of dying were greater than living, and a time to cherish the little you could but also be on guard because the good could be taken away from you by just a simple bite, gaseous atmosphere, a bullet, or a change of heart. It was a time that called for caution and desperation, but times were still moving. And Joel would always be moving, whether as a ruthless killer or a man just trying to survive this new but now familiar world.

Author's note: There you have it. Not much to it and not much to brag about, but I'm happy with it. I don't know where I was really going with this, but I just felt the need to write SOMETHING for this game at the moment and so I did. The title's meaning is directed towards the need for these people to feel something besides anger and hatred. So they have a silent desperation to feel again, leading towards this type of 'friends with benefits' situation. I don't love the title, but hey ho, it's there and not going anywhere.

Please leave a review telling me what you thought about it. I'd truly appreciate it and already thank you for reading. Stay awesome, beware the Clickers, and have a lovely day.

-Sarai