Without Guilt

Chapter I: Cold Shower


The door creaked even though he prayed that it wouldn't, the sound making him wince more than the burning pain in his side.

He paused, holding his breath as he blinked away the spots of darkness threatening to consume his vision.

Silence and the muffled sound of the rain were his only answers, providing ill-begotten comfort in their loudness.

He moved further into the small flat. He was soaked through from the frigid weather, but the adrenalin had only just started subsiding and the chill that had settled into his bones was only adding to his weariness.

Right now, he only wanted 3 things: a hot shower, food, and sleep. Precisely in that order.

He made it as far as the bathroom before a breathy whimper of pain escaped his scarred lips. He almost didn't dare to lift his shirt to inspect the source. It had been bearable before but now it glued him against the door and leeched his strength.

"Fuck…" He cursed softly, exerting a great deal of effort just to reach the shower stall.

No hot water – not at this late hour, someone had already used the reserve from the tank and there wouldn't be any more for the rest of the week.

It almost warranted another string of curses, but he was breathless just from taking the five steps between the door and the stall that he found himself too winded.

So much for the first thing on his list.

With a barely quietened grunt, he peeled off the layers of clothes, drawing sharp breaths through his teeth at the way they clung stubbornly to his wound. The blood had made a Pollock of his shirt, though he suspected the worst of it had passed. At least the bleeding reduced his chances of infection.

He dragged himself to the sink, running the water while pulling a clean rag from the mirror-cabinet. It was a useless thing really – just large enough for him to shave his face, something he'd neglected during the past two weeks while he was out scouting, a stubble having appeared.

Shards of glass gleamed menacingly at him under the halogen bulb, peering out from his skin.

"Fucking tourists…" He grumbled, nearly jumping out of his skin when he heard the light switch being turned on in the hall.

"T?" A groggy woman's voice called from behind the door, followed shortly by the softest knock.

"I'm fine-" Otis began to protest, but she was already pushing the flimsy thing open.

She took one look at him before her eyes widened behind her glasses and she quickly rushed into the small bathroom to get a better look. "What the hell happened?" She asked, ducking under the sink to retrieve the First Aid kit.

"Some fucking tourists jumped me in the old QZ." He replied, not having the energy to protest her help. In fact, he appreciated it more than he could probably bring himself to admit.

Dorothy Simmons was a petite thing, bookish and very out of place among the Pittsburgh Hunters. She was often the victim of teasing by the others for her large glasses – something Otis had played a part in when he'd smashed her original pair some 5 years ago. She'd been passing through the city with a man whose story Otis didn't care too much to ask about, after all, he'd killed him within the first five minutes of encountering him. Dorothy had been kept alive purely because of her skill set and nothing more.

They needed a nurse so that they could do something about the unsorted pile of medicines and supplements they'd pilfered but ultimately left to rot or otherwise trial on the sick in hopes that something worked.

The story of her glasses? Well, on account of her necessary skills, the leader had sent him out to find her another pair and told him not to come back until he'd filled his bag with spares.

None of the prescriptions were quite right, so Dorothy had ended up with a large pair that constantly slipped down her nose and made her look like she belonged in a previous century.

Otis felt awkward talking to her, not that he was much of a conversationalist – people always asked too many questions; What did you do before the outbreak? Who did you know? Where did you come from? How did you end up here?

What did it even matter?

He winced when she yanked out a shard with some tweezers, inhaling a sharp breath through his teeth as she proceeded to remove the rest with equal swiftness and little time to recover in between. "Fuck- ow, what's the matter with you?" He complained, grabbing her hand before she could subject him to anymore torture.

"They're not that deep, we need to get them out." She replied, her eyes failing to display the malice he suspected her of.

He glared at her for a little moment longer before releasing her hand to let her continue.

"What did this?" She asked, frowning over her spectacles in concentration as she deposited the bloodied shards in the sink, expertly following up with alcohol that stung him to near tears, but he refused to spill a tear over some broken glass.

He was sure she was enjoying torturing him.

Dorothy paused when he didn't answer her, attempting to push her glasses up her nose by wrinkling it since her hands were covered in his blood.

Otis stared down at her, his eyes such a pale blue that they appeared grey under the light. "What does it matter?" He questioned in return.

She huffed and shook her head at him as she resumed her work. "'What does it matter?' He says," She scoffed, grumbling to herself. "I need to know if it gets infected." She exhaled as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Are you two done snogging in the bathroom? I need a piss." William complained as he appeared in the doorway, scratching his stomach.

"Well, can you wait?" Dorothy didn't like being rushed and right now she was trying to stitch – trying being the operative word since her glasses were so far down her nose, she was mere inches from shoving her face into Otis' wound.

"Fuck, what happened there?" Will asked, grimacing at the bloodied sink as he pushed his way past Dorothy to reach the toilet.

Judging by the black smears on his skin, he'd been on disposal duty in the body yard, and definitely wasn't the reason the hot water was gone.

"Same thing that happened to you- you fucking stink, take a bath." Otis covered his mouth as the old man passed him.

"Calm down, pretty boy. I'll disinfect that wound for ya if you're eager." The other man replied, having no apparent qualm about relieving himself with other people in the room.

"Go fuck yourself."

Dorothy tried to ignore their bickering. It was bad enough to have to live in the same tiny flat as the man. It was like he was allergic to hygiene, and she didn't even want to guess what she saw crawling in his shoes one time. Still, he'd not been cruel to her even if his manners were as revolting as his stench during the weekday. "Be quiet you two, you'll wake K and Dom." She scolded in a loud whisper.

"Mighty late for that, Goggles." William replied. "You two woke the whole neighbourhood."

Otis rolled his eyes at him. "Are you done? Hurry up and get the fuck out."

"Why? You two got plans?" The old man leered at him as he flushed and moved to wash his hands.

"Will, please." Dorothy begged, unable to stand another minute of his vulgarity. She managed to finish stitching the wound at least, giving it one last wipe over with disinfectant.

"Sheesh, alright. Keep your tits on." He'd click his tongue as though they'd been the ones greatly inconveniencing him as he made his way out.

Dorothy gagged as she inhaled a little too soon after he passed her. "Oh God-" She doubled over the sink, doing her best not to throw up as she washed her hands.

Otis moved to crack open the tiny window to let in some cold air.

"Wait, I'm not done yet." She told him, holding up the medical adhesive.

"Go back to bed." He told her dismissively as he took the patch. He could do that part himself at least.

"It's a bit late for that." She pointed out, lingering like she had more to say.

He didn't think it had anything to do with her concern for him, but more that she had something she wanted.

"Alright well, get out." He just wasn't in the mood to be helping anyone else right now and half led, half bundled her out into the hallway so he could close the door.

He had a cold shower to take.


Please R&R!