Page 85 of Kiss Slay Replay

“Yeah. Right. Tanya.”

“You told me to move on. I moved on.”

“Good for you. Didn’t take you so long, did it?”

“Are you serious?”

“The anger thing can go both ways,” I say, taking my frustration out on him because I could use a break from beating myself up. Because there are scarier things than being honest.

“I’m not angry with you.” Ravi doesn’t raise his voice, but he can make it mean. It’s all about the delivery with him.

Me, on the other hand, I raise my voice. “You’re with someone new. She’s beautiful. She probably wants kids. And to live where you live. You should be thanking me. Instead, I get iced out.”

“How should I act? Like nothing ever happened? Like we’re cool? Casual. Hey, what’s up? I thought we were going to be buried next to each other but instead you called off our wedding two and a half weeks before while my dad’s terminally ill, how you been? How you liking your new place? How’s our cat?”

“That is not…that is not fair.”

“Fair? You want to talk about fair? You know, you haven’t exactly been friendly, either.”

“I was following your lead!”

“How was I supposed to know that? Shit, Willa. Give me time. I need time. It’s still painful. Is it not painful for you?”

“Yes, it’s fucking painful! But you’re not making it any better by refusing to admit I did the right thing. Tell me I did the right thing. Tell me you see it. That we changed. That we wanted different things. That—”

Thud.

Thudthudthudthud.

Footsteps. On the porch.

I somehow forgot about the zombies, and by the look on Ravi’s face, he did, too.

I was being loud.

They heard me.

They’re here.

Ravi drops back down to the floor, and we crawl toward the couch on hands and knees, brace against it.

We’re quiet. Barely breathing.

Thudthud. Thudthudthud.

They’re still on the porch. I don’t know how many of them there are. If we stay silent, maybe they’ll give up. Move on.

You told me to move on. I moved on.

THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD.

They’re pounding on the door. Breaking it down. Scratching at the wood. Splitting it. Screeching. Groaning. It’s a struggle to keep the couch in place. They’re pushing through.

They’re going to get in, and they’re going to eat us.

I know what it feels like to be stabbed between the eyes, to have my soul sucked out of my body, but I’m not particularly eager to find out what it feels like to be eaten alive.

“On three,” I tell Ravi. “We get up and run to the door to the left, to my room. Press the bed against the window, lock the door, hide in the bathroom. Okay? One…two…”