that
would also risk the possibility of running into my stupid housemate,
Miss Ladygargle, and her GBH-qualified boyfriend, the lethally
charismatic Carvery Slaughter. And maybe the likelihood of more
zombies, along the way…
I realise that Crispin is
looking yearningly at his nightwear, on my comparatively alive frame.
"There does not have
to be undead action, as you say," he says, a little sensitively.
"Really?" I
remark. "Then why offer me just pyjamas to wear? And I don't
have a headache as an excuse either, if that's what you're hiding
those painkillers in your hand for."
I just about spot the
pharmacy box, as Crispin swiftly moves it behind his back.
"I would feel much
better if you stayed, Sarah Bellummm …" he says,
hopefully.
"I think we've done
plenty enough for one night," I tell him. "We've played
blind-tasting food games, and Draw My Thing With Something on
my own skin, been to hospital, nearly made out in an elevator –
and on a grand piano – had a close encounter of the reckless
kind with an immigrant taxi-driver, found my housemate kidnapped by
zombie surgeons, performed a reverse autopsy, and bumped into
probably the last two fit guys alive on Earth – one of whom is
most definitely carrying a jaw-dropping collection of STDs and a
chainsaw in the trunk of his car. If I have any more excitement
tonight, I'll probably explode with life-affirming overindulgence."
"It was
life-affirming indulgence that I was thinking of, certainly,"
Crispin muses, taking a step closer.
I take one back in turn,
pointing at what he's attempting to conceal in his other hand.
"And you can put
that camera down for a start," I warn him. "I don't know
what cruel intentions you had on your mind by trying to sneak up on
me with that… but there's enough porn on Facebuddy already, without adding zombie-necrophilia to the mix."
"I was worried you
might not come back again, if I let you leave so early." Crispin
sighs, and puts the camera and the pharmacy box down on the bed,
showing me his empty hands, in supplication. "I just wanted a
little souvenir of your visit."
"I hope by that, you
mean a photo of me wearing your jammies," I say warily, thinking
of the empty Human Tissues transport box, left abandoned back
at the University. "And not any actual physical parts of me. You
still haven't explained what you were doing, stealing those organs
from the hospital…"
He reaches out and takes
hold of my hands, in his cold gray ones.
"No, no, Miss Bellummm ," he says. "I was thinking of your needs…
and of mine…"
"You're thinking of
Gin Sling cocktails… and human brain vending machines?" I
hazard, confused by his change of tack.
He shakes his head, in
that endearing, wonky fashion.
"No, Sarah," he
groans. "Not that…"
I hear the hiss and
rattle of his lungs, as he inches that little bit closer. The tension
in the bedroom cranks up another notch.
"You can depend on
me to keep your confidentiality," he continues. "If you are
honest with me."
"About what?" I
ask, wondering what I might want kept secret. And if I've been
inappropriately disclosing information about myself, all my life so
far.
"Would I be right in
believing that you are… a virgin, Sarah Bellummm ?"
Shocked, I laugh.
This reaction has got me
into trouble many a time. In fact, without the nervous laughter
reflex, I might not even still be a… whatever he's implying.
And there'd be a few less
grouchy pizza-delivery boys around, carrying inferiority complexes.
"A what?" I
chuckle, trying to use the laugh to brush the accurate assumption
off. "Don't be silly! Those guys we bumped into earlier? I've
had them both. At once, in fact. Lots of times. Before the violent
one caught all sorts of lurgy off his girlfriend…"
Crispin leans in a little
closer still, causing me to stop, and gulp my giggles back down. I
hear him sniff slowly, at my throat.
"Hmmm," he
muses. "I think you may be wrong, Sarah Bellummm . And I
am correct, in this instance."
"What
would also risk the possibility of running into my stupid housemate,
Miss Ladygargle, and her GBH-qualified boyfriend, the lethally
charismatic Carvery Slaughter. And maybe the likelihood of more
zombies, along the way…
I realise that Crispin is
looking yearningly at his nightwear, on my comparatively alive frame.
"There does not have
to be undead action, as you say," he says, a little sensitively.
"Really?" I
remark. "Then why offer me just pyjamas to wear? And I don't
have a headache as an excuse either, if that's what you're hiding
those painkillers in your hand for."
I just about spot the
pharmacy box, as Crispin swiftly moves it behind his back.
"I would feel much
better if you stayed, Sarah Bellummm …" he says,
hopefully.
"I think we've done
plenty enough for one night," I tell him. "We've played
blind-tasting food games, and Draw My Thing With Something on
my own skin, been to hospital, nearly made out in an elevator –
and on a grand piano – had a close encounter of the reckless
kind with an immigrant taxi-driver, found my housemate kidnapped by
zombie surgeons, performed a reverse autopsy, and bumped into
probably the last two fit guys alive on Earth – one of whom is
most definitely carrying a jaw-dropping collection of STDs and a
chainsaw in the trunk of his car. If I have any more excitement
tonight, I'll probably explode with life-affirming overindulgence."
"It was
life-affirming indulgence that I was thinking of, certainly,"
Crispin muses, taking a step closer.
I take one back in turn,
pointing at what he's attempting to conceal in his other hand.
"And you can put
that camera down for a start," I warn him. "I don't know
what cruel intentions you had on your mind by trying to sneak up on
me with that… but there's enough porn on Facebuddy already, without adding zombie-necrophilia to the mix."
"I was worried you
might not come back again, if I let you leave so early." Crispin
sighs, and puts the camera and the pharmacy box down on the bed,
showing me his empty hands, in supplication. "I just wanted a
little souvenir of your visit."
"I hope by that, you
mean a photo of me wearing your jammies," I say warily, thinking
of the empty Human Tissues transport box, left abandoned back
at the University. "And not any actual physical parts of me. You
still haven't explained what you were doing, stealing those organs
from the hospital…"
He reaches out and takes
hold of my hands, in his cold gray ones.
"No, no, Miss Bellummm ," he says. "I was thinking of your needs…
and of mine…"
"You're thinking of
Gin Sling cocktails… and human brain vending machines?" I
hazard, confused by his change of tack.
He shakes his head, in
that endearing, wonky fashion.
"No, Sarah," he
groans. "Not that…"
I hear the hiss and
rattle of his lungs, as he inches that little bit closer. The tension
in the bedroom cranks up another notch.
"You can depend on
me to keep your confidentiality," he continues. "If you are
honest with me."
"About what?" I
ask, wondering what I might want kept secret. And if I've been
inappropriately disclosing information about myself, all my life so
far.
"Would I be right in
believing that you are… a virgin, Sarah Bellummm ?"
Shocked, I laugh.
This reaction has got me
into trouble many a time. In fact, without the nervous laughter
reflex, I might not even still be a… whatever he's implying.
And there'd be a few less
grouchy pizza-delivery boys around, carrying inferiority complexes.
"A what?" I
chuckle, trying to use the laugh to brush the accurate assumption
off. "Don't be silly! Those guys we bumped into earlier? I've
had them both. At once, in fact. Lots of times. Before the violent
one caught all sorts of lurgy off his girlfriend…"
Crispin leans in a little
closer still, causing me to stop, and gulp my giggles back down. I
hear him sniff slowly, at my throat.
"Hmmm," he
muses. "I think you may be wrong, Sarah Bellummm . And I
am correct, in this instance."
"What
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