Chapter 47: The Madness of Love

The room was quiet, bathed in a soft yellow hue that spilled in through the window and fell across the bed. The girl's breath came shallow and fast. Wrapped in the shadows, she clutched the man's head in her arms, her lips gently brushing the corner of his mouth. The moment they touched, she froze, eyes shut tight as though bracing for a mistake she couldn't undo. Her chest rose and fell in quick bursts, betraying the storm inside her. She was nervous—more than that, she was scared.

Liam sat frozen, unsure if what was happening was real.

Then, both of them moved at once.

Liam tried to push Christine away, careful not to use too much force—she was still injured. But Christine held on tighter, pressing herself to him, the soft curve of her chest crushed slightly against his as she kissed him with abandon, desperate for a response.

Liam resisted. Every time he reached to stop her, she caught his hands and pinned them against her ribs. Finally, he gave up. He sat there stiffly, arms raised beside him, unmoving, allowing her this strange, feverish release.

Christine had stopped caring. Her pain, her pride—it all burned away in that moment. She clutched his shoulders, forced his body to twist toward hers, pressing him against the headboard as she climbed onto his lap, her legs bracketing his hips.

With one flick, she undid the tie holding back her hair. Curls tumbled down in loose waves. Her eyes were red and wet, but she smiled as she leaned in again, moving against him, trying to pull him into her heat.

But Liam didn't respond. He just looked at her, calm and still, his mouth closed, lips tight. She kissed him again and again, but he gave her nothing, not even the flicker of a reaction.

Gradually, she stopped. Breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his. Her lips lingered near his, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. The drops fell silently, some sliding down her cheek and smearing against his face.

Christine slowly leaned back. She was still sitting astride him, but there was nothing between them. She felt it. No arousal. No warmth. No desire.

"Why don't you like me?" she whispered, her voice cracking as the tears spilled. "Why won't you?"

Liam exhaled. "I don't dislike you, Christine. We're friends. Aren't we? You're young… this isn't as simple as you think it is."

To him, she was just a kid. Eighteen, maybe. She probably had a father not much older than Liam himself. In another world, a better one, she would've never looked twice at someone like him. And he wouldn't have let himself imagine this.

Now wasn't the time for love. He hadn't said the word in years. Not even with Manila, who had become his closest companion. She was a grown woman who understood what the world had turned into. They'd never said they loved each other, not once. She needed someone strong to lean on. He needed someone who could hold her own and still be there when the nights were quiet and dark. It was mutual need—nothing more, nothing less. Love didn't enter into it.

But Christine loved him. Not just liked—she'd fallen hard. That kind of raw, untested affection had nowhere else to go, so it grew until it was too big for her to carry. All she wanted now was for him to say he loved her back.

Liam couldn't give her that, even if he wanted to. Especially if he wanted to. Feelings made you slow, distracted, tied down. In a world like this, every bond was a weight. He couldn't afford it.

"You're lying!" Christine cried out suddenly, cutting him off. Her voice cracked like glass, and her tears turned into sobs that filled the room.

In the living room, everyone heard it. Conversations died. The laughter faded.

Manila stood up, looked toward the door, then back at the group. "I'll check."

She walked to the door and paused, listening. She didn't go in.

"I should—"

"Leave it," Laura murmured. "Let them figure it out."

Back in the bedroom, Christine sat in silence, hands covering her face.

Then Liam sat up. He took her hands, pulled them gently away. She was shaking. He looked into her eyes, then leaned in and kissed her forehead.

It was a kind kiss. A gentle one.

"You're only sixteen. You've still got years ahead of you, time to do whatever you want. Don't waste that on someone like me. Maybe I'm better off as your uncle than your boyfriend."

It was the kind of thing you said when you didn't know what else to say. A tired man trying to draw a line, even as he knew there were no lines anymore. Christine didn't have years. None of them did. But it was the only way Liam knew how to give her something to hold on to.

He lifted her and moved her to the other side of the bed. But just as he set her down, she threw her arms around him again, wrapped her legs around his waist, rolled them both over.

She bit him.

Hard.

"Shit—what the fuck!" Liam shoved her off, scrambled away, clutching his face. Christine tumbled to the edge of the bed, stunned.

Liam stared at her, furious. Blood leaked from the side of his mouth. He turned and stormed into the bathroom, glancing in the mirror. The bite was deep. The blood wouldn't stop.

"I'm—I'm sorry," Christine whispered from the doorway, her fingers twisted together in front of her. She looked tiny. "Are you okay?"

"Does this look like nothing to you?" Liam snapped, pointing at the wound. "Do you even know what kind of risk this is out there? Do you understand what could happen from this?"

He was boiling now. He hated mess. He hated chaos. He could handle mistakes—he could even handle tears—but biting?

Biting was over the line.

He hadn't been hurt since the outbreak began. Others had—Robby, Jason, even Christine. But Liam had always kept himself clean. That was his rule. His priority. Because a single injury could turn into death. Infection. Worse. He built every plan around not getting hurt.

And now, the first time he got injured in this new world, it wasn't a zombie. It wasn't a bullet. It was a teenage girl who thought she was in love.

"Wuhh—I didn't mean to, I swear—I just… I forgot—" Christine was sobbing again. "I'm sorry… I'm really sorry…"

Liam wiped the blood away, the salty metallic taste pooling in his mouth. He was beyond irritated now. "Shut up," he shouted.

"Don't—please don't," Christine backed up, eyes wide with fear. "I know I was wrong…"

The door burst open.

Manila stormed in. She pulled Christine into her arms, glaring at Liam. "Talk to her if you need to, but don't touch her! Jesus, Liam, your mouth—what happened?"

She let go of Christine and rushed into the bathroom. The others came rushing in behind her, gathering at the door. Laura slipped inside, wrapped her arms around Christine.

"What happened, honey?" she asked gently.

Christine shook her head, still crying.

Then she tore herself away from Laura's arms, pushed through the crowd, and ran. Moments later, a door slammed shut on the other side of the suite.

And from the room came the sound of Christine's grief unleashed—loud, raw, impossible to ignore.