Lockey vs. the Apocalypse by Meadows, Carl (7 ebook reader TXT) 📗

Unprotected sex no less, making my dumb choice even dumber. Getting pregnant in a fucking apocalypse? Aw, hell no!

I feel like such a fucking dick, Freya. I don’t feel that way about him. There’s nothing long term there, but I was drunk, I was in high spirits, I hadn’t had sex for so long I felt my insides were shrivelling and dying a lonely death, and the world is fucking shit out beyond the gate.

I guess... I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to feel something.

Everyone likes to be desired, right? Everyone likes to feel wanted. Ultimately, we’re all alone, but we spend our lives trying not to be. I don’t know.

I get horny when I’m drunk, Isaac isn’t unattractive, I was in a good mood, and I just wanted to get laid. When I’ve had alcohol, I don’t think ahead. It’s a massive failing of mine, amongst many others. That whole impulse control thing I’ve mentioned before, huh?

I was done then and said my goodnight and went to bed. My horny lust had been sated by a three-minute quickie on the porch, and I just wanted to sleep.

Today, things were… awkward.

Well well well, if it isn’t my old nemesis… the consequences of my actions.

It’s bloody hard to avoid someone when they live in the same building as you that is mostly communal space. Isaac gave me a beaming, conspiratorial smile in the morning, and I gave him a vanilla one like I gave to everyone else. I’ve purposefully managed to stay around other people all day, as everyone was recovering from hangovers, so going beyond the gate was just a big fat no. It’s been all about the chill today. We watched movies together, chatted, I played one of Charlie’s board games with him, and generally we just hung out.

It would have been nice if not for the fact that Isaac was trying to orchestrate an opportunity for it to be just the two of us. Instead, the “chill” day was fucking exhausting as I dodged him constantly, not giving him the opportunity to address our brief sexual liaison.

I know I’m going to have to address it, but today I was hung over to shit, and I just wanted to chill with everyone and work on garnering Particles’ forgiveness for garbing him as a hot dog. Every time I looked up though, Isaac’s gaze was fixed on me.

Men. They’re so fucking fragile. If a dude bangs a woman just for sex, he’s a player, no matter how hurt the woman might be. Gender flip that, and I know I’m going to get the whole, “Do you just put out then, it doesn’t mean anything?” question from him.

Simple answer, yes, I fucking do. It’s my body, we were consenting – albeit horny and judgment impaired – adults, and there was no pre-written agreement that it was anything more than just a brief encounter.

I still feel guilty, because I’m going to have to let him down and it can go one of two ways. He’ll take it on the chin like a man, I’ll apologise if he thought there was anything more to it than a brief liaison in the moment, he’ll be a bit hurt, and get past it.

Option two, which is the most common in my experience, is that he’ll turn sulky, maybe even unpleasant, and it will eventually explode into a full-blown argument with hurled accusations that will be impossible to have without everyone else in the lodge witnessing it. There just isn’t the space.

I’ve a feeling it’s going to be the latter, Freya. The jutting jaw and staunch refusal to look at me as I said goodnight to everyone tells me he’s going to stew on it all night, constructing all the accusations he wants to throw at me.

I couldn’t face it today. To quote Withnail and I, I feel like a pig shat in my head.

Maria already knows of my stupidity. I had to confide in her and she got me a morning-after pill from the collection of things we’ve taken from pharmacies. Obviously, I got my ass chewed out by her in a whispered conversation for my dumbfuckery, but I deserved it, and she means well. It was stupid doing it without protection.

Tomorrow is likely to be as much fun as gargling with the contents of a hobo’s piss pot, and just as uncomfortable. For tonight, however, I’m just going to sleep. All that bullshit is Future Lockey’s problem. Present Lockey is too damn tired.

Goodnight, Freya. Still miss you. Tonight, more than ever.

OCTOBER 30th, 2010

DRAMA

Freya, I am not a fan of drama.

Admittedly, this drama was of my own making, but I don’t have the time, will, or care to gently massage the male ego that’s taken a bit of a slap. There’s far more important shit to do than coddle Isaac’s fragile masculinity. I would probably be more sympathetic and less harsh had he not been such a fucking dick about the whole thing.

I felt better yesterday morning after sleeping off the hangover and rehydrating. However, when I awoke, it was absolutely pissing down with rain. Not a little, but a lot, too heavy for us to go out on a run beyond the gate. The last thing any of us needs is to get soaked to the bone and pick up a chill.

Which is a point Nate and I had a conversation about, now I think on. Remember that service road that runs behind the shopping centre? Well, much further up, there is an army surplus store, which will have good gear in. Waterproofs, BDU clothing, tactical glasses, shooting gloves, backpacks, camouflage gear, water bottles with filtration, arctic quality sleeping bags, cartridge belts, weapon cleaning kits, and all kinds of other good stuff. The popularity of war games like paintball and airsoft has people playing at soldier and wanting to look the part. There’s a big market for it, as people spend shitloads of money