Inspired by the song 'Safe' by Britt Nicole

I only act like I don't see it; the way you look at me, that is. But I do see it, and at first, it really freaked me out. I thought you were some creepy idiot who only wanted to get under my skirt. You know the type, right? The type of guy dubbed by society in movies and books as the gross, fat pervert who gets made fun of all the time. Girls are either afraid of him, or show extreme disgust towards him. The other guys mock him, because they feel superior over him because they're more fit, or they're better looking than him. The type of guy everybody pities in the movies, only to go to school and treat that guy the same exact way in real life. Yeah, I thought you were that kind of guy. Of course, there was also that 'What if he isn't all that bad?' thought that occasionally ran though my head. I thought, 'Maybe if I gave him a chance.' However, I always dispersed the idea immediately. Having a boyfriend was not something I wanted. I was too independent for that at the time. I thought I was strong enough to do everything on my own. I didn't want to be a weakling that had to depend on someone else all the time, like the majority of the female population. I thought of myself as a genius who could do anything and everything that I set my mind to. Oh boy was I arrogant. A lot of things have happened since then, and I've tried to use that mindset to make it out of this god forsaken shithole of the undead. Unfortunately, it was to no avail. Now I'm sitting here covered in blood, gun in hand, out of ammo, bawling my eyes out, because I was too naïve and overconfident to see that I needed help. The realization that I actually require assistance from an overweight, ammunition-obsessed dork like you, has finally hit me. Hard.

But unfortunately, the time for those epiphanies has long passed, and you are no longer here. I'd shooed you from my presence, claiming I knew what I was doing. It wasn't until these monsters were inching closer until I needed you. And suddenly I'm wondering, 'Where are you?' and 'Can't you sense that I'm in danger?' I squeeze into the corner of the room, and hold my breath. I've got this idea that maybe if I'm quiet; maybe if I conceal my presence, they'll forget I was even here. And then I can make it out of here, and retain my deluded ideals that I'm better than you. Except I'm not better than you. My plan fails and I'm trapped, uncomfortably positioned between a desk and the wall, about to be eaten alive. I guess this is my punishment for being so utterly useless. I can't even hold off a few of these barbaric creatures. All I can do is close my eyes, and prepare for a painful and agonizing death.

But all that follows is gunshots. The quiet patter of footsteps. More gunshots. A door slamming open. Bodies hitting the floor. Looking up from my corner, I see you. Reading your facial expression has always been difficult for me, to be honest. Hate, annoyance, disgust? You went out of your way to rescue me, so of course you would look like that. I would cry, had I not been already. Surprisingly, though, you're not angry. As you let out a sigh of relief and hold out your hand, and I grasp it with my own shaky palm, I begin to feel safe. Suddenly feeling brave, I press my lips to yours in attempt to express to you how I'm secretly feeling inside. This daring gesture shocks you at first, but in the end we wind up in a romantic embrace. To be honest, I don't even know how this happened, but I'm damn glad that it did.