Hear me out. I’m not a creep or an incel or a me-too type of guy. So don’t judge me or anything before you hear everything I’m about to tell you.
I met this girl at a bar. She was a little quiet. When I first saw her, she was sitting alone in the corner. I had maybe drunk a little too much, and if I were sober, maybe I would have noticed the weird smell she had or the vacant look in her eye, but I didn’t. I asked if she needed a ride home or if there was someone she wanted me to call, but she didn’t say anything. I know how this sounds, but honest, I had the best intentions.
I asked if she wanted some water or a coffee. Did she have any friends with her? Nothing. Nadda. Zilch. She doesn’t say anything. I know if it were me and someone found me in this bad of shape, I’d want them to take care of me, so that’s what I did.
I got an Uber cause I was in no shape to drive and helped her walk out of the bar. Man, was she messed up. She had this weird two-step stagger when she moved, like a little lean to one side, but she was still really pretty.
The Uber guy was on the fence about letting us in the car. He said she needed a doctor. He asked if she would get blood on his car and pointed at the gash on her leg. I touched it, and it seemed like it had dried. I told him she must have fallen or something. We were both pretty smashed, and getting home was for the best. He definitely didn’t want us in the car, but maybe he felt sorry for how drunk I was. I mean, I could barely walk because I was so drunk. Otherwise, I’d definitely not take someone home like this. I went to Catholic school, for God’s sake.
Anyway, she didn’t have a purse or an ID or a phone or anything. I swear I asked like several times where she lived, and she never said anything. I didn’t know what to do. I was stuck with this girl who was a mess, and I was definitely super drunk and not sure what to do, so I decided to take her to my house, but not in a Harvey Weinstein way, like in a normal way. I had the best intentions.
We got to my house, and I doubled check she was okay with going in. I said I would be glad to have the Uber take her somewhere else. I’m pretty sure the driver heard this. You could ask him. She didn’t say anything other than like this little growl, hiss sound. So I figured maybe she was hungry.
I took her inside, in a definitely platonic, with no bad intention kind of way, and sat her on the sofa. I told her I’d get her something to eat. I asked what she liked, but she didn’t say. I’m pretty sure she felt more comfortable here than at the bar. I was confident I was doing the right thing.
I figured maybe she wasn’t hungry, so I sat down next to her, like in a friendly way, not in any sort of stranger danger way. She didn’t move. I leaned in close, just to see if maybe she was speaking low, and I couldn’t hear her, not for any other reason, really. I put my arm around her in case she was cold. If she had said to move it, I definitely would have, no questions asked, but she didn’t, so I figured it was fine. That’s when everything went downhill.
Without any warning, she turned and bit my arm. I didn’t know human teeth could sink so deep. She ripped her face away and took a mouthful of my arm with her.
I pulled away, and she jumped on top of me, but not in a, you know, inappropriate way. She clawed and bit at my face. It took all my strength to throw her off. I tried to run, but she was on me in a flash. By her own choice, mind you. I didn’t know what to do. I reached for the closest thing, a laptop stand, and hit her head with it. She went limp and fell. I wasn’t trying to kill her, I swear. I have three younger sisters.
Not calling the police isn’t an admission of guilt.
Where she bit me started to itch like crazy. I probably should have called an ambulance. When I wrapped her with a rug, it was definitely about cleanliness, not hiding her body. I’m a good person.
I scratched the bite as it spread up my arm. Maybe I needed a shot. Maybe it was a bacterial infection, and I needed some antibiotics. Either way, I didn’t do any of that. I just kept scratching.
When I put her in the back of my truck, it wasn’t to get rid of her body. I mean, who would want to see their loved one in such a state? I wore a jacket so that the bite wouldn’t bleed everywhere, not to hide evidence. When the jacket sleeve became crusty with blood, I should have probably gotten a skin graft. I should have probably gotten my arm amputated, but I didn’t. I kept scratching.
I scratched until my arm was numb, and I couldn’t even feel it. I knew it itched, though. I could pull back the sleeve and look down at the purple and green skin and layers of orange puss and knew it was itchy. The way the skin peeled back and the crusty way it tried to scab. I knew it was itchy, even if I couldn’t feel it anymore.
It was a lot harder to drive with one hand, but I really couldn’t feel this infected crusty limb attached to my shoulder. I should have probably gone to the hospital. I’m not saying my story might have sounded suspicious to a nurse or a doctor, or even a cop because that’s definitely not why I drove to a swamp.
When I took her body out of my truck, the itch started to creep up my neck—that itchy, scratchy tingle. I could feel it going for my cheek. I rubbed my face on the collar of my stinky, crusty jacket to make it go away. Maybe some vitamins would have done the trick. Or an essential oil. I hear high alkaline water is a lifesaver. It was probably too late for that, anyway. I don’t believe zombies are real, but if I did, I think this is what it would be like to be bitten by one.
I didn’t unroll the rug to dump her body into the water because I thought alligators would eat her. Sometimes, you can’t explain your actions. Maybe this bite on my arm was messing with my mind. I did feel feverish. I’m a great guy. This is out of character for me.
When the itch spread to my eye, and it got hard to drive home, I should have gone to an eye doctor to see what this infection was. I tried blinking it out, but it kept itching. This is definitely not a confession. I don’t think I dumped her body in a malicious way.
Even if it feels good at the time, never scratch your eye with a set of car keys.
If I wasn’t so lazy, I could have gotten some eye drops. Or a hot compress would have helped. But I didn’t do any of that. I kept on keeping on. It’s not like I’m afraid to look at my face in the mirror cause I’m worried my flesh is rotting off. Zombies are make-believe.
My scalp is drying out. My hand comes back with clumps of hair after I try to make the itching stop. Ugh. I think I’m dying, but not in a living-dead way. I’m starting to smell like that girl. I don’t know what this infection is, but it’s getting worse. I should post this in a medical sub or telemed. I should email my doctor, but I’m not. I’m sharing it with you instead. This post isn’t any kind of admittance of guilt or trying to clear my conscience cause I didn’t do anything wrong, but the more I think about that girl, the more I realize that maybe something was wrong with her, and whatever it was, is happening to me.