Break Free

It’s a good thing I took a wrestling class in high school. I might not be able to match Sarah’s inhuman strength, but I still weigh more than her. With a deliberate swing of my legs and a push against the mattress, I manage to push Sarah down and break free from her grip. Before she’s able to stand back up, I dash to the door and slip outside, slamming it behind me. I pull the handle back, feeling Sarah tug from the other end.

“Babe… please babe… please don’t leave me… I love you… don’t do this!” I hear Sarah shout from inside the room. My heart quivers in sympathy and my body feels like solid lead under the crushing guilt. But I can’t chance going back. Sarah isn’t acting herself, and the person she is now terrified me. Is this Bimbo virus thing… is it real?

Sarah must be infected. What other explanation did she have for acting like a bimbo? Her symptoms were just like those in the news report. The Bimbo virus thing is curable… right? Or at least it’ll be curable soon. Hopefully. But in the meantime… Sarah is infected.

I barely escaped myself. I haven’t exposed myself, have I? No… no, I'm pretty sure we haven’t kissed since before that woman grabbed her in the bathroom. We didn’t exchange saliva. I should be safe, right? Should. But Sarah was infected by someone else, and for all I know that strange woman is spreading the virus elsewhere.

There could be dozens of people infected with it by now. Dozens of people like Sarah, are strong and seductive with an unbreakable will to fuck anyone and everyone. Where can I go to be safe? “Please… please don’t go… I love you… please…” Sarah sobs. “I’ll do whatever you want. We don’t have to have sex. We can have a nice dinner and see a movie and wait until we’re both good and ready. I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself. Please, babe, please…"

She’s not pulling at the door anymore. I put my ear to the wood and listen. Her sobs grow softer as she moves away. Maybe she’s back in control now. I can’t bear to hear her weeping. She sounds completely sincere, and besides, I love her.

But I also remember what the newscaster said. Victims can be manipulative, faking their sympathy to try and lure others closer. But Sarah wouldn’t ever do that. I know she wouldn’t. But is that woman in the hotel room still my wife?

I could take the chance to run away, try and get out of the city and go somewhere safe and wait until the whole bimbocalypse, as some are calling it, clears up. Or I could do the selfless action and trust my wife, go back inside, and try to talk things through. Perhaps I could call a doctor or the World Health Organization to send someone to treat her, but that could take hours or days. What do I do?