Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 73: _ Bea’s a Bitch

Bea watches me over the rim of her mug like she’s trying to decide if she should pity me or push me down a flight of stairs. Probably both.

Her eyes trails to the hallway I came from, then back to my chest. Subtle, she is not.

I take another masochistic sip of the coffee-from-hell and raise an eyebrow. "You want a picture or something?"

She shrugs I far too casual way. "Just wondering if you always walk around like that after... a good night’s sleep."

Translation: I know you fucked him.

I stretch deliberately, just to piss her off with my arms overhead and my too-small top rising until I hear the elastic sigh in protest. Her nostrils flare like she’s trying not to show how jealous she is.

But it’s not just the outfit. It’s him. Pretty Boy.

Of course she wants him. That’s what girls like Bea do. Pretty boys, chaos, betrayal—it’s her preferred brand of breakfast.

"I sleep great," I say, with a little smile. "Did you?"

"Didn’t sleep much." Her tone’s smooth, but her lips tighten. "Some of us were up late... listening."

Oho.

Bingo.

I could laugh, but I don’t. I sip my death brew and lean a hip against the counter, letting the silence go on.

I choose to ignore and continue my pretense sipping. The mug is halfway to my lips when Bea strikes again.

"So," she says, so casually it’s criminal, "you and "Leon, huh?"

I pause. Just long enough for it to register that this isn’t just conversation. It’s bloodsport.

I lower the mug and arch a brow. "What about us?"

She shrugs, stirring her sludge coffee like it’s her ex’s ashes. "Nothing. You just seem... close."

Her smile is toothy. You’ll call it friendly only if you’re blind and concussed.

"We shared a trauma," I say, because it sounds less like: I rode him like the end of the world was scheduled for this morning.

She hums like she doesn’t believe me, like she’s enjoying this little game of emotional strip poker. I already know what she knows, but if she wants to stall, then I’m game.

"Trauma bonding, huh? That’s cute. Real sweet. Like a Hallmark movie, but with more entrails."

I blow on my drink and sip again just to avoid answering. It still tastes like liquefied despair, but Bea’s watching me like she wants to catalogue every twitch of my face and file it under Bitch Lies When Cornered.

I look at her over the rim of my mug. "You jealous?"

"Of what? I just wanted to make sure of something."

"You want to make sure of what?"

She tilts her head in a real sweet way. Real fake. "As I asked earlier, are you and Leon... like, a thing? Or was it more of a ’we’re all gonna die, let’s bone’ kind of situation?"

I called it trauma bonding and she disagreed. Yet, here she is, suggesting it like she wants it to be it badly instead of a; He’s mine now, back off answer.

I can see it: the claws, all shiny and pink-tipped. I smile in a wide and show teeth. "Why, Bea? You wanna borrow him?"

She doesn’t flinch, but her jaw ticks. "Just curious. It’s a small apartment. We should know who’s sleeping with who. Could affect morale."

"Oh, I promise," I say, voice syrupy. "Morale was through the fucking roof last night."

Bea’s spoon clatters a little too hard into her mug. "He seems nice," she says, ignoring me now.

"Y’know. Sweet. The kind of guy who doesn’t usually go for..." She trails off and eyes me top to bottom. "... intense girls."

"You mean girls who don’t sleep with their best friend’s boyfriend?"

Her head snaps up. That is a direct hit. It’s high time she knows that she’s no match for me.

"Oh, please. You can go on and say whatever you want. I know you’re intense in battle, and now, I know what it’s like when you’re fucking. You weren’t exactly subtle. The walls are paper-thin, girl"

I feel the tiniest flash of heat—okay, pride, but I douse it with a smirk. "He’s enthusiastic. What can I say?"

She gulps and I see the jealousy striding down her throat along with it.

"Oh, sweet Renata. Why is it so hard for you to answer a simple question? I ask for the third time if that means he’s taken then?"

I could lie. I could say it was just sex. A fluke. That it meant nothing. But the truth?

The truth is, when he held me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to life, something in me flutters open. Like a door I’d nailed shut from the moment Gonzalo put those bullets through me.

"I don’t know what we are," I say.

It’s honest. It’s also bait. Because Bea? Bea doesn’t want ambiguity. She wants territory lines. Something to step over.

"Well, I’m just saying," she says, and now her voice has gone saccharine-sweet, "it’s nice to have options, you know? End of the world and all. Can’t be picky."

I raise a brow. "You trying to sleep with him?"

She shrugs again. "If he’s free, why not?"

Because I’ll rip your fucking throat out.

That’s the thought. The truth. The hiss of a monster curling in my ribs, demanding blood. But I laugh instead.

"You think he’d want someone who folds the second shit gets hard?"

Bea’s jaw tightens in a flash. But I catch it.

"Excuse me?"

I tilt my head. "You heard me."

And she did. Loud and clear. She might’ve dragged me into a trap yesterday, but I dragged us out. With gore on my hands and murder in my eyes. She knows it.

I step closer, casual as a whisper. "You’re not built for this. You’re built for lying under someone and crying after."

Her lips part in shock, but before she can spit something mean and rehearsed, a groan cuts our back and forth short.

"Ugh. You two are so fucking loud."

It’s Yara.

She sits up on the couch, one eye squinting against the light. Her hair’s a halo of frizz, and she looks like she just fought a battle in her dreams.

Bea huffs and spins away, retreating back to her mug like it holds answers. Yara rubs her face and then glares at us.

"Are you seriously fighting over a guy when we have other shits to worry about?"

Before any of us can answer, "Ugh. What the hell is that smell?" She blurps.

"Coffee," Bea and I say in unison—hers defensive, and mine mournful.

Yara sits up, still tangled in three coats and a blanket. She blinks at us, then at our faces, then at my outfit, then Bea’s very I’m trying not to go feral posture. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"Jesus. What did I wake up to?"

I open my mouth.

Bea opens hers faster. "We were just talking about morale. And planning. You know, how to survive. Renata got distracted."

"I got attacked," I correct, dry. "By jealousy."

Yara pinches the bridge of her nose. "Girls, please. Let’s not do this."

"She started it."

"I finished it," I counter.

Yara holds up a hand like a traffic cop. "Enough. Seriously. We barely made it out of that mess yesterday. And if Renata’s right—which, by the way, she usually is, then those guys aren’t gonna let us walk after what happened. They’re gonna come back. Mad. Armed. And stupid."

She isn’t wrong. I can still see the blood. Smell it. Hear the way they gurgled after I shoot them down.

That kind of kill leaves an impression—especially on the friends of the deceased.

"We need to eat," Yara says firmly. "Fuel up. Get a plan. Figure out how far we can get before they come sniffing around. Last thing we need is some kind of daytime drama."

Bea gives me a side-glance. "Just making conversation."

"Your kind of conversation usually ends with someone crying or needing a tetanus shot."

"Sounds like you’re still sore about James."

Yara’s head whips toward her like a viper. "Are you serious right now?"

"Okay," I clap my hands, stepping between them. "As the voice of reason here—yes, laugh it up... can we all just not implode before breakfast? Because I will literally throw both of you out that window if I have to babysit any more emotional outbursts."

Bea rolls her eyes. "Look who’s talking about outbursts. You were bouncing on Leon like he was a trampoline last night."

"Bea!" Yara snaps.

I smirk. "At least I bounced with consent."

She scowls and turns away.

Yara stands, stretching out her limbs with a yawn and a groan. "God. You both give me migraines. And we don’t even have Advil anymore."

I rummage through the bags I’d salvaged and toss her a half-mashed protein bar. "Here. Chew on this and pretend it’s something nice."

She catches it one-handed, grimacing. "Tastes like chalk, Renata."

"Better than nothing."

"I’ll take nothing," Bea mutters, stalking off toward the far end of the room where the stash of supplies sits in disarray.

She rifles through it with way more aggression than necessary to show she’s on the edge. Jealous and greedy bitch!

"Did she really sleep with your boyfriend?" I ask quietly as Yara peels the wrapper back.

Yara sighs. "Yeah."

"And you’re still... like, here?"

She shrugs, munching. "Apocalypse kind of rebalances the scales. What’s betrayal compared to zombies, right? And she’s my only best friend, Renata. We’ve survived this apocalypse by sticking together."

Regardless...

"That’s... morbidly forgiving of you."

"I wouldn’t say I forgave her. Just... filed it away. Prioritized not dying first."

I glance at Bea, who’s now kicking an empty water jug like it owes her money.

"She’s going to be a problem," I say in a low voice.

Yara nods. "She already is. But she’s also smart. Knows how to read maps, pick locks, jury-rig things. That kind of person is useful."

"So’s a bomb. Doesn’t mean you want to share a tent with one."

Yara smirks faintly. "Touché."