Tess found herself sliding from her chair, right onto her feet –– what the fuck did he know about being bitten, standing there and lecturing her? So what if it hadn't changed –– it could change. She could be still contagious. She could still be fucked. Every instinct she had screamed to fight and then get the fuck out there, if Joel wasn't going to back her up.

But still, maybe it was less desperate times and more desperation at this point. Someone (or something) had taken time off the table.

Tess looked between Jennifer and Joel, breathing hard. She swallowed hard and tried to piece together an argument, but nothing could trump the fact that the wound hadn't changed, not at all. It was the same collection of pulsing infected tissue as it was before, no better or no worse. How could anyone argue that truth, etched on their own body?

Besides... Joel had always been good at shouting her into submission. He put up with her bossing him around all day, but when push came to shove, he was an immovable wall.

"Fine," she spat. "But if you even think of leavin' the room, I will fuckin' throttle you, Joel."

It would be difficult in death, but as before: hypocrisies could wait.