I can see it.
I can feel it.
“No—” My voice breaks, thin and shaking, barely recognizable as my own. “No, no, no—”
I scrub harder, faster, my skin turning red beneath my hands as the water splashes up the sink, as the sound fills the room,loud and relentless and not nearly enough to drown out the memory.
Because it doesn’t matter how hard I try.
It doesn’t matter how much it burns.
It doesn’t go away. Steam rises, clouding the mirror, my hands are numb and tingling and itching from the hot water.
It won’t go away.
Because it isn’t on me.
It’s in me.
In my head.
In the moment I watched him die and couldn’t do anything but kneel there.
My breath fractures, uneven and desperate, as I brace myself against the sink, my shoulders shaking, my gaze locked on my reflection—but I don’t see myself.
I see the basement.
I see him.
I see the blood.
“He was dead,” I whisper, the words hollow, disbelieving, like I’m trying to convince myself of something my mind refuses to accept. “He was—he—”
My voice fails completely.
Warmth presses in behind me, causing me to jump.
Real and solid.
It hits me before he even speaks, before his hands settle carefully, so carefully, on my arms, like he’s approaching something fragile, something that might shatter if he moves too fast.
“Sera…”
His voice is rough with sleep and the sound of it nearly undoes me completely because it isn’t a memory, it isn’t something broken or fading—it’s here, it’s real, it’s him.
I choke on a breath, my hands still under the water, still scrubbing even though my skin is raw now, even though there’s nothing there.
“I can’t—” My voice trembles, my body following, every word pulled from somewhere deep and fractured. “I can’t get it off—”
His grip tightens just slightly, enough to steady me, and then one of his hands slides over mine, gently but firmly pulling them away from the water, shutting the tap off in the same movement.
“There’s nothing there, baby,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, his breath warm against my temple. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
But I shake my head immediately, panic still clawing through me as I look down at my hands again, turning them over like I’ll catch it this time, like I’ll prove it.
“I saw it,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I saw you—you were—there was so much blood, Trey, I couldn’t—”
The words collapse into a sob before I can finish them.
