I did the best I could, in the end.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Warm water poured over my head, threading through my hair and streaming down my spine, but it did nothing to wash the weight off my chest. I stood there with my eyes shut, forehead pressed lightly to the tile, letting the steam thicken until the world felt distant—muted, unreal.
But my thoughts wouldn't quiet.
"Fucking die— damn you… please…"
The words crawled back into my skull like a curse I couldn't break. I saw it again— felt it again. My knuckles tightened until my nails bit into my palms, my jaw locking.
I had killed someone.
Not in theory. Not indirectly.
I'd felt his body against mine, the moment his resistance faded. Felt the warmth drain out of him in real time, like something precious leaking away. His blood had soaked into my hands, sticky and undeniable, and no matter how long I stood there now, it still felt like it was there— under my nails, in the creases of my skin.
