𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 | 𝘚𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

13. Bubbling Up Like Guilt

"Y/n?" You hear a knock on your door, making you sit up from your trance. "Come in," you call after, stretching your arms from the sore position that they were in. The person opens the door. It's Brahms. You grip the sleeves of your sweater guiltily and break eye contact. But you see the bandage covering his arm where you had stabbed him, so you turn away altogether.

Brahms sits on the bed, the uneven weight on it causing you to slide towards him and lean on his side awkwardly. You still don't look at him.

"I'm sorry for what happened. I-i.. I'm sorry, and—" you feel Brahms' chin rest against the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you. "It's okay," he tells you, his voice deeper compared to his child-like voice. Tears glaze the surface of your eyes; you regret ever picking up that knife. Why did I do that? I could have pushed him over, but stabbing him? Do I have no mercy left in me? You know that you do, but by recalling your action from a few hours ago, you feel regretful. Highly regretful.

Brahms then stands up, walking over and picking up your pile of clothes. You stare with a look of concern on your face. What if Brahms likes keeping things clean here? Oh no, and I left all of my clothes like that...

"Sorry!" you say, swooping up the clothing and stuffing them into the bag they came in. I'll organize it all later. But Brahms just stares in confusion. He ignores what you did, and instead dumps all the clothing back out onto your bed. What is he doing? You gaze intently as he rummages through the pile until he lands on a dark grey sweater with holes on the hems. His eyes light up instantly as he tosses the sweater to you. You catch it, a look of confusion very visible on your tired face. But Brahms keeps tossing you more clothes; black, baggy jeans, white socks, underwear. You take the last article of clothing a little too aggressively, hiding it. I don't understand why Brahms would want me to change into these... my clothes that I'm wearing are fine. Well, considering where I'm living.

"What are these for?" you ask. Brahms doesn't respond, he merely takes your hand and brings you out of the room.

The two of you walk down the quiet, empty halls until ending up at the bathroom. Why are we here? Your curiosity grows as he ushers you in, promptly leaving you to stand in the corner of the room. You watch with interest as Brahms begins to turn on the water in the bath. The sudden sound of the water bursting from the drain makes you jump, and you accidentally bang against the wall harshly. Brahms turns his head to you, his eyes with caution. Your eyes sadden when you realize that, 'he thinks that I was going to hurt him again...'

When he understands that you were just startled, he holds his arm out and ruffles your hair gently. Your face warms, but inside you still feel at fault for everything, and that overweighs any other emotions you might feel.

When the water has finally filled the bath, Brahms grabs a bottle of soap. He dumps an excessive amount into the bath, in a similar way that your mother would when you were young. Afterwards, Brahms proceeds to exit the room. But, before he closes the door, he points to you, and then at the bath. Go in, his actions tell you. He doesn't leave until you nod in understanding.

When Brahms leaves, you take off all of your clothes, leaving them in a neat pile off to the side. You look down at the soapy water, watching as a faint gust steam begins to rise up from it. The heat radiates off of it, making you get goosebumps. And slowly, but steadily, you place one foot into the warm bath. The sudden heat makes your fists close tightly. Soon, you enter the hot bath, relaxing yourself beneath the warm surface of comfort.

Through the vast layer of foamy bubbles, you see a patch of clear water. Peeking down it, you see your reflection. A murderer. You feel positive that you were the cause of their death. It was you. I did it. I watched. I waited. Now my friends are dead, and I'm alive. Why me? I should have died. And soon, you begin to believe it. The lies that you fed yourself are staring to real true.