𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐑 (𝑇𝐵𝑃)

Chapter Ten

It's bloody.

Really fucking bloody.

Well, Bruce's arm got cut off- what was I expecting?

Either way, as soon as the axe comes down, Bruce's blood sprays everywhere. It's hot as it hits my face and I can feel it splattering my shirt, but I've got other priorities. As soon as Robin pulls the axe away, I pull Bruce forward. I'm not strong enough to pull him far, but I pull him away enough that I can shove the mountain of collected sheets against his wound.

Bruce is yelling beside me, voice muffled by the knife hilt. I can barely hear him.

Then, Robin's right next to me, trying to pull Bruce even further away from the wreckage as I desperately push white sheets against his stump. White is quickly fading to red, so I apply more and more until the colours are blurring in front of me.

There's so much blood, so much that it makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I don't even have time to process it. I don't have the mental capacity to process it- the second I do, I'm going to have a breakdown.

And so I don't. I don't process it.

I don't process it when Billy and Vance return to help load Bruce onto the cart. I don't process it as we all make it out of the mansion, with everyone yelling at each other, or when Robin's shoving my axe back into my hands. I don't process it even as I kill three different zombies that were attempting to walk a bit too closely, I don't process the entire run back to base, the cartwheels being ridiculously squeaky against the pavement.

It doesn't make any sense to me why Cammie is ready to greet us on the first floor- everyone's set up on the third floor, why is Cammie here?- Until I remember that Robin sent Griffin on ahead. Jasper and Asher are right next to Cammie, helping to take Bruce from Vance, Billy, Robin and me.

Everyone's yelling at each other. I can't understand any of it.

Not even when Jasper is shoving a water cooler into my arms, telling me "There's nothing you can do here, go clean yourself up." and Donna is handing me a bag that she says is prepared with spare clothes and sponges, then telling me to head up to the third floor and use the bathrooms there. I still can't process it when I stumble up the stairs, nearly missing the door with a three on it before I trip into the hallway, trying to find the bathroom.

The bag Donna gave me gets dropped onto the floor. The water cooler slips from my arms onto the countertop as I try to grip the counter, looking up to the mirror.

It's only when I look in the mirror that I begin to process what's going on.

I'm covered in blood. My gloves and jacket are covered, and my face has drops splattered across it. With trembling hands, I peel off my gloves, dropping them to the sink, and there's blood on my hands- blood that seeped through the material, blood that made it through the gap between my gloves and my sleeves and trickled down my palms.

There's so much of it. And I'm covered in it.

"Fuck," I whisper, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Is that really me? It doesn't feel like it. "Oh, fuck."

I shove myself away from the counter, falling to the ground. I push myself backwards until my back hits the far wall, and I tuck my knees up to my chest, trying to curl in on myself.

Fuck. What the hell just happened? Did I really just help Robin chop off Bruce's fucking arm?

Holy shit. I did, didn't I?

I can't bring myself to move. I can't force myself to clean up. I want to bury my head in my hands, but my hands are covered in blood, so I can't.

This doesn't feel real.