Lovers Lies || Thomas

5 - Guilt

THE echo of a machete connecting with the neck bone of a rabbit ran through Sandra's ears the next day. Blood sprayed on her hands, and she cursed herself for the mess and for the smell of death she had always hated. Rarely, she went into the Bloodhouse, but Winston practically begged for some help, and she couldn't turn him down.

After yesterday's events, she had barely slept all night and now she was left exhausted, her mind replaying what happened with Adam. The guilt had eased, but barely. This morning, Carlos refused to leave her side, which she wasn't fine with. Yes, she didn't want him to leave her at all, but she also wanted to get the hell out of the maze, which was why she convinced her brother to leave. To her surprise, even Minho and Ben didn't want to go into the maze at first and leave her in the Glade. But Carlos dragged them both in with him.

The other Gladers were still whispering about Adam through the night, wondering if he would survive. But when the doors opened this morning, there was no sign of him. That shut the whispers of Adam right up.

"I swear rabbits bleed the most," Sandra muttered, pulling her machete out of the groaning wood under the headless rabbit. "And they always stink."

Winston laughed, glancing over his shoulder at her disgusted facial expression. "Didn't you miss this?" Sarcasm dripped in his tone.

"Not once," she said, leaving the machete near the body before picking up the rabbit's head and throwing it in the corner with the other useless animal parts. "Remind me to decline your need for help next time."

"You can go wash up if you want," he offered. "I'm pretty much done thanks to your help."

Sandra tiredly sighed, picking up her machete and facing him. "Thank God because I'm covered in blood and stink." She gestured a hand down the front of her white tank top, now stained with dark crimson blood. The one time she didn't wear black. "I look like a murderer."

The word struck her core the second it left her mouth, and she froze for a second, glancing at her split knuckles that were, in fact, murder weapons.

Oh God, I really am a murderer, she grimly thought to herself.

Winston laughed again, focusing his attention back to the fat pig on the wooden table in front of him, oblivious to the white guilt covering Sandra's fallen face. She hurried out of the Bloodhouse, taking in deep breaths of the fresh air that thankfully didn't smell like that shithole behind her.

Newt was in the garden tending to the fruits and vegetables when Sandra walked past, earning a snort from him at her bloodied state. The blonde boy knew how much the purple-bowed girl hated that job and could smell her from where he stood, watching her with amusement.

"I thought you swore to never go into the Bloodhouse again," Alby drawled as she walked into the Homestead, heading straight for the washing bucket and ignoring his raised brow at her.

"So did I," she grumbled, dropping the machete next to her feet before dunking her arms elbow-deep into the once clean water, now starting to turn a murky red.

Alby stopped beside the bucket, looking down at her with a pointed look as she scrubbed the blood off her hands and arms. "How are you feeling today?" he carefully asked her. "You seem...more quiet than usual."

"I killed someone, Albs," she said bluntly. "How do you expect me to act? You want me to make flower crowns and dance around the fire?" She pulled his dagger out from his belt, using the sharpened end to pick dirt and blood out from under her nails. "I'm tired and feel like shit. There's the truth."

He sighed, watching her carefully. "No one blames you, Sansa. Not one person."

Sandra paused her nail-picking, snapping her eyes up to him with a small fire igniting inside of her. "I blame myself," she said, her tone sharp like his dagger. "If I didn't threaten him the other night at dinner, then he would've never attacked me, and he would still be alive."