His arms were wrapped tight around me, holding me against him. The silence enveloped us there in our peace and silence. I was only aware of his heartbeat beneath my fingers; nothing more and nothing less. I didn't want to leave this.
He rose to his feet, pulling me as close to him as he could while keeping both arms around him. Ethan...
The calm faded, and his green eyes faded with the calm, and were replaced with stony, solemn eyes that glared at me across the marred room. There was so much red everywhere; dripping down the walls, pooling around my feet, filling my lungs so I could not speak. His eyes didn't leave mine, but they became filled with something more; sadness and regret, unmistakable self-loathing as tears caked his cheeks and the knives fell from both hands, clattering to the floor. Just like the knives and the walls and the flooring, his clothes were...drenched in it.
I couldn't see who or what he used the knives on, I...I could only see him. Blood speckled hair, a red handprint smeared across his face, clinging to his eyelashes as well. Crying without weeping. As if he were a child waiting for punishment. He didn't make a sound.
"You like what I've become?" he asked in a throaty, raspy voice. It was painful to listen to, it was painful to watch his lips form those words. "You like what I am?"
The bloody room dissolved into blackness, and cold air coiled around me, replacing the warm blood in my throat with icicles. The blood washed away, and he washed away as well, the distance between us growing and growing.
"Do you?"
