Blood, blood, blood.
All he sees is blood.
Everywhere is red.
his hands, her hair, her face, his feet, the floor, everything.
It makes him want to vomit out his stomach's contents.
He stare horrible at the image in front of him, panic bubbling in the pit of his stomach. She's still breathing, at least. Breathing so hard, like it's suddenly the most painful task to do. There's blood everywhere on her face, she's almost unrecognizable.
He kneels down, his knees thumping hard on the floor but he pushes the pain away. It's not the priority right now. His lips are trembling, shaking so much, and he just stares and stares, feeling the scene buried deep at the back of his mind.
"Fuck, I-" He speaks, feeling stuck. He doesn't know what to do, or where to start. She just sits there, breathing. "O-Oh my-"
Then tears start to fall in his eyes. It was a mix of emotions, and he feels like they've been stored all along, and the damn finally burst.
He quickly stands up, and calls 911.
He knows damn well he's fucked, any second now, he might be in a mental asylum or shit, but he doesn't care. He just wants her to be at least alright.
That' all that matters.
He won't deny anything, He's admittedly a sinner. A horrible one. The crime he committed is at the palm of his hands, and despite the water running down his hands, draining the blood away, it's embedded on his skin. No amount of water or soap can clean it.
He just sits there, staring at anything but her. He doesn't want to anymore. He stares blankly at the empty grey walls.
Might as well get used to it by now.
The he shakes, pulls up his knees to his chest, and shakes, laughs, until he feels himself crying. Lip curling, tears spilling, empty hollowed laughs out of his mouth. He's damn crazy at this point.
He looks again at her, and he smiles sadly.
He wants to say sorry, that he didn't fight. That he let himself get defeated by himself. That he didn't try to protect her in any way. But he feels like it's nothing of sorts. What's the use? no sorry's can reverse back the time, to when they were happy and fine.
So he just sits there, the only noise being the clock ticking. It was agonizing, sitting there for some long. He wants to scratch at his skin, so he does. Until there's angry red marks are his arm, his neck, every patch of available skin.
Until he hears the cacophony of sirens, that he sighs.
—
"That was real bad." he sweetly chuckles.
Taehyung flinches, scratching his already reddened skin. He sighs for the umpteenth time. He hears the familiar tick of the clock, like it was just beside his ears. It was the only noise that could distract him, it was his only entertainment, of sorts.
This place is so devoid of life. The walls are either white or gray, the bedsheets too neat and too white for his liking. The floor under him feels cold against his feet, too cold. And the people in here certainly aren't that friendly.
The people who assist him aren't unapproachable, but they aren't the warmest people either. They don't answer his questions, they have a fixed empty visage with no emotions, making them look five times older than they are.
Some times, the other person inside him will come out. When the psychologist doesn't help, when the pills doesn't kick in. He have panic attacks first thing in the morning, breaking out in cold sweat in his bed. He'll decide to come out, saying he's bored and he wants some friends.
He doesn't know what's happening when he takes over his body. He'll only wake up suddenly, like he's been asleep the whole time and he'll be in a different place and suddenly there are people greeting him, giving him looks, some even give him a small smile.
If he's sure about anything, it's that this other Taehyung is certainly more sociable than him.
Sometimes he walks around, taking on a tour. He counts his step until he reaches the small garden. He counts his steps until he goes back to his room. He counts, counts, until he reaches a million.
He counts the days too, counts the days ever since he's been here. He doesn't even know what is happening on the outside, he doesn't know how is she.
He feels horrible, he doesn't even feel that much affected by what happened. He just felt numb, like he doesn't know how to react.
Maybe he's as bad as him after all.
—
