It’s everywhere. Seeping into cracks and folds , staining satin sheets, angelic swaths blooming crimson.

Leaving me marked. Stained. Tainted.

I beat my hands against my head. Hoping against all odds to shake myself out of this nightmare.

No such luck. I’m still here.

I slap my hands against the blemished wall in frustration and despair. Burn them in scalding water. Freeze them with cold. They remain painted a deep blushing pink.

I have to do something. Anything. Do I run? Flee the scene? Find an alibi?

Or.

Do I erase this?

All I’d need is a gallon of bleach to purge the floor of the evidence. Gasoline and a match to burn the sheets. Perhaps I can burn him with them.

Then I can run. Change my appearance. Start anew.

Yes. That is what I’ll do.