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GARETH I’m staring at the red on my hands. At the blood. His blood. My Kayden’s blood that flowed out of him persistently no matter how much I tried to stop it. I removed my shirt and pressed on it. I used both my hands, but it still soaked everything and escaped him. Escaped me. The crimson red is dry now and etches into the creases of my palms, tinting my fingernails, slipping under the skin, lodged there. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. My hands have never shook before. Not when I held Gilbert underwater. Not when Mr. Laurent died before my eyes. Not even when I killed David in cold blood. But now, I can’t stop the trembling, not after I felt the sticky liquid against my fingers. It was warm, but now it’s cold. Because it’s no longer inside him. It’s on me. My hands. My chest. My jeans. Everywhere but in him. I grab onto the sink in the hospital’s bathroom and turn on the faucet, then scrub at the blood, harshly, incessantly, until I’m sure I’ll scrub the fucking skin off. A fl