I can't get the blood off my hands. It doesn't matter how much soap I use, or how hot the water is. It doesn't matter how hard I scrub, I can still see it.
It was supposed to be one of those nights you remember with fondness, it was our first date, and I thought it had gone well, if only we hadn't decided to walk along the water. In an instant everything changed.
I remember feeling something heavy against the back of my head and then nothing until I woke to Abby's scream and the rough feel of cement against my cheek. From there it was like I had no control of my actions and I might as well have been standing outside myself watching a movie. All I could think of was saving Abby, protecting her as I hadn't been able to protect so many in my life.
In an instant I was on the man, pulling him off her, before I turned him to face me. I didn't need any words, I couldn't have found them had I wanted them. I hit him, over and over and over again and even when I heard the sound of his skull cracking, saw the blood, I couldn't stop myself. I had to protect Abby.
You don't want to believe that you're capable of such rage, but, there it was, staring me in the face even after Abby was able to get me to stop. Watching them work on him, I knew there was no hope, he might as well have been dead on the pavement where he had fallen.
Don't touch me. It doesn't matter that he hurt me, that he might have hurt Abby had I not stopped him, I don't want your sympathy. I'd been out of control and I'd killed him. Now someone else would mourn a loved one's loss as I had mourned mine for all these years, and still I can't get the blood off my hands.