Bloody hands

Drip…

Slowly, she pushed herself up from the floor, groaning softly.
Drip…

A delicate hand lifted to push a strand of damp hair behind her ear, away from her face.
Drip…

It slowly registered that the dampness seemed to cover her entire body and green eyes opened slowly to look down at herself.

Drip…Drip…Drip…

No sound pasted her lips as she stared down with a mix of weariness and annoyance at the streams of blood that flowed down her arms and hand to pool on the floor beside her. Placing a bloody hand on the nearby counter, she pushed herself to her feet, her muscles screaming at her in protest. Once fully erect, she looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror, her green eyes tired and filled with pain.

There was no part of her that wasn’t covered in blood or worse, and she had no desire to know what the large chunks that lay tangled in her normally chestnut hair were. At the moment, said hair was rust brown and stiff and she grimaced as she tried to brush her fingers through it. With a sigh she turned, and took a few steps towards the antique claw foot tub that stood in the center of the bathroom, heedless of the bloody hand prints left behind on the chipped and faded faux marble counter top.

After turning on the water and waiting for it to heat up, she stepped in and pulled the curtain around the tub and flipped the switch to turn on the shower. A content and happy sound came from deep in her throat as the nearly scalding water cascaded over her body, her eyes staring blankly as the red water swirled down the drain. She would have to clean the tub when she was done to get rid of the bits that were to big too fit through the tiny draining holes.

For what seemed like hours she washed her body and scrubbed her hair till the water ran clear, then turned the facet off and reached over grabbed a large nearly thread bare towel and wrapped it around her dripping body. Another towel was retrieved and wrapped around her hair.

She made her way out of the bathroom into her bed room, passing the king sized bed draped in its expensive 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets to the double doors that lead into her walk in closet. Flipping on the light revealed a closet that could rival the living rooms of most middle class families, each wall lined with rack upon rack of expensive designer clothing and shoes. To the left of the entrance was a small dressing room, complete with a three paned mirror and make-up vanity. She walked passed this on her way towards the back of the closet until she came to a chest of drawers, from which she pulled a pair of tattered and bleached jeans and a form fitting white tank. Slipping into them effortlessly, she made her way back to the bathroom, her emerald eyes scanning the room, which looked like it had been the scene of some horrific crime. With a sigh and shake of her head she walked through the door once more and with an efficiency born from repetition, she began to clean.