Jesse’s God loved her. That knowledge was her anchor, everything that she was. He had promised that this life would be full of trouble. She’d had her share of it, and never asked why. She’d turned to him, and he’d wrapped his arms around her grief and held her together.
And then, one night, he left her.
She could not have imagined the pain. The fear. But the one who let her suffer is the one she needs. She will find him again, in the one place she knows he will be.
The amount of blood was surprising.
She’d never watched horror films. The violence she’d seen had been mostly bloodless, sanitized. PG-13.
She didn’t know she had so much to give. That it could hurt like this. That she could lose so much, and live.
It was nothing, compared to theirs.
The bodies floated around her. Emptied, draining into the water. Sinking into it, she let it wash the stains from her skin. Her face. Her hair. Her mind.
She numbed herself to the grotesqueness. Made their clothes into bandages. Patching herself. Keeping what was left of her own blood in. That was all that stood between her and them: the blood still flowing through her veins, feeding her bones, her organs, her muscles. Enough to fill her heart, to keep it pumping. Slowly, slowly. Enough to move her limbs – pulling her out of the water, while they drowned.
To hold the knife, with which she had cut their throats.