Untouchable |h.s|

Six

Killer.

I smell it. The coppery scent seeming as if it's lodged into my nostrils from its strength, not just close to the receptors of scent and touched to my face. The aroma of cold, unpredictable, and nearly always uncontrollable death surrounds me. The familiarity I have toward the scent is eerie as my stomach twists with nausea and my senses become even more overloaded as time goes on.

Killer.

I feel it. The thick crimson spread all over my body. Seeping into my clothes, drying into my hair, beginning to form a red crust on the skin of my face, and everything in between. It's warm. Wet. Fresh. Yet again, familiar. Like something I've felt before.

Killer.

I taste it. The metallic flavor on my taste buds. The strength of the scent seeps into my mouth as I'm sure droplets have splattered their way onto my tongue as well, making the queasy feeling in my stomach worsen as I attempt to absorb this and hold myself back from fully breaking down and throwing up over what I'm experiencing right now. A bodily fluid of someone else's, I'm sure, has entered my body without any preparation for it on my end.

Killer.

Still in shock, I bring myself closer to the sink and rapidly twist the silver handle to turn on the tap. Without thinking, I nearly break it off with the sharp pull I give it as I gasp for air and try to control my shaky hands enough to wet the white hand towel I've pulled from its hanging position beside the faucet.

In a rush to get the blood off, I wipe the freshly wet towel across the mirror, watching it collect on the fluffy white cleaning product as blood-mixed drops of water drain down the glass due to my inability to wring out the towel prior to using it. The drops are now slowly collecting in the white bowl of the sink, multiple lines of faded red beginning to build up within it.

The streaks of undried water and blood spread across the mirror make my anxiety about this entire situation worsen, making me toss the towel to the side with a grunt as tears stream down my blood-stained face. I'm so overwhelmed by everything that I can't properly function, feeling sick just from looking at myself.

Forgetting about the mess of my hands, I reach up to wipe the tears from my face. My eyes then burn as they're coated with gore that doesn't seem to be coming from my own body. I squint in reaction to the feeling, coughing as my crying worsens and dipping my head down to place my face under the running water and wash it.

"Get off, get off, get off." I mutter to myself as I messily scrub my face under the tap with my coated hands, not bothering to adjust my position when my hair begins getting wet since there's blood in it as well.

I scrub for minutes on end without any sort of pause to the action, feeling certain that it all has to be off by now. I pull my head out from beneath the running water, my eyes widening and nearly bulging out of my head when I notice that the previously clear water from the sink is now a deep red shade.

Blood. Blood is spewing uncontrollably out of the sink.

I look into the mirror to view my entirely red face and dripping red tank top from the blood, jumping and flinching harder than ever before when I see a body standing still directly behind me.

There's an eerie hole in the side of the man's head that makes my stomach churn and my muscles weaken, my mouth filling with saliva as I have the strong urge to be sick over the sight. Despite the deadly injury, his eyes are open and staring directly into my own. Clumped and dried shades of crimson coat his face, clotting most prominently near the gaping hole in half-dried chunks as he holds my stare.