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The water runs red when it touches her fingers and the brown-haired girl bites her lip as she squeezes the soap between her knuckles, trying to clean off the blood from the seams of her palm. Her hand is trembling, nervous almost, and she tells herself that is simply the cold. Winter is coming and they have been traveling north for the past month, which means they are getting colder and colder.
She scrubs at her skin until the water turns clear once again, until she can practically see the pink flesh underneath and then, only then, does she take a deep breath. Relaxes her shoulder and sighs, forcing herself to calm down. With her hands clean, she feels more at ease with taking the knife beside her, leaning against the plastic sink.
She stops. The blade is bent at the tip, chipped. They can't use it again, not if they want to be precise. Quick. And that is all they want, all they care about. The girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes had struggled, she hadn't liked what they were doing, but it didn't matter in the end. They needed her to do her duty to the world.
Her hands are still trembling when she grabs the edge of her shirt, a deep red stained with water and blood, but she keeps herself calm. A brown-haired girl with red tips coming in, calmly cleaning off her fingertips from the handle. At ease, practically, humming a song low in her throat as if this is something that she does every day. And they don't, not daily at least. Maybe once a month, twice if they are lucky. And they are lucky quite frequently. No one has seemed to question them, or connected the dots.
He was right. The cops really are stupid.
There is no mirror inside the bathroom of this gas station in the end of the world, so she doesn’t see him coming until he is already behind her. Pale hands stretching forward to grab her hips, lips touching the shell of her ear. "Are you done?" His voice startles her, but she forces herself to relax.
"Are you ?" she replies bitingly. He chuckles.
"Why are you upset?" he asks, dipping his finger under her shirt. She shivers, cold digits touching the sweaty skin at her lower back. "You got the pick today."
She shakes her head, even as his lips trace the outline of her neck and one hand slides away from her back, to her front so he could undo the button of her shorts. She parts her leg, letting the jeans fall to her feet. "You know why," she murmurs. "I never feel good afterwards."
He hums against her neck, biting the curve of it savagely and she shivers again, mostly out of desire.
"I know what it will make you feel good," he says, unbuckling his belt.
They step out of the bathroom a few minutes later, the girl adjusting her hair as the man steps around their car, keys jangling in his hand. She cringes at the feeling that trickles out of her entrance, sitting in the passenger seat, and he quickly turns on the radio. His hands run over the steering wheel, cracking his knuckles, but her heart races as the wrinkling voice rises in the tight confinements of the car, “Another week of hopeless search for Sansa Stark comes to an end, as they have done so for the past six months. As we all remember, seventeen-year-old Sansa is the daughter of congressman Eddard Stark, who was one of the leading candidates for the 1976 election. He has since resigned from the race in light of this family tragedy. Although the police have called off their searches, the family remains hopeful about her return, or possible discovery. Thus, it is well worth remembering: Sansa Stark has red hair and blue eyes, is 5’5’’ and was last seen wearing a blue shirt and dark jeans. She is suspected to be with her half-brother Jon Snow, who also went missing within the last few months. If you have any information about the case, the number to call is…"
She turns off the radio. He chuckles, but stops when he sees the look on her face, skin pale and eyes wide. His hand inches forward and squeezes her knee. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m sure they are going to give up someday. Either that, or they will find her body in the spring.”
“Fuck off,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. He simply smiles. He is always smiling now that they are alone, even if he didn't smile at all before. Sullen, brooding, while the rest of them played. It's why she liked him so much; he didn't hide his true self. "Just drive."
"Yes, ma'am," he says, pressing on the gas. As he drives away, the gas station becoming smaller and smaller behind them, Sansa opens the window beside her just wide enough for her to throw the knife out. She leans out, watching the blade hit the paved road and the wind snapping around her.
Jon tugs at her shirt, pulling her back. "Careful," he says. "Someone might think you're trying to kill yourself."
She smiles simply. "No," she says. "Just others."