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There’s blood on the charm.
Sara refuses to wash it off because it’s his blood.
They all urge her to wash it off if she wants to keep it. It’s starting to smell, you know. Rotten and dried and flaky. Just wash it off. Leave it behind.
She still won’t.
She just can’t.
They don’t get it.
It was his necklace he wrapped around his arm like a bracelet. It was his set of bangles he always wore. It was his shiny hair clip and his fancy earring.
And it still is his blood on them.
No matter how gross it is to cling so desperately to any shred of him, she won’t stop. She could, yeah, but she won’t. She might go mad if she lets go of him. Of any fragment of him. If there’s nothing left than what else is there to do?
She failed him, did she not?
She deserves to sleep in his torn and bloody jacket. Letting the rotted scent of the blood wear down her stamina until she passes out. She’s earned it. Suffering in such a bittersweet sentimental way.
She smells like death.
She looks like death. Her own clothes have long since been stained with nightmare induced cold sweat. Her hair is in disarray. She’s probably losing it.
But that’s fine.
She just needs to keep going.
And soon enough everything will be fine.
Maybe she’ll be able to apologize to Ryoko at the end of all of this. Apologize for killing her boyfriend, her amazing, idiot, boyfriend who was so fucking stupid and loved life too fucking much. Fuck, she doesn’t even want to think of the fact she’ll have to face Ryoko after this.
Sara can’t even react when her own blood hits her body. It doesn’t mean anything now. It just sits on the fabric and dries and decays in horrible hues.
It’s just more of the same putrid existence.