The red flecks smeared themselves across the shower wall in a brilliant, stained, tone. I moved my head to the side and let the water sweep towards my neck- color falling to the floor. If it was black and white- it might look like a murder scene- all the extras splattered across the tile, my intentions dripping to the drain… away.
It’s a good thing I don’t own a gun, really… for multiple reasons… really.
So he’s gone. And I’m somewhat gone- and the alcohol that’s residing in my sippy cup, (don’t ask,) isn’t helping the fact that this damn house- was OUR house. And if I can get past the hangover that’s starting about 8 hours too early, I could see that I’m going to be fine. Because right now– it’s all blood on the shower wall.
…at least my hair is a killer red.
