Disclaimer: I do not own Skinwalkers nor its characters. They belong to LGF, After Dark, and whoever else screwed the movie up.
Note/Warning: Ambigiously implied character death.
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Bleach
It never came off. It didn't matter how hard he scrubbed or if the water scalded his skin. It never came off, never came out. It just faded. Just fucking faded, permanently staining his skin, dried and caked on his flesh.
It made him sick. Its smell still filled his nostrils, still tainted the air he breathed in. Its taste still lingered on his tongue. Sometimes he swore he could still see it dripping from his teeth. Never washing out, his blunt teeth could never be white.
He would wake up and the sheets would be drenched in it. He would be bathed in it. It felt as though he was sweating it out his pores; but it wasn't his, he never ran out. He could never run dry. He had an endless supply.
They couldn't see it. Why couldn't they see it? It was everywhere, all around him. Even theirs. Couldn't they see it, dripping from his canines? He had tasted life, he had fed on its essence, and they couldn't see it.
He could still hear the sound of their hearts, their racing pulses. He swore he fell asleep to the rhythm of their blood. He swore he could smell the metallic sweetness running through their veins.
Why couldn't they see the lust for their blood glimmering in his eyes?
It never came off. Never came out. It just faded. Just faded into his skin, etched in like his tattoos. Marking him, shaming him; staining him for the rest of his days.
No matter how hard he scrubbed, or how hot the water beat down on him. He still saw it. Rubies dripped from his fingers. Crimson was the color of his skin. So he scrubbed, harder and harder. Even though it didn't matter, even though they somehow couldn't see it.
Caleb sat in the tub and scrubbed himself raw. He didn't stop until his skin was broken, bleeding. He scrubbed until he had no more strength to, and he watched his blood run red down the drain. He was finally clean.