Morning After
By Insomniac Owl
Stumbling through the door that night with Daisy, reeling and triumphant and covered in other people's blood, Mitchell didn't think of the tracks they were leaving. He didn't think of the bloody handprint Daisy pressed into the carpet, or the smear he left on his doorframe when he brushed against it. They had wineglasses. He doesn't remember where they came from.
It was a miracle, really, they didn't leave more evidence. All he really had to do was dump the sheets in the wash, add a triple handful of detergent, and let it run. He still remembers how pink the water got. How long it took to wash the blood out of his hair in the shower.
When he got back to his bedroom, he found Daisy perched sideways on the windowsill, waiting for him. Her rings glinted in the dim light, and as he watched her he took her hand and laughed without knowing why.