Bathe
It was the first time since Thomas had returned home that he needed to bathe and yet he simply stood frozen in the doorway. Frozen as he remembered the stench of blood and death. Remembered Mama's limp hand dangling over the bathtub's side, missing its ring finger. How the blood had continued to ooze in thin, sluggish trails down the sides of her face, around the staring eyes. Remembered the bits of brain matter in Mama's hair, the meat cleaver still lodged in her skull like a morbid plume. So fresh was the image in his mind that for a moment he saw her laying again in the tub. A hand rested on his shoulder and he screamed.
Lucille gently turned him and embraced him, murmuring, "My apologies, little brother, I thought you had heard my approach."
He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath as he shuddered, "It is alright."
She kissed him, lips parting, tongues twining before she pulled away, "I will be waiting in our bedroom when your finished."
It mightn't be so terrible after all with such a lovely reward waiting for him. No, it would not be terrible at'll.