Blood. It swirls down the drain bright red, dilutes to pink the farther it goes. Norman stares at it, follows it all the way down until it disappears from sight. It's not his blood. It isn't her blood either. He drops his head to the cold tile, feels the hot water run in rivulets down his back, washing more foreign blood away. From behind him, there's the sound of her sniffling. He's trying his hardest to block it out, but it invades every pore and suffocates him. Slowly, he backs away from the shower head and lets her pass him.

She presses her palms into the tile and bends over. When she straightens back up, he grabs her around the waist from behind. She stiffens. His eyes fall closed. Someone else's blood runs between them and trails down the drain.

He doesn't know what to say, can't think of what to do. It's not just someone else's blood; it's someone else's hands, too. Someone else's hands have touched her, imprinted on her, stolen what's his. Such a stupid mistake. Such a dumb thing to do. Going to that party when he should've been here with her. Someone else's hands have been in the place of his and Norman can't stand it.

For endless minutes, she stays in his embrace. The water goes ice cold, but neither of them notice.

She turns in his arms and their eyes meet. The blood continues to spin down the drain. Her eyes are dead. The other man has done this to her. Norman doesn't dare look away from her; she wants him to see this. Her anguish, her disappointment. That other man's blood is on her hands and that's all Norman can think about. The knife going in again and again and again.

He ducks his head to break their deadlock. He doesn't know what he expects from her, but it certainly isn't her hand cupping his cheek or her soft voice saying his name or her mouth against his. More blood and it's his now. She draws it when she bites down hard on his bottom lip. The taste of metal flows between them, their kiss open mouthed and desperate. The knob squeaks as he turns off the shower and uses his body to press her against the far wall.

She's crying. He can taste the salt. It makes him dizzy. That taste, that weakness. It's the most she's ever showed him, though it's still less than what she showed Keith, the other man. The other man whose hands have been where his are now. The other man who forced himself against her, inside her.

Norman's hands get bold with the thought, trailing along the edges of her hips and grabbing at the back of her thighs. She doesn't protest, but he can feel her hesitation. He just wants it back. All that's rightfully his. Her mouth and her skin and the sounds from her lips. His. Her hands press hard against his shoulders, but it does nothing to stop him. He only kisses her deeper, tugging at her leg until it's up around his hip.

She doesn't struggle, but he knows she wants to. He can't imagine why she would; he wouldn't hurt her.

She bites down again, right on the open wound, ripping the skin a little further. He hisses and the kiss breaks. A single droplet of blood rides down his chin. This connection of theirs isn't sweet anymore. There's something sinister within it now. In this showdown, this power struggle, this mutual transgression. He'd get nothing if he didn't find a way to make her understand.

He leans back toward her, lets his breath fan out across her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." It's the first words that have been spoken since the incident in the kitchen. His only words since he arrived home to find her bent over the kitchen table with her clothes torn and a strange man behind her breathing heavy from the exertion.

Her fingers lace through his hair, which is drying quickly and knotting. They're his tears now, tracking burning paths down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry. It was stupid. I'm sorry." He can't remember what they'd been fighting about this morning. It seemed so insignificant now. What had she even said to him that would make him rush to that party with those girls? The memory was a blur and he didn't ever want to recover it.

"Do you believe me?"

She nods and breaks away from him, stepping out of the shower and then out of the bathroom altogether.

"Mother."

She doesn't look back at him.