It's all over. It's all over his body, and it's drying so then it'll be even harder to get off. He'll use soap and scrub, scrub, scrub until he gets the damn liquid off; later. But for now, he has a job to be doing. Oh no oh God I don't want to, and there's more screaming. So much goddamn screaming, but it's somehow soothing, because if there's enough noise then he can't hear himself think. He fears the silence because it leaves him alone with the voice inside. That thing lives inside him, talking to him nonstop, telling him to do all these horrible things. And he can't stop it, there's no way of shutting that creature up, so the best he can do is try and block him out. As long as he can't hear that voice, he's fine.

He doesn't even know what he's doing, all he knows is that the screaming has turned into horrible gurgles (oh god oh lord shut him up I can't–) and he looks down and finally sees why the screams have died down. It's because his hands are around her throat, squeezing and squeezing.

She's gasping for breath, but she's choking on her own blood. She feels wetness on her cheeks. It slides down her cheek and into her mouth, and it's salty, like a tear. She's already used up all her tears, so does that mean it's his? And then something is piercing her skin. She doesn't even try to scream or struggle, for she knows it's no use. He releases her and sits back, falling back on the wall behind him. There are bruises on her neck, and some blood as well from his hands. He sighs shakily and stands to his full height then staggers into the bathroom.