I sat on my father's bed, covered in blood, just staring at the wall for I don't know how long. I didn't know what to do. I figured with all the shit going on in the world right now I wouldn't get in trouble for what had happened, but I was still just terrified. The tears had stopped falling a while ago and I just felt empty. Had I done the right thing? Should I have acted differently? Should I have just let him do what he wanted? Did I actually deserve what had happened? Did he?

I wasn't sure. But the one thing I did know for sure was that I was a murderer. I might not have killed Andrew like I was accused of, but I had killed my father. I killed my own father. Even after all the shit he had put me through I still couldn't help but feel like what I did was unjustifiable.

I slowly stood up on shaky legs and took a deep breath as I stepped over my father's lifeless form. I stood at the door and listened for a moment to see if I could hear anything in the hallway. I wasn't sure if any more of those monsters had gotten in. But when I didn't hear anything I slowly unlocked the door and carefully opened it as to not make any noise.

I stuck my head out the room and peered down the hall to find it completely empty. The only noise I heard was coming from Andrew's room. There were growls and groans on the other end of the door, but I wasn't too terribly worried about it. I silently tiptoed down the hall and back into my room, letting out a loud sigh as I shut the door.

I could see the dark, drying blood on my hands in the light of the moon. I didn't even think as I grabbed a blanket off my bed and scrubbed at my hands until I was at least slightly satisfied that I had gotten most of it off. I threw the blanket to the ground and walked over to my dresser, opening a drawer and grabbing out a pair of jeans, black shirt, grey plaid shirt and underwear.

I needed to shower. I needed to get the feeling of his hands off of me. I needed to get his blood off of me. I needed to feel clean. But I wasn't so sure I could ever feel clean again. I carefully made my way out of my room and into the dark bathroom. I set my clothes on the toilet's tank then flipped on the light. I was afraid to look at myself in the mirror but I did it anyway.

My blonde hair was a mess, my face was beginning to show off new bruises. I had a bloody bite mark and bruises forming on my neck. My shirt and bra were ripped open and there were a couple of new, red welts from his belt. But what stood out the most was the blood splatter on my face and front, my arms and thighs. I felt a sudden wave of nausea, making me grip the sink and take a few deep breaths.

I couldn't believe I had just done that. I couldn't believe that had just happened. What was I supposed to do now? I was all alone. Nobody was there to tell me what to do, what I should do? It was just me.

The first step was to get clean and get into fresh clothing. I let my shirt fall off of my arms and then I took my bra off. I undid the button on my pants and slid them down, along with my panties. My breath hitched when I saw the blood on them. My blood this time.

I wiped my eyes when I felt tears start to well again as I stepped into the tub and turned on the water. I let the cold water hit me until it got hot. I watched as the water at my feet turned red. I ran my hand over my vagina and hissed from the sting, taking my fingers back and staring at the blood until it washed away. I quickly made work of scrubbing my skin until I saw no more blood, then I grabbed the soap and lathered in all over my body before shampooing my hair. I rinsed it all out and instantly did it again, unsatisfied with the first time.

I'm not sure how long I stood under the water, but when my legs got shaky I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around myself before I sat down on the toilet seat. I took a few deep breaths and got to work getting dressed.

I couldn't stay there. I couldn't. There was no way I would be able to be able to look at anything without reliving everything that had happened. I had to come up with a plan that would keep me alive, at least for now. I had to grab a bag and fill it with necessities like water and food and a couple of weapons. I needed to make sure I was as safe as I could be out there.

With shaky hands I opened the bathroom door and walked out, surveying the hall again to make sure nothing was different. Nothing was. I knew I had to go back to my father's room because that's where the big backpack, guns and knives were.

I didn't want to go back in there, but I didn't feel like I was left with any other options. I couldn't stay here, but I also couldn't leave empty handed. I wasn't left with any other choice as I tentatively walked to the bedroom door and carefully opened it, half expecting my dead father's body to be up and wanting to eat. But no. He was the exact same as when I had left.

I bit down on my lip as I stepped over his limp arm that was strewn across the floor. I ran to the closet and snatched his black backpack and dragged out the large safe from under the shelf and punched in the code, remembering what all of his passwords were, '0512'. Mama's birthday. I grabbed the pistol out of the safe and left the cash and drugs, I had no use for either of those things. Money wasn't what this world's currency was anymore and drugs have never done anything good to anybody.

I tucked the pistol in the back of my pants and hid it with my shirt. I grabbed the few larger knives that had covers over the blades and put them in the bag. I next grabbed the shotgun and made it to fully load it before slinging the strap over my shoulder. I quickly grabbed the couple of extra boxes of shotgun shells and stuffed them in the backpack before I got up and slowly made my way out of the room.

I quietly closed the door behind me and made a deter to my room to put on my boots before I ran down the stairs into the kitchen, where I opened up the mostly bare cabinets and took the last few cans of soup and veggies and several water bottles. I turned my head and peered out the window seeing the sun starting to rise. I put the bag back on and unlocked the door. I took a deep breath and took the pistol out, making sure the little red dot was there, 'Red means Dead" That's what my brother would tell me when he was teaching me to shoot.

I hadn't shot a gun in years, but I was pretty confident that I could still hit something from at least ten feet away. I hoped, anyway. But nonetheless, I didn't want anything to be outside the door and me not be prepared. I took a shaky breath and opened the door. I took a step onto the concrete porch and took a look around.

As far as I could tell there wasn't anything moving besides the branches of the trees slightly blowing in the wind. I bit my lip as I started to walk forward, not knowing where I was going to go. But it honestly didn't matter. I just needed to get away from that place, away from the house that had become my hell for the past couple of years. Away from the two dead men in the bedrooms. I needed to get away from myself. Away from who I was. Nobody could know what had happened. What I'd done. I would take that secret to the grave.

I shouldered the bag and slightly picked up speed, wanting to put as much distance between the house and me. I never wanted to be inside of that house again. I never wanted to lay eyes on that place or anyone associated with it ever again.