“Yeah, you had us really worried.” Clay added, approaching her bedside and resting his hands on the bars. Glen remained silent, standing a bit further away and just staring at her. Spencer shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, wishing she could figure out what he was thinking. He looked so lost.

“….Sorry…” She muttered softly, still watching Glen although she’d occasionally rake her eyes over the rest of her family. It was odd apologizing for something she couldn’t even remember doing.

Glen watched Spencer as she spoke with the rest of the family, his eyes following the conversations like a tennis match. Although he was listening, the words pretty much just flowed in one ear and out the other. Every time he looked at her, he could still see her sitting in the tub full of red water, looking so peaceful and serene.

After the hospital visit, he’d caught a cab to Spencer’s house instead of his because that’s where his car was. When he entered the house, he realized that no one had drained the bath, and that the white tiles were going to get stained. Upon reaching the bathroom, his head spun and he quickly regretted his decision. The door was just was he’d left it, broken on the floor of the bathroom. In fact, he had to step over it just to reach the toilet when the contents of his stomach had revolted.

He’d rolled up the sleeve of his shirt in preparation of reaching into the water to pull out the stop on the drain. His hand hovered above the blood tinted water for several minutes before he pulled it back and rushed over to the toilet for heave number two. It took three different tries before he finally plunged his hand deep into the still lukewarm water and yanked out the drain in one swift motion. Pulling out his arm, he watched the red stained water drip from his fingertips, his stomach coiling although there was nothing left for him to purge.

Once the water had drained, a red tint still remained in the once perfectly white tub. The only thing that stood out was the reflected surface of the razor that sat perfectly clean in the bottom of the bath, glinting up at him with it’s smug shine. He’d lifted it up with his already wet hand, turning it carefully over in his palm as he studied it. A moment later he was chucking it out the bathroom window that he’d managed to break in his fevered motions to force it open. He later returned to the bathroom with bleach and spent 4 hours scrubbing away at the bath until it glinted whiter than Bob Barker’s teeth. He spent the next two hours in the shower, washing until his skin was pink and sore.