Leo sat alone in the shower area with his kneee held against his chest with cold water washing ovet him despite remaining fully dressed.
He still felt dirty as if he could still smell the blood that had clung to his body. Closing his eyes, he could hear the screams, feel the anger and see the despair.
Some had cried. Some had begged and pleaded for mercy but they all met the same fate: Death by his hand.
He knew that the people he had killed had plenty of blood on their hands but that did not make the weight in his chest any lighter. Their sins did not erase the fact that he had been the one to end them. Each face lingered in his mind like a ghost that refused to leave, their eyes fixed on him in silent judgment.
The cold water poured over him but it did nothing to wash away the memory of warm blood splattering against his skin. It clung to him in a way soap and water never could. The thought made his stomach twist and his breathing turn uneven.
