Page 24 of Glass Rose
I catch him, cradling his weight as we sink to the floor together, and everything inside me shatters into jagged pieces that gouge my insides.
I’ve killed my father.
I’ve… killed my father.
“You did what you had to.” A strong arm encircles me from behind, gently prying my fingers from the knife handle. “You freed him.”
That’s when I notice it beneath the blood and gore. Two tangled triangles. Dad’s wearing a dark green maintenance coverall, the ‘Green Research’ logo etched on the breast pocket.
“He was there.” The horrible truth dawns on me. “He was work—No. Please. No, no, no. I checked his schedule. I made sure he couldn’t be indicated…”
“You couldn’t have known.”
My hands are slick with blood—my father’s blood. “They must have called him in. Emergency maintenance. And he—Did they inject him, too? No, they wouldn’t, right? But?—”
“Sofia, listen to me.” Gavin turns me away from the body, shielding me from the sight with his broad shoulders. “The virus was already out there. We saw the footage of Novak atthe coffee shop. He was infected days ago, long before you brought anyone in. Your father would have been exposed regardless of what you did.”
“But I?—”
“You tried to expose something terrible. That's not wrong.” His eyes hold mine, refusing to let me look away. “The outbreak was already happening. It. Wasn’t. You.”
I want to believe him. Need to believe him. But the guilt weighs too heavily.
His thumb brushes a tear from my cheek. “This isn't on you. Okay?”
I bury my face against his shirt, breathing in his scent that is oddly comforting. He was tortured for over a year, still standing, still fighting, and I’m a mess. “How are you not broken?”
“Who says I’m not?”
I pull back and look into his eyes. Really look. The harsh angles of his face are softened in the sunlight filtering through the windows, but there’s something else—something caught between tenderness and savagery.
“We need to go.” His thumb brushes my cheek, coming away wet. “Are you okay to walk?”
“I—” My clothes are soaked with blood. My father’s blood. My mother’s blood. I can’t tell the difference anymore. “I need to change. Clothes… Is that okay?”
He nods, helping me to my feet and up the stairs to my old bedroom. Everything looks exactly as I left it. Science fair trophies, college acceptance letters, and photos of friends whose faces I can barely remember on the wall.
I wrench off my blood-soaked clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap.
“I’ll go find supplies,” Gavin turns away. “Water, food, anything useful.”
“Wait.” My voice stops him at the door. “There’s a bathroom across the hall. We could clean up a bit?”
“Quick. In and out.”
The bathroom feels surreal, with Mom’s flowery hand towels and Dad’s electric razor on the counter. I turn the faucet, half-expecting nothing, but water gushes out. For how much longer?
I scrub my hands, nails digging into my skin. “It won’t come off.”
“Sofia.” He catches my wrist. “You’re hurting yourself.”
“I should hurt. I should fucking suffer for what I—I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”
He reaches past me, turning the shower knob. Water hisses to life, steam quickly filling the small bathroom. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Shower. Now.” He gestures at my blood-spattered skin. “You’re not thinking straight, and we need to move soon.”
