(All characters and things pertaining to the Resident Evil games belong to Capcom. Don't sue, I'm just writing for funsies.)
Aftermath
It was Sherry's first shower since… god knew when and no matter how much she told herself to scrub, rinse and clean herself till her skin was raw, She just couldn't do it.
Instead she just stood there, perfectly still, and watched with weary blue eyes as the water carried away the last traces of the past twenty-four hours. The dirt, the sweat and most importantly the blood…
She shook her head slightly and felt her soaked dirty gold locks cling to her face.
Blood… she had seen a lot of that in her lifetime. Rivers of the stuff it seemed. So very much like the blood that made it's way down the drain. She looked absently at her hands. The dried crimson that she hadn't quite managed to rid herself of at the time now slipped from her hands with such ease she wondered vaguely why people said it was so hard to wash off?
She would've smiled at that, had she the energy. She felt so endlessly drained and yet she couldn't quite understand why. Considering what she had been through it would be understandable if she was tired. Anyone who had been through hell and back would've probably collapsed in total exhaustion by now. However she knew different. She knew what her body was capable of. Things that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life, why should she be tired now?
He never was…
Sherry shuddered involuntarily.
She wasn't cold, far from it the water was scolding hot; she had turned the heat all the way up in a futile attempt to snap herself out of the numbing funk she had found herself in. Plus the heat made the blood just slip away from her body as if it were melting. She had remembered that from the last time…
It wasn't her blood though.
Not all of it any way. She didn't need to look over her body for confirmation. She just knew. There wasn't a scratch on her. Ten hours ago maybe, but now… all gone. All better. Nothing, but the vague memory of searing pain and razor sharp tears remained and yet as she stood in the shower, Sherry couldn't tell if any of that had really happened. She felt as if she tried to remember even more of what had happened would slip from her mind like a dream and vanish without a trace.
Then again so was He…
But there was so much of it. Blood. Even now it smelled as strong as it had when it had been shed. Such a strong and powerful scent and yet Sherry hadn't realised how much of it she had been covered in. She was used to it. No wonder it seemed to be taking an age to wash it away.
And yet it wasn't her blood.
No.
It was His.
Not hers.
His…
And all she could do was watch.
Watch, as the last traces of her only remaining relative slipped away into oblivion.
Uncle…
Before she knew it the contents of her stomach burned its way out of throat and joined his blood on the shower room floor…