Cinder
After an eternity of just poking Pike, I realize I need to do something about the blood.
“I need to clean up,” I mutter.
“Good idea,” Pike says. “And while you’re in the shower, I will try to cook us some dinner.”
I laugh while standing up. “At your size? Please, can you even hold a spatula?”
“Don’t underestimate me,” he lifts his right arm and flexes it with a humorous smile. “I got this.”
I snort. “I believe it when I see it.”
He just winks at me. “Food will be ready when you’re out of the shower.”
The hot shower does little to wash away the guilt. But with every stroke against my skin, I allow myself to believe Pike’s words a little more. A part of me screams in protest, reminding me of Jason’s lifeless body by my feet. But I quickly push the mental image away.
I killed
