Locked to Adam
In the night, in the dark, Sarah is back in her cave. Blood on her hands and screaming in her ears. It isn't Beth's blood. Isn't her own. In the dark, she rubs her palms furiously across her pant legs, wanting the blood off her hands without knowing why. In the night, in her dreams, Jessica is only a skeleton, and Paul is nothing but a memory. She's alone in the dark, listening to the shuffling of clawed feet on the rocks, listening to them breathing, listening to them screaming, and all she wants is to wash the blood from her hands.
In her dreams, she is no longer a mother, because her baby is dead. Dead by her own hands, the violence in her swelling up until there's no controlling it. She watches it over and over, as she loses them. Both of them. Her child and the child's father, whom she won't marry. The blood on her hands is theirs, and when she wakes up with a jolt, sweating and gasping for air, she can still feel it sticky on her palms, even though there's nothing there.
In her dreams, she is no longer a mother, because her baby is dead. Dead by her own hands, the violence in her swelling up until there's no controlling it. She watches it over and over, as she loses them. Both of them. Her child and the child's father, whom she won't marry. The blood on her hands is theirs, and when she wakes up with a jolt, sweating and gasping for air, she can still feel it sticky on her palms, even though there's nothing there.