He scrubbed, scrubbing till his skin was raw. He hated blood. Of all things that disgusted him most, blood was it. A visual weight, starkly reminding him exactly how monstrous he was.

His hand didn’t seem like enough, he wanted to rub sand paper over the skin the blood had stained. When he was wearing clean clothes, skin sheen with only sweat, he could pretend he had this under control. Could pretend he wasn’t a slave to this raw hunger inside him.

“Fuck…” He muttered, scrubbing harder.