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D--> I need a towel
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Hayley nodded her agreement to the washing up plan. It took Kyle a lot of control not to charge down the shore and dive into the water. He took his shirt off first, and wiped his knife clean. Cleaning his shirt in salt water would leave it stiff, but it would be better than having it be coated in blood. He slowly walked down, keeping his eyes on Hayley's back. Concentrating on the retention of his calmness, despite how much he wanted to scrub his hands with sand until they bled. It reminded him of Macbeth- Out, out, damn spot. Of course, Macbeth was flipping out because he had just cold murdered his king. Kyle was flipping out because of his OCD- blood always made him flip out, even when it was his own.

It was strange though- Kyle did feel a little guilt for killing James, even though his attack was almost entirely superfluous after Hayley's decapitating strike. It was probably how he had lost his temper- he never lost his temper. It was something he prided himself on: being able to look in the face of people who tried to get him to attack them and just walk away.

And then this happened.

Kyle put it out of his mind, as the ocean was already lapping at his feet. He walked in until the water reached his waist, dipped his shirt into the water and began to wash the blood out. Methodical, slow. Let the metaphoric cleaning take place on his soul, too. He ducked down, washed his face, scrubbed hard. Air. Stand up, breathe. Down, scrub. Up, breathe. Repeat, repeat. Allow the compulsions room to breathe, room to act. Three times washed, three times clean.
Edited by armeggedonCounselor, Oct 20 2010, 09:46 PM.
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Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God. · The Beach: East