Scrubbing furiously, Ben kept his hands under the hot water for as long as he could stand, before finally pulling back. Steam was coming from the sink, but as he held his hands up to the light he realized he could still see blood caked around the edges of his nails, so he twisted the faucet a little to make the water even hotter and then he thrust his hands back into the sink, wincing with pain in the process. All that mattered was getting rid of the blood, even the tiny particles he couldn’t see, flecked into the pores of his skin. “What are you doing?” Spinning around, he saw Jack standing in the doorway. “Nothing,” he snapped, hurrying over to push the door shut, only for Jack to put his foot in the way. “What are you doing, Ben?” “Well,” Ben replied, forcing a smile even though he was panicking and his hands hurt, “I’m in the bathroom, which tends to be a place where people expect a little extra privacy, so…” “What’s wrong with your hands?” “Jesus, there’s -”
