I do not remember when blood stopped shocking me. Maybe it happened slowly, over years, until it became just another part of my nights. As I walked back home, my footsteps were steady, almost calm, even though my body told a different story. My clothes were stained, my skin burned in places, and my muscles ached in that familiar, dull way. The city around me was alive—lights, sounds, people—but I felt distant from all of it. Like I was walking through a world that no longer expected anything from me.
The corner of my lips felt wet. I knew what it was without touching it. Blood. Again. There was a cut on my cheek too, shallow but sharp, the kind that stings more than it hurts. My fingers, pale and long, were no longer clean. Blood had settled into the creases of my skin, dark and stubborn. I clenched my fists once, feeling the tightness in my knuckles, then let go. None of this surprised me. This was normal. This was how most days ended for me.
When I reached home, the door opened before I could knock. William stood there, just like always. His eyes moved over me slowly, not in panic, not in horror, but with tired familiarity. He had seen me like this too many times. There was no urgency in his movements, no sudden questions shouted in fear. Only a quiet sigh, hidden behind calm eyes.
"What happened today again?"
His voice was soft, almost casual, like he was asking why I was late.
I met his gaze for a moment. I did not feel like explaining. Explanations felt heavy, and tonight I was already carrying enough weight. Still, I answered, because he deserved at least that much.
"I saved a girl."
Then, as naturally as breathing, I asked,
"Where is Mom?"
William stepped aside to let me in, closing the door behind us. The house was quiet, wrapped in sleep. The air felt warm, safe—too safe for someone like me.
"Aunt Sophia already went to bed," he said.
"Food is on the table. Eat first. But before that, go freshen up."
He paused for a second, then added,
"I'll put medicine on your wounds."
I nodded without speaking. Words felt unnecessary. I walked toward the bathroom, my body moving on habit alone. When I turned on the tap and looked into the mirror, the face staring back at me felt unfamiliar and yet too well-known. My eyes looked hollow, older than they should be. I washed my hands slowly. The water turned red, then clear, then red again. No matter how much I scrubbed, the stains seemed to linger, as if my skin itself remembered everything it had touched.
The blood on my lips washed away, but the cut remained. A reminder. I did not flinch when water hit my cheek. Pain had lost its power over me a long time ago.
When I came out, William was already waiting, sitting quietly with the medicine box open beside him. He did not tell me to sit down. He did not need to. I sat, and he started cleaning my wounds with practiced hands. His touch was careful, but his silence was heavy. I knew what was coming even before he spoke.
"You have such a good results," he said finally, his eyes fixed on my cheek, not my face.
"You could get a proper job. A safe job."
His hand paused for just a second before continuing.
"Why do you keep running after things like this? What are you even chasing?"
I said nothing. I never do. I stared at the wall, listening to his voice echo inside my head. He was not wrong. I knew that. I had always known that. I had options. I had a future people would call bright. But some nights change you in ways books and grades never can. Some things, once seen, cannot be unseen.
William kept talking, softer now, like he was tired of being angry.
"You don't have to do this, Andrew."
Still, I stayed silent. Silence was easier. Silence did not demand answers I could not give.
When he finished, he closed the medicine box and stood up. The room felt heavier without his voice. I stood too, feeling the familiar exhaustion sink deeper into my bones.
"I bought some things for Mom. And for you. They're on the sofa. Check them later" I said quietly.
William looked at me then. Really looked at me. His expression softened, just a little, before he hid it again behind that calm face he always wore. He did not say anything. No thanks. No complaints. Just silence.
The house returned to its quiet state. And as I stood there, surrounded by safety I did not deserve, I wondered how long this life—this blood-soaked normal—would continue. I wondered if I even knew how to live without it anymore.