My clothes squish as I drop them in the bathtub. I’ll take care of them later. Maybe burn them.

My feet leave red prints on the bathroom tile. My hands slip as I turn the knobs in the shower. The warmth and steam envelopes me. Scarlet swirls in the water, running down my arms and legs. I scrub hard, but the blood dyes the underside of my fingernails. What have I done?

The mirror draws my eyes. Blood cakes my mouth. I raise my lips, flashing fangs at myself. They ache to bite down again.

Knocking on the bathroom door makes me drop the soap. “Isadora? Is it done?”

I lean back against the cool tiles, my voice shaking, “Yes, I killed your rival.”

An envelope slides under the door. I climb out of the shower and snatch it up. Only half the money is inside with another picture labeled Target Two.

 

Fiction

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