And then, in one fell swoop, Dean tugs me towards him as he stands up straight, crushing me to his chest, his arms wrapping around me and holding tight.

My own arms slink around his middle, my face buried against his racing heart. I can smell blood and fear and terror and victory. I feel him trembling in my embrace, his body coming down from the massive adrenaline spike. He hugs me tighter and tighter, and I don’t even care that my ribs are screaming in resistance—he could never hug me tight enough.

Our emotions begin to settle and we slowly pull apart, our eyes lingering for one potent beat before he takes my hand and pulls me to the staircase.

I don’t spare Earl, or whatever’s left of him, a final glance as we race past his body. He’s not worth another second of my life.

We won.

Dean is scrubbing his hands and arms in the kitchen sink with a bristled brush, erasing all remnants of Earl off his skin. He’s relentless and harsh, washing and cleansing until his flesh is pink and raw. I watch the water run red as Dean’s eyes stay laser focused on his task. Even when all of the blood has disappeared down the drain, he keeps scrubbing.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

“Dean,” I say gently, coming up behind him in an attempt to distract him.

He doesn’t hear me.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

He keeps scrubbing. Dean is trying to cleanse more than just his skin.

Tiny specks of blood begin to form along the surface of his arms, and I finally reach my hand out and place it against his shoulder. “Dean, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

He pauses his movements, turning around and glancing between me and the blood-tinged bristles. He swallows. “Sorry, I just…” Dean trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

We both know exactly what he’s doing.

I jump in place when police sirens sound in the distance, and I waste no time running to the back door off the kitchen.

“Cora, wait. They’ll come inside to get us,” Dean says, trying to keep me from darting out into the subzero weather in nothing but a blood-stained t-shirt.

But I can’t listen to logic or reason right now. Safety is roughly four-hundred yards away, and I’m desperate, reckless, aching, to have a taste of humanity. I can’t wait.

I’m done waiting.

The door slams against the wall as I whip it open, and the icy air blasts my face. I gasp at the intensity of it, but it doesn’t stop my feet from launching me forward, pulling me closer to freedom. There’s a dirt road behind the house, and I try not to think about the fact that if I’d gone out this door two days earlier, I probably would have made a successful escape. We’d have two extra days with our families in our warm beds, eating real food.