Soaked Red

“You didn’t see anything, did you?”
His voice, so frantic. His face, so pale.
I swallow.
“Tell me you didn’t see that!”
I step backwards, my palm pressed against my lips.
“Olivia! Answer me!”
My back hits the wall behind me and I find myself panicking.
What if he does that to me?
How could he…
“Please, you didn’t see that,” he begins sobbing.
His shoulders hunch over and his hands cover his watering eyes.
Red.
That’s all I see running down his arms, his face.
Soaked.
His shirt, his hair, his jeans.
I shake my head, letting out a soft moan.
I can’t believe him.
“I didn’t,” he sobs. “I didn’t do it.”
I continue to shake my head.
He steps closer.
I have to duck out of his grip.
“You have to believe me.”
But I saw him, standing over that man, the knife dripping blood dangling from his fingers.
How could it not be him?
“Olivia,” he reaches for me.
“How could you do something like this?” I whisper.
“I didn’t! I found him!”
“You found him?!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “I tried to, I panicked.”
“You’re drenched in his blood!”
He suddenly grows quiet.
“You have to help me.”
“Help you?!”
“Get rid of it, clean it up.”
“What?!”
“Please, Olivia,” he falls to his knees.
My heart thumps, and sinks.
And I agree.