The whole bathroom smelled of blood. She thought of pulling him through his hair but she didn't want to dip her hand in that cake of sticky blood but there was something that pushed her to do so. She had to be nice, she had to be nice, some sort of niceness syndrome that was happening to her and her overall physical expression. She felt the deep urge to save him and in order to do that she had to pull him through his hair. She dipped her hands in the sticky, wet blood. She grabbed him by his matted hair and pulled his head out.
She then put both of her arms under his armpits and pulled him out. It was quite a bit of a task but she managed to pull him out.
She averted her eyes from his naked body and washed her hands off the sink. She then took tissues from the tissue roll hanging near the commode and cleaned up her shoes which were definitely going to smell like a dead bird forever.
