Clifford huffed, panting heavily, looking at his own fists.
Susan's body lay in bed, lifeless, unmoving, still warm.
Clifford's stomach rebelled against him, and he rushed into the master bathroom, shoving his face into the toilet and throwing up the little he had eaten in the hospital.
All the rest was bile and acid, leaving a bitter taste in his tongue and soft burns on the inside of his lips.
She didn't mean anything to him but a step upwards.
But then...
'WHY THE HELL AM I SO SHAKEN?!?'
When he was sure his stomach wasn't going to throw another tantrum, he stood up and went to the sink, washed his face, and looked in the mirror.
It was shocking that, in a matter of hours, he would look from healthy to that ghostly pale, with dark circles under his eyes.
Yet, he felt powerful.
Unstoppable, even.
But he also felt tired, he needed sleep.
Proper sleep.
