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She closed her eyes and sight heavily and smile to herself, "escape" that sounded, good, that sounded just marvelous, that was just the ticket.
She actually started to walk towards the door, one step, then three then four and then she stopped.

She might want to escape, but she was a practical woman, common sense ruled her life, she has to think this through. Not the actual leaving part. That was decide, that was set in stone, the when and how however was not. That she had to work out carefully, all the details planned out, with a couple of alternatives just in case.

A plan A a plan B and at least a plan C to follow. Instead of going all the way through the front door she went back to the bathroom. She had to clean it up, all of it, leaving it on the bathroom floor was never really an option.

The blood was a beautiful shade of pink, because that is what that was, pink shiny blood, she was unsure of what creature he had killed in the bathroom the night before, but for the state of the bathroom she imagined that it was a small creature, with yellow fur.

She remember the creature with the purple blood, it had a guttural scream that cut through the night and took longer than most to kill. She had cowered in bed, fully dressed, (she had actually gotten up and gotten dressed after the first five minutes) and even after the screams had stopped she did not dared close her eyes.

Morning found her still sitting in bed wide awake, white as the sheets that cover her bed. It took all her will to get moving, to put her feet to the floors to walk in to that bathroom yet one more time.

She knew the creature was gone, she new that he had taken it away, he never left any of the dead creatures inside the house. But she was still afraid. She was barefoot, same as the day when she walked in to this house.
and for the first time she cared, it mattered, somehow she did not want part of her to touch that purple blood. That gray, matted fur, the smell like rotten eggs and milk gone bad enveloped her as soon as she walked in to the bathroom.

But even then, like now, she knew that cleaning was not an option. She had to do it.

And she did, for hours on end, until the white tile sparkled, the white tub looked impossible white and there was not an ounce of dirt or purple blood left.

She wish she had gloves. That was not an option here, just like shoes where not an option.

Once done, she laid in bed, tired, hoping to sleep, wishing she could die, but neither sleep nor death came, so she laid in bed, looking at the ceiling of that bedroom.

And she wondered then how much longer she could endure.

She could endure no more. She was done. Time to go.

First she needed a plan A.