It swirls around his nostrils, this smell that seems to come from everywhere around him. The world could be made of this smell. It settles on the tip of his tongue, stronger in his mouth than it is in his nose, a taste so heavy it drags his jaw to the floor, a taste of liquid rust, of old pennies. Of sharp iron. He knows this taste, has felt its tang slide down his throat too many times before. Opening his eyes, the crimson stains painting the walls and floors gives a name to this odors, to this taste, not he was too confused about what it could be.

Blood has a way of leaving an impression.

When was the last time he had stood in this room? A week ago? Two weeks ago? It couldn’t have been more than a month since the last time he had witnessed all of this blood, held this fucking knife. The blade’s weight was too familiar, friendly almost, a leather and steel extension of his hand.

His breathing comes in heaves and comes out in huffs, each gulp of air carrying that metallic twang with it. A scream hides in the back of his throat, a scream that cannot break out of its prison made of teeth. Screaming would do very little good here.

There is no body. Whomever he had stabbed to bloody fucking death has already vanished, has already ceased to exist, like every bad guy in every video game he had ever played. This victim is and was unimportant; the fact that he killed, that he committed murder is all that matters.

The knife clangs on the concrete at his feet, blood splattering up from the floor. Without a weapon, there are several options open to him. Run. Be capture.

Wake up.

Bolting upright, sweat dripped off his forehead, a cold sweat that smelled of rust. The scream managed to tear its way out of his mouth.

“Baby?” she asked, her voice slack with sleep, tight with concern. “Are you okay?”

Her fingers drummed on his back, her pulse quickening when she felt the manic pace of his. He swung his feet off the bed, terrified of them landing in blood, raking his fingers through hair still slick with sweat.

“Yeah,” he whispered, afraid that any increase in volume would shatter him. He grabbed the hand on his back, wrapping his fingers protectively around hers, needing her comfort far more than he could admit out loud. “Just another nightmare.”