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It wasn't enough. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he couldn't lie to himself. He'd – they'd – killed Dr. Fletcher and those two girls. The blood was on his hands, he was on the run, and all he could do was scrub. But it was never enough. He was tainted, through and through. A killer. A murderer. Kevin's mother had always been right.
You're a dirty, dirty boy, Kevin Wendell Crumb! You come here right now!
The endless beatings hadn't seemed to work, apparently; he was still stained by his immoral actions.
Ragged breathing filled the room as his right hand began to grow red and sore under the careless abuse, his shaking left unable to let go of the rough, wet sponge scraping painfully against his skin over and over again.
It's not enough.
The water kept running, gushing, splashing with far too much pressure onto his almost raw hand and into the drain, where his hot tears fell in tandem and was soon lost in the swirling mess.
"Fuck..." The word was barely audible in the rush of wind that whistled through the abandoned house, but everyone heard him. One too many.
He paused and pressed his weight against the sink's cold rim, his eyes squeezing shut of their own volition. Tender and painfully sensitive hands clenched around the edges of the sink, the burning pain reminding him of what he'd done to the girls and Dr Fletcher. His stomach clenched in revulsion of himself. He felt like throwing up again.
"You did your job, Mr. Dennis, you can rest now!" Hedwig's soft, hesitant voice piped up, but Dennis shook his head and picked up the sponge to scrub even harder than before.
"Did you not see what we did?" His voice was hoarse, broken. "We killed them! Two innocent girls are dead, one managed to escape, and our therapist got crushed to death because I was stupid and irrational! The beast was supposed to protect Kevin, but at the expense of so many others? How many more would we need? I can't live like this anymore. Why Kevin? Why us? I don't want this!" By this time he was yelling, seemingly to no one, and he probably was. Who knew who was listening anymore?
The tears couldn't seem to stop flowing, but he made no move to stop them. It wouldn't be long before his skin was completely scrubbed off. Maybe then he'd finally be clean.
"Dennis, put the sponge down." Patricia's voice seemed far away, distant with the sound of his sobs filling the room and echoing in his ears.
"I c-can't... Fuck, I can't." He clenched his teeth and pressed down with more force.
"Mr Dennis, y-you don't have to– Ow! That hurts!" Hedwig let out a small cry at a particularly vicious scrub. Kevin's body twitched slightly with the stinging pain that blossomed out from his hand.
"You're hurting all of us! Furthermore, you're hurting Kevin! Stop this now!"
The sponge dropped with a wet thump to the base of the sink at the sharpness of her tone.
He was hurting Kevin. Nevermind himself, but Kevin?
His sole purpose was to protect Kevin and now he was hurting him? How could he? He really was a screw-up, a mistake. No wonder no one liked him. No wonder everyone hated him.
'What kind of inhumane asshole are you? I can't believe you really tried to do that, you disgusting pervert!' Jade had yelled at him once after he'd attempted to touch a younger co-worker and nearly got caught. It was during one of the staff breaks when Kevin still worked at the zoo.
He really hadn't wanted to. But it seemed his hand just moved on its own, and he'd almost lost the job Barry worked so hard to secure just because of his shameful 'needs'.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't have anything to say. Barry had stayed quiet, but Dennis could tell he agreed with her. The others had gone silent too, their eyes averted and their mouths shut.
He knew what they were feeling. He knew what they were thinking.
'Jade's right.'
'Why is he here again?'
'He's so sickening.'
'Why can't he just leave already?'
Only Patricia and Hedwig had stood up for him that day. And even after that the Horde still despised him. They only kept him around because Hedwig liked him and Patricia always had the last word: 'We need him to help us help Kevin.'
And so he did.
Did he really though...?
People had died because of his actions. Innocent, normal people who had no clue as to how monumental the situation they were in was.
It wasn't his fault, Dennis would claim; he was made like this: to obey others and clean up their messes, to ensure not a single speck of dirt was left behind.
But he didn't ask to be made.
Why did he even exist?
He never did anything right, especially through the judgmental eyes of Patricia.
Why did he never think things through well enough?
Why did he only live to disappoint?
The self-deprecating thoughts had him so completely overwhelmed that he was unable to think straight, and he felt a numbness spread all over his body, the burning pain in his hands reducing to nothing more than a dull throb.
Dennis vaguely registered Kevin's body moving from the bathroom to the bedroom, and his hands moving to undo his shirt, but he felt so detached from it all that he simply watched it happen as if he were viewing a movie through a television screen, unable to do anything about anything.
Once he had stripped down to just his pants, he looked down at the bandaged gunshot wounds, his trembling fingers barely tracing over the gauze. He flinched at the gentle touch: still sore. At least they had enough medical supplies to last them through the remaining few days they could stay there. The police would find the Horde if they stayed too long, so they would have to move soon, find a safer place for themselves.
Or Dennis would have to do the searching, more like. After all, it was his OCD that helped him find a place sanitary enough for the Horde to recuperate and rest.
But what if it wouldn't be enough? What if they didn't approve of the future place he'd find? What if the police found them before he could get them to safety? It would be on him simply because he couldn't hide them away fast enough. It'd always be his fault, no matter what he did. Why was it always him?
The demands and questions kept coming and coming till his vision began to blur and small black spots danced across his eyes. The room felt like it was starting to tilt and spin on its hinges.
It was too much. Far too much. He couldn't handle it. He just wanted it to end, cease, finish. Anything other than this.
Please, God, make it stop, make it stop, make itstop, makeitstop, makeitstopmAKEITSTOP–
He sank to his knees with a heart-wrenching wail as his forehead met with the wooden boards hard, clutching his head and weeping bitterly, desperately wishing he had something, anything, anything at all to put an end to this horrible, never-ending nightmare.