Bones Drabble: Hemorrhage In My Hands

Jack slides from beneath Angela’s arm, escaping his dark bedroom.

In the kitchen he considers taking two beers up to Zack’s apartment.  Remembering, he pulls onions from the pantry instead.

Papery skin gives way; Jack makes the first cut.  

As the Syn-propanethial-S-oxide hits his eyes, tears well.  

“What’re you doing?” 

Her sleep-slurred voice snares his attention, but the blade keeps moving.  “Making onion quiche.”  He barely falters when the knife kisses flesh.

“It’s 3:00 in the morning.”  Warm fingers clasp his wrist.  “Jack, stop.  You’re bleeding.”

Jack stares at their hands.  “I never taught him to drive.”

Angela's fingers tighten.