I don't know how far I've run. I don't know how much longer I can keep moving. I'm not even sure stopping is an option.
The night air cuts into my lungs. It feels cold, but not as cold as the blood beginning to dry against my skin.
I push through the crowd on the streets of New York, filled with lights and the noise of celebration. Tonight is New Year's Eve. A night where people laugh, hold each other close, counting down to something that no longer makes sense to me.
Then they see me.
Their steps slow, and their expressions begin to change. From confusion… to fear. Some of them step back, and most of them raise their phones.
I can hear the same word over and over again.
"911."
Fair enough.
A man covered in blood running through the city while everyone else celebrates their lives. I'd probably do the same. But I don't have time to care. I don't even know whose blood this is.
Or… if I want to know.
"Stop him!"
The voice cuts through my thoughts when two police officers stand a few meters ahead of me. Their eyes lock onto mine instantly—on the blood covering my body, on my uneven breathing, on something I can't even explain myself.
Shit.
I turn before they can move. My legs try to run again, but my body starts to resist, like my subconscious has already given up as police begin to close in from every direction, sealing off every possible escape.
"Stop! Police!"
I take one last chance, my footsteps slamming hard against the pavement. I almost make it past the corner before something crashes into me from the side. My body hits the ground hard, the air knocked out of me as my arms are yanked behind my back. I feel the cold metal snap around my wrists.
"Don't move!"
I don't fight. Not because I'm obedient, but because I know this is over.
"What did you do?!" one of the officers asks.
I swallow, but my throat feels dry.
"I… don't know."
It sounds weak. Even to my own ears.
"Yeah, sure," he replies flatly.
I shake my head slowly, my breathing still uneven.
"I don't know anything. I swear."
They don't answer. And from the way their hands hold me down, from the way their eyes look at me, I begin to realize… no one is going to believe me.