It didn't occur to Ella to worry about the blood, about any illnesses it might carry; she wasn't that cognizant. She was, more-or-less, running on auto-pilot as she stepped into the tub completely and let the remainder of her bloodied clothes fall to the tub's tile floor. She switched the water stream from the tub and kicked the stopper free as the water at her feet turned a watery, sickly red.
The water spray was hot and strong, and she let herself get the remaining panic out of her system as she stood beneath it. She didn't sob or cry loudly enough for James to hear, but her breath was a series of shallow, slow, hitched things comprised of pent up fear. Vines locked themselves around the door handle, offering privacy she didn't even realize she needed, and she let the water run over her again and again. She needed to get it out of her system, to steadily rebuild her walls. She didn't usually fall apart like this; it was a new thing, new since Beauty and the change, and she didn't like the vulnerability.