There’s a saying about “hands dipped in blood up to the elbows” that describes men like me. However, in my case, I earned that depiction long before I was considered an adult in the eyes of the law. Now? Now, I’m so submerged in blood and death that the stink of it is permanently lodged in my nostrils. I won’t dare set my dirty hands on something so pure and innocent as her, even if it’s just to feel her hair. For me, she’s like a treasured painting in a museum, open to view, but marked with a brass sign warning “Do Not Touch.”
