Henry nearly loses it in his bathroom.
This smells horrible. It was a stupid, retarded thing to think, but it was the best Henry could come up with. His bathtub was overflowing with blood and the nausea crawled up his throat and an increasingly loud voice in the back of his head was screaming, wordlessly, and Henry just stared at his hand.
This smells horrible. He looked for something to wipe it off on. His towels were already soaked in the stuff, and he didn't want to get it on his shirt -- not that he didn't already -- he rubbed his hand on the wall, smudging the liquid but not really getting it off and hell now the only clean part of the wall wasn't clean and his hand was still covered in--
Henry's knees shook; he leaned against the sink and clenched his hair with his clean hand, sucking in air through his teeth. The hole in his bathroom was laughing at him and the voice in the back of his head had stopped screaming and was singing This smells horrible this smells horrible this smells horrible and he fell to his knees on the tile floor, gasping and grasping at the sink and spreading the red even more.
He collected himself, slowly, using the sink to pull himself to his feet. He took a deep breath, through his mouth and not his nose, and then he went to the hole in his bathroom wall and he crawled through it.