Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Price: Sin-Stained Scars

“Thanks.” Price almost sighed in relief as he pressed the damp cloth to his chin. The sharp, fiery tinge of pain faded momentarily. Exhaustion was slowly diffusing through him the longer he sat still, pulling his attention from his wounds. “Do you have water?”

“Yeah.” Ariel arched one eyebrow. “Run the sink.”

Of course. He felt like an idiot. “Oh.” He said lamely. “Well, thanks. Again.”

“Stop thanking me. I didn’t do anything.” The door slammed behind her, cutting I’ll be right back in half.

After a second of silence, tense in the sterile, clipped air of the bathroom, Price stood. His reflection was even worse than he had anticipated – his lip was split nearly all the way down, and one of his eyes was turning an ugly shade of purple. There was a huge bruise on his cheekbone, and when he smiled his teeth were covered in dried blood.

He looked like a monster. Completely, utterly foreign.

What had he become? Attacking people, flailing punches, so desperate to extract vengeance upon his father that he jumped upon halfway resolutions. A friendship with Charliegh was out of the question. Any chance of resurrecting their previous relationship was gone. It would hurt Earnest, Price knew, that he had shunned the girl his father had loved so dearly.

The girl he had done everything for.

The thought gave Price a sick, terrible feeling of satisfaction. And somehow, fear. Was he turning into his father after all?

He yanked the water on. His skin throbbed as he brought the washcloth to his face and scrubbed the blood away mercilessly. The rubbing alcohol felt like fire as it licked through his wounds, dripping off his chin and burning down his throat. His new reflection was pink, face flushed pink. His cuts were less noticeable now, just small red pits on over his cheekbones and jaw.

“That was quick.” Ariel barged back into the bathroom. There was a strange, shuttered look in her eyes that hadn’t existed before she left him. Her walls were being built again, rising to engulf her. She had had time to think – how this angry, sullen boy was alone in her house. That, maybe, she was in danger, and bringing him here hadn’t been the best idea.

Looking at his fresh pain compared to her icy, almost broken demeanor, Price was tempted to rip them down around her ears. Kick the clothing to the floor. Push her against the door. Kiss her until the walls stopped rising, until she was fearful instead of pitying. Human, instead of a breathing, moving skeleton.

His hands shook as he accepted the sweater, jeans, and towel.

“I thought you might want to shower.” Her eyes flickered to his head. His matted, crusting curls. Her movements were odd, jerky as she turned. Robotic.

“That’d be great.” Price glanced at his feet. Dark red imprints were trailing him. “Sorry about all the blood.”  

 “I agreed to help, Price. The blood will come off the tile.” Ariel gave him a brief, faint hint of a smile. “We do have water for the shower, in case you were wondering.”

We do have water.

As he showered, Price was almost enraged at this feeling that overcame him. He wasn’t sure what it was – embarrassment, anger. Vulnerability.

And then, when he looked down, a puddle of dark, dirty red was gathering underneath his feet as he moved, flicking his curls around to remove the dried blood. Black as sin. Red as blood. He was tainted by it. Most of it was his; not enough of it was Nolan’s. He couldn’t shake the memory of Charliegh’s terrified face, of the open, ragged contempt on that had split across Nolan’s smile. He knew. He knew everything.