(Price: unedited)
Nine months ago, he had watched his father disintegrate.
It was a motion that would set itself on replay, scattering the destructive embers of lust and desire upon the futile ground of his family’s life. More than merely one moment of solace, of stolen time and whispered secrets, it was an emotion that would tear old wounds open, ripping through scar tissue with the mercilessness fury of a hurricane.
In time, his father would flee to California, chased out of town by his shame and insatiable appetite for a woman that did not belong to him. His mother would become a recluse, winding her days in a café kitchen, making enough Peanut Butter Pies to drown the flesh-eating monster inside of her. His sister would become mute, storing her childhood into the unanswered prayers in the back of her throat.
He would become this – a boy whom Ariel feared. A storm, a chaotic force that grasped the pieces of his father’s problems between both fists and flung them into the lives of the people he loved.
To think that it started in front of display case – much like the one he was staring into – made his stomach turn violently.
He couldn’t see past the smudged glass covering. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. What if he blinked, and suddenly, the contents of McGowan bakeries appeared before his eyes, an alluring spread of poison apples? What if he shifted, and the girl beside him vanished, dissipating into thin air? What if she became a number among the lost tally of people; all of whom had surrendered themselves to the cost of their sins?
But then, movements slow and indistinctly unsteady, she turned, brushing his shoulder with her own. The slight touch pulled him from his desolate thoughts. With a jerk, he realized that he had been staring into the case for far too long, and Ariel was standing, waiting, for him.
She was alive. She was breathing. She would not be another casualty. Not a Katrina, or a Lily, or a Viv. An Ariel – beautifully flawed and endearingly uncertain.
“Price.” She jiggled her bare tray. The dull plastic shone at him, devoid of contents, defying the pale, hungry look imprinted in her eyes. “Coming?”
He paused. Tried to think of a way to remind her that he knew, and that he wasn’t letting her off the hook. “No food?”
She held up one hand, slim white fingers wrapped around an apple, enticing as Eve herself. “Fruit counts, right?”
“Only to you.” He tried to make his tone brusque as he moved around, defensive of the tightening in his chest whenever he looked at her. It was a barrage of foreign emotions that had been slowly growing, engulfing him. Sometimes he felt like he was drowning. Flailing.
Katrina knew – she had watched him fumble around Ariel, cheeks flushed. He had seen the sardonic grin on her face, one that she had pulled behind a mask of innocent inquiry when she asked for green jello.
But maybe he had imagined the flush that crept to Ariel’s cheeks as she had ducked around him, hunting for the elusive spoon. Perhaps the panic in her eyes had been exhaustion, and her jerky, nervous motions due to the newfound sharpness of her body.
Then again, maybe not. A very slim maybe, but a maybe nonetheless.
They filed through the cafeteria line in silence, sandwiched between a mauve-haired nurse in Tinkerbell scrubs and a hollow-eyed father who was inhaling his paper cup of instant coffee. For one brief, undefined moment, in limbo between advancement and immobility, Price wondered how this situation would be different if he and Ariel were strangers.
Would they still bump shoulders, practiced causality hiding strained smiles? Would he still understand the emptiness in her eyes; view her tiny, hunched figure as painful rather than tempting?
And would she still be looking at him as if he were a monster, a ragged delinquent standing in the jeans of a teenage boy?
He tried to soften the scowl on his face as he scanned the cafeteria for a table. It wasn’t until his eyes caught upon Ariel, jetty head bent over her coffee that he realized she had moved on without him. She shot him a cursory glance as he approached, then hid behind her overgrown bangs again.
“Feeling guilty?” He slid his tray across from her and took a seat. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his food – as if, when he did, that she would withdraw completely.
“For leaving Katrina? Or for leaving Iris to fend off my mother?”
He took in the downward curve of her mouth, doubting whether she was really as cynical as she sounded. Judging by her words, she had neglected to call either of her relatives. “Both, I guess. I was just thinking about Jewel. Lily isn’t exactly…”
“Responsible?”
He grimaced. “Uh, kind of. More like scattered.”
“Right.” Ariel said. She raised one eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. “If Lily is scattered, my mother is clinically insane.”
“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t met her yet.”
“Be grateful. Knowing her isn’t exactly a privilege.”
“But your aunt?” He was digging himself into a hole, he knew, but he couldn’t resist asking about her family. He didn’t know much, except that she and her mother had moved into Redemption to take care of her aunt.
Randall, the aunt’s son, had committed suicide last year.
He had always been a recluse in school. Ran track, all knobby knees and honor-society-worthy GPAs. Just another kid struggling through the woes of puberty and growing up and realizing that life was this messy, ragged thing. The thing about Randall was, he had a lot more to do with Charliegh’s – and consequently, Price’s – life than either cared to remember.
“Iris is okay.” Ariel was avoiding his gaze again, eyes skipping over the cracked tile floor of the cafeteria. “I mean, better than my mom. Nicer. Oblivious, but nice.”
Oblivious seemed to resonate with detached. Decent enough to listen every so often, but not proactive enough to approach. Non-confrontational. Exactly the type of person Ariel was drawn to. He felt bitterness churning in his stomach. Was this her unspoken way of telling him that becoming close would entail leaving her personal life alone?
“That's what you want, isn’t it? Nice.”
She took a cautious bite of her apple, pausing to chew and swallow. Saliva trembled in the corner of her lip. It was the first time in the past few days that he had seen her look truly vulnerable, and it entailed nothing more than shooting questions across a dirty plastic table.
“You make it sound like a horrible thing. Nice.”
“You ever wanted something besides nice?”
“I assume you want me to ask, ‘like what’?”
He fiddled with his spoon, swirling it around in his coffee until it split apart and spun in opposing directions. A study in contradictions. The past and the present, colliding across a blank canvas. “Something honest,” he said.
Ariel tucked her bangs behind one ear. “No. I’ve wished for a lot of things in people, but never honesty.”
It was interesting, but, in a roundabout way, tragic. How strange it was that she had spent her life chasing after people who concealed the truth from her; while he had spent his bowling over those who attempted dishonesty.
Watching her meander through an apple, a perfect case of oblivion reincarnate, something occurred to him. An idea that was terrible, and probably crazy. And out of context – they were sitting in a hospital cafeteria, for God’s sake. But he couldn’t shake the niggling suspicion that he had to do something, say something, or he would lose his chance.
And what if it was a chance he could never get back?
He rubbed his palms against his thighs, trying to muster his courage. “I shouldn’t tell you what I was thinking, then.”
Surprised, she uncurled her body, straightening her shoulders with an almost imperceptible shake. With a motion like the slight unfurling of wings, she pulled herself up to eye level and shook her hair out of her face.
For a moment, she was quiet, surveying his features. Calculating his motives. Finding no obvious ulterior motive, she spoke. “For the sake of curiosity, tell away.”
“Well, for the sake of honesty,” he said, “I was wondering what you’d think if I kissed you.”
The silence between them was almost palpable. His heart was beating too fast, and seeing her eyes widen, blue narrowing to fine crystal pinpricks, made him feel like an idiot. It was a terrible thing to say. Impulsive. Reckless. Honest.
“I don’t know what I’d think.” Her voice trembled. “I’d probably ask you why you wanted to kiss me.”
“I’ve had my moment of honesty.” He leaned forward even as he tried to pull himself back, marveling in the way her pale cheeks filled with color. “Maybe things don’t need reasons.”
“Maybe,” she said doubtfully, “or maybe you just try not to give them reasons, so you can attempt those things, and dodge the honest part of them.”
For once, he didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t match her neatly formulated questions, fit together with the jagged pieces of her intellect and unrest. And – although not for the first time – it wasn’t something he wanted to match.
So instead of trying to field answers filled with honesty and curiosity and beauty, he leaned the rest of the way over the table, sweatshirt snagging on the edges, heartbeat reverberating along the length of his body, and met her half-open mouth with his half-closed one.
***