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

Price: Must've Been Mistaken

Note: Charliegh's character will appear a little differently in this chapter. After NaNoWriMo is over, I'm going back to edit/clarify, but for now please suspend a little disbelief :)

***

"There is some kind of sweet innocence in being human -- in not having to be just happy or just sad -- in the nature of being able to be both broken and whole, and the same time."   ~ C. JoyBell C.

***

(Price: unedited)

He didn’t understand how it was possible.

It had been weeks. Months. Days that felt like decades, each one stretching into the next. He had poured his time, energy, life into giving her words again and yet with a few strung sentences from someone else she had begun to speak.

Thanks.

When he saw the size of the girl – all bones, flesh hanging limply from her body, he hadn’t thought it was possible. Everything about her screamed keep away, from cheekbones so sharp they looked lethal to the tips of her ragged Dr. Martens. Smiley faces, twirled upside down, had been pinned to the tips of her shoes. She had a stack of rings in one ear.  She looked like a groupie from some dark, dangerous cult, and yet she had managed to lure his little sister into speaking again.

Price shook his head in disbelief. He kept glancing into the rearview mirror at Jewel, who was buckled happily into her seat and drawing snowflake patterns upon the fogged windows. He almost felt betrayed. He’d been the avenging older brother for as long as he could remember, but instead she had turned to this girl, this random, abstract girl, for comfort. It stung.

“Jewel?” His hands clenched tighter on the steering wheel. Was she going to answer? “Who was that girl? The one you hugged?”

No reply. Jewel kept drawing, but this time her short fingers were tracing letters instead of intricate lines.

Ariel, the window said. Ariel.

***

   Lily was actually standing in the kitchen, hands on her hips, when they got home. Strands of hair were falling around her face, and a smudge of flour streaked her cheek. Ingredients were stacked systematically on the counter around her, bowls and cups and one large jar that said peanut butter. “Mom?” Price helped Jewel out of her coat, then shrugged his own off his shoulders. He laid them both on the kitchen table. “Don’t you have work?”

Lily glanced up at the clock. “In an hour.”

Price took a seat and watched her roll out a thin, white crust. She draped it carefully over the base of a pie tin, pinched the sides, and nipped the excess dough underneath the careful tucks. A bowl of something brown and runny was spooned inside. She slid it into the oven with a bang and a muttered curse. “Price, make yourself useful and make sure Atticus is okay, will you? He’s been quiet all morning.”

Unsettled, Price went upstairs to check on Atticus. He was sleeping peacefully, sprawled on his back in his crib. The mobile above his head swung lazily, spurred to motion by the ceiling fan. His eyelids flickered, tiny on his rounded face. “Hey, kiddo.” Price leaned over the edge of the crib and touched Atticus’s forehead lightly. His sin felt like down, and his slow, even breath brushed Price’s fingers as he pulled his hand back.

“Trying to prove that you’re the one who spends more time with him?”

Startled, Price whirled around. “Shh, Charliegh! He’s sleeping.”

He closed the door to Atticus’s room as he retreated into the hall. Charliegh was leaning up against the brick patterned wallpaper, a small, tight smile on her lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m driving Lily to work.”

Price arched one eyebrow. “Since when do you and my mom get along?”

“Since forever, Price. That Day didn’t change anything.”

“Well, it should’ve.” Price tried to ignore the hunger cramping in his stomach as he turned. The enticing smell of pie was wafting through the house, but his appetite had suddenly vanished.

“Well, it didn’t.” Charliegh moved to stand in front of him. “Why are you so bitter?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Hmm, that’s the problem. You have this really bad habit of being linked to my life.”

Price bent down to glare at her, jaw set. He wondered if she could hear his heart thumping. God, he was angry right now. His hands were curling into fists reflexively, nails digging into his skin. “That was my dad, C. You were never linked to my life.”

Charliegh’s smile was so full of pain when she walked away, he thought he imagined it. The endless optimist, hurting? Just as he felt sympathy flare up within him, she opened her mouth.

“One and the same, Price. I’d try really hard to remember that if I were you.”

He couldn’t stop himself. His arms were moving without pretense, skin stretched taut over his knuckles. There was a soft, sickening smack as flesh counted with bone, and Charliegh stumbled back. One hand darted up to cup her cheek. Tears were forming in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Price.”

His hands was bleeding. Her blood, he saw, ran red, bright and unblemished. His looked dark, tainted by the darkness within him by comparison. “Stop being sorry. Stop being happy. Stop trying to convert me, C, because it isn’t going to happen. I know you loved my dad. I’m sorry he ruined a lot of things for you, but you need to leave me alone. I can’t help you with life, like he could.” Price pulled his fist back again and saw her flinch. He should have been ashamed, but all he felt was power, raw as it ran through his veins. “I’m screwed up.”

“Yeah, you are.” Charliegh wiped the blood off her cheek. “But nothing is impossible with God.”

“I’m not trying to be impossible.”

“That’s the wonderful thing about you,” She said. “You don’t even have to try.”

He wished he could hear laughter as she descended the stairs. Some indication that she had been joking, some saving grace in this situation. All he heard was pounding in his ears, sentences he had never finished. He wanted his father to hear them.

He wanted him to answer.

***