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

Price: Seventeen Times Seven

(Price: unedited)

“You’ll hate me,” she had said.

Tear-filled, fragile, and poised for flight. She had lingered the end of his hospital bed like a specter, enormous eyes set in a shrunken body.

Right then, his head still throbbing and his veins filled with morphine, he hadn’t believed her. After all, how was it possible? He had spent the past few months watching her awaken, and he couldn’t understand what would pierce through that happy haze.  

Standing under a constellation of Disney posters, arms locked by his sides, he understood. He knew why she had been so scared – and how clearly she had known that she was right.

He did hate her.

He hated her enough to uncurl his fists, to flex his shaking fingers, to image blood leaking from the corner of her icy mouth. He hated her enough to abandon her – to aim a few pained sentences at her crumbling defenses, in hopes that the weight would crush her. He hated her more than the peppy, caffeinated nurses, or Lily, who wound her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder, as if she was incapable of doing anything else.

He should hate her.

Enough to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, to slide his hands through her midnight hair and pin her against the wall of fear and destruction that she had placed between them. He should hate her enough to drown with her, to pull her into the daydreams that bled into reality. He should hate her more than he wanted her in his arms.

He couldn’t hate her.

Not even when he was looming over his little sister’s scarred body, watching her cheeks flush scarlet as she struggled to pull air into her polluted lungs.

While he had been playing savior at the lake, the church had gone up in flames. Jewel had been trapped inside. Supposedly, Nolan set it on fire before he left. Price was almost glad that he wasn’t still alive, because as much as he wanted to hate Ariel, he wanted to kill the dead delinquent.

“Price?” His mother nudged him with her elbow. She was holding two Styrofoam cups filled with coffee that smelled almost as bitter as his anger. “I can sit with her for a little bit.”

Price wrapped his fingers around the cup and brought it to his lips, grimacing as it burned down his throat. He glanced over at Jewel while he sipped. She was still sleeping. He had failed to save her, the little girl who should have been the most important thing to protect. And he wasn’t leaving until she woke up; partly because he wanted to know she was alive, and partly because he planned on apologizing.

Until he choked. Until she was healed, wheeling out of the hospital with her shaky little voice whispering one of her mournful songs. Until Ariel came back, or he banished the idea from his mind.

“It’s fine.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. His boots were scuffed and covered with dirt; his pants were riddled with holes. They were out of place in this pristine jungle, with colorful walls and sterilized happiness.

Lily sighed. She took a delicate drink of her coffee and leaned her palm against her forehead, supporting her frazzled emotions. “Well, I hate to leave, but I couldn’t get off work. I mean,” she said quickly, as Price scoffed, “I got the twelve to five shift. Which is the shortest one.”

She was quiet for a moment, gaze sliding over the still form of her daughter. Her jaw was working and she looked inches from tears. Price, torn between anger and sympathy, reached out and laced his fingers through hers.

“I’ll call you when she wakes up.”

“Right. And…I’ll bring dinner. Peanut butter pie.” Lily squeezed his hand, taking another deep breath. “Her favorite.”