Page 68 of Priest and his Anarchist

Priest’s blank stare lands on me when he turns over his shoulder. “Then bathe her?” He returns to what he’s doing, filling a glass with whiskey. Priest is like a thousand-page novel written in invisible ink. Everyone assumes he has nothing but blank pages inside, but I’m starting to wonder if that’s what he wants everyone to think. His first mistake was assuming I was like everyone else, all the while I’ve been studying the structure. The spine that binds the pages. Does the rot start there? Or do I need to tear the pages out to find it?

I must have slept through whatever chaos Priest and the Kings have unleashed, but where are the girls? Where is everyone?

Heat covers my upper arm, and I turn in time for my eyes to collide with Vaden’s. One blue and one brown. He is a beautiful monster. So beautiful, but only because of his soul. His soul even, I can feel, is rotting the more that time goes on.

“Come on, Lost One…”

The palm of his hand leaves a trail of warmth down my arm when it slides down, landing in my own.

I don’t like this new version of Vaden. Since coming back, he and I clearly do not share the same bond we once did. That doesn’t bother me. It should, but it doesn’t. What does is the wave of pain emanating from Priest as he stands emotionless inthe corner, head bowed and shoulders rippling with the glass of whiskey sitting on the bar between his hands.

Vaden tugs when I don’t move, and every step I take backward feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest. I don’t care much if it means he needs it with him more.

Sadness fills my throat as I trace Vaden’s steps up the familiar staircase, passing the new art frames.

I pause beside the newest one. A mirror with a faceless person standing in front. The delicate curve of her shoulders and long hair tells me it’s a girl. She hides a knife behind her back, fingers curled tight around the shaft, and I look back at the mirror, noticing the spiderwebs of cracks over the glass. It’s a dusting of gray and black, clearly sketched with a talented hand.

“Lost One…” Vaden’s hand is on my lower back.

“He drew these, didn’t he?” The words leave my mouth in a whisper. When Vaden doesn’t answer, I turn to face him. “Didn’t he?”

Vaden’s eyes shift to the wall behind me. “Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bounces before he rests his gaze back on me. “Come on.”

The dirt on my body has long since dried, and the dress is soiled and stained as I aimlessly find myself outside the bedroom I had spent so much time in. My own. Is it still the same?

“Not in that one…” His voice felt like silk against the nape of my neck. It’s almost too painful to look at him when he’s lost in his head. Instead, I allow Vaden to direct me back down the long hallway. The closer I get to him, the faster my heart races. As we pass, Priest’s fingers graze mine, and the air in my lungs seizes as the final wall I’ve barely held together explodes, leaving a storm of embers. Suddenly, every step away is unbearable. It was as if that wall was the only thing stopping the final knot from being formed on a bond that is too lethal to exist in a world so fragile.

Vaden forces the door open onto an array of velvet bedding, a sanctuary for the dark and disturbed. It’s both comforting and terrifying when the space swallows any bit of light that may come into contact with it. With an open entrance to the bathroom, I follow Vaden to the tub that sits opposite floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying the woods. A marble chandelier with veins of beige hangs above, allowing shadows of light to rain down on us.

Water spills into the cement tub as Vaden plays with oils and soap, lowering himself onto the edge. Blowing out a steady breath, I turn to the twin mirrors, resting against the counter and getting the first glimpse of myself. My black ribbon barely holds the dirt-stained blonde strands together in a knot of soil. The dress I slipped into last night hangs from my body in a shard of rips. Whenever I suit up, my mind blocks off all weaknesses as if reciting a code of mental painkillers, but now, without the tight straps of my leather and the decaying adrenaline turning to dust around me, the sting of my ribs returns.

Before I can stop myself, a hiss leaves me as I lean on the counter. Three-six-five-five-four. Inhaling, my eyes open when I breathe out the pain.

Priest’s hand lands beside mine, caging me in without touching. His hand makes mine look childlike, and when I finally look up into the mirror, it’s like seeing us together for the first time. We look exactly as I expect us to anytime we are together, like a girl who has befriended the monster under her bed.

“Why’d you bring me up here?” I ask, hoping to distract myself from the picture painted before me. The twang of vodka sticks to the back of my throat, so I turn the tap and cup water in my hand. When that’s not enough, I grab the glass of mouthwash and twist off the cap. Gargle, spit, rinse. Why couldn’t the Code of Pain work on emotions?

I catch the drop of Listerine with my hand, and among the heavy silence, I know Vaden is watching closely from behind.

“Do you remember much about when we were kids, Madness?”

Fresh mint burns my throat. I’ve fought a long time to not cower in his presence. In any man’s presence.

“Of course I do.”

Priest’s eyes fall to my lips in the mirror, and I’m suddenly aware of my position. I turn, not wanting an enemy at my back. No matter how much my heart thinks it belongs to him.

Squeezing the counter, my neck bends to look up at him. This isn’t torment. It is beginning to feel like feeling death repeatedly but never dying.

He holds my stare. “Get in the bath.”

My fatigue reminds me why fighting with him can wait, so I duck out from beneath him and return to the tub. Reaching my back, I catch the zipper, tugging it down until the withered dress falls to a pool at my feet.

“No use asking either of you to get out,” I say, kicking my underwear to the side and stepping up on the small platform. Warmth crawls through me from a single dip of my foot. I’d never wanted a bath more in my life.

I lower myself into the water, sighing when the stabs of heat turn into a throbbing massage as my skin softens. My eyes close as I slide into the bath. With the echoing silence of water around me, I stay a moment, blowing out air bubbles when I run out of oxygen.

Pushing off the bottom of the tub, I’m about to surface when a hand lands on my head, forcing me back under. I claw at it to push him off me, but it’s useless. When my palm grazes the Cuban chain around Priest’s wrist, I know he won’t let up.

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