Stained Glass Windows

Rain lashed against the grimy windowpane and the wind howled through the cracks in the frames like a wild animal, thirsty for blood. Paint peeled off the mildewed walls and the crack in the ceiling grew ever wider. Empty coke cans and crisp packets littered the floor and discarded magazines lay abandoned among overdue coursework on the desk. The noise of the storm rose above the sounds of an argument from downstairs; erratic screaming intermingled with the occasional smash of a plate or a cup.
It was a cacophony Zoë was used to. She didn’t have to bother listening to know what it was about. Her dad had come home drunk, again, started shouting abuse at her mother for not satisfying his sexual desires and threatening to seek the aid of a prostitute. Her mother would retaliate with complaints of receiving no help around the house and being married to a dead-beat layabout. It never changed. Zoë stared blankly out of the window at the storm, which closely resembled the inner turmoil she was currently experiencing. She pulled the covers up over her head and tried unsuccessfully to shut it all out.
After a few minutes the row seemed to die down and Zoë heard the heavy footsteps of her father stumbling uncertainly up the stairs. She held her breath and prayed they’d take a left turn to his bedroom. Her heart raced as the footsteps paused at the top of the stairs, and a moment of suspense hung in the air as if the Powers That Be were carefully considering her fate. This time, it seemed that they were against her. Her father moved clumsily towards her room and flung open the door with a bang. Again, her father paused, scanning the room for signs of life. Zoë lay as still as she could under the covers trying desperately to make herself invisible. The footsteps advanced slowly towards her bed. The stench of whisky crept into her nostrils and her stomach churned.
“Zoë, Zoë, Zoë, I wonder where my baby Zoë is.” Her father slurred. “Come on out baby, I can see you hiding. Daddy’s had a bad day, he needs some comfort from his little girl.” Zoë cringed at the paternal tone he used to address her and flinched as his hand gently pulled the covers away, exposing her small frame. A smile spread across his face. His yellow teeth shone in the eerie light and there was a lustful glint in his eye. “My little baby Zoë will comfort her Daddy won’t she?” he drawled as he sat down beside her on the bed and cupped her face in his hand. She flinched away from his touch and moved to stand next to the window.
Her father followed her, moving up close behind her and sliding his hands around her waist. Zoë squeezed her eyes tight shut and tried to transport herself somewhere far away. Her father was pressed close against her now and was running his hands over her breasts and down over her genital area. Zoë shuddered. “Dirty pervert,” she thought bitterly. She tried to move away but her father’s strong grip tightened around her and he lifted her over onto the bed. Zoë struggled under his weight but the more she resisted the heavier he became. In one final, desperate attempt to break free, she bit down on his lip, which was grazing against her cheek. Her father paused as a look of anger flashed across his face. “Now, now baby, don’t be like that. Your Mummy’s a cold bitch and I need something, surely my beautiful baby will do what her Daddy wants.”
“Get off me!” she shrieked. Her father’s hand caught her hard and fast round the side of her head, blinding her for a second and replacing the sound of the rain with a rhythmic throbbing. She lay stunned and reluctantly let him fumble his way round her developing figure. His rough hands chaffed her delicate skin as he peeled away her clothes. He pushed his tongue deep into her mouth, suffocating her. Her head reeled from his blow and the intoxicating stench of whisky. The room began to spin around her and slowly everything went black.
When she awoke the room was dark. The rain had stopped and she was surrounded by silence. She sat up slowly. Her head still throbbed and her ribs ached from the weight of her father. Her naked body shivered from the cold and her insides felt raw. She pulled the covers close around her and curled up into a tight ball. Why did she have to grow up? This never happened when she was a little girl. Now she was turning into a woman there was nothing she could do to escape her father’s incestial desires. She felt so violated and dirty. She’d thought it would get easier, but it hadn’t. She’d tried to tell her mother but she wouldn’t believe it. She just ended up getting punished for “dirty lies”.
Why her? Hot tears of despair ran down her pale cheeks in torrents and her fragile frame shook uncontrollably with sobs. She hugged herself tightly and rocked backwards and forwards, wishing, praying, for some miracle to take her away and make everything better. Her prayers were soon engulfed in a blanket of hopelessness; it would never happen. She felt so utterly empty inside. Her heart was just a bleak wasteland stretching out beyond the horizon, inhabited only by cactuses and poisonous adders. There was no one she could talk to, no sources of comfort she could turn to. It was just her. Zoë against the world. And right now, the world was beating her into submission. She didn’t have any friends at school because she was too insecure to talk to anybody. They all thought she was a freak. They were right. Eventually, exhaustion sent her into a restless slumber, violated by dreams of eternal pain and torment.

Sunlight streamed though the window the following morning and Zoë awoke to sounds of birds chirping happily in the trees. She hardly noticed. She felt hung over and resentful. She shot a bitter glance at a sparrow, which mocked her hopeless situation with elated optimism. She dressed slowly and descended the stairs. She couldn’t eat breakfast; her stomach was still churning from the previous night’s episode. Her parents sat sedately at the table, sipping tea and reading their respective mail. Her mother greeted her cheerfully and her father offered her toast in a casual manner as if last night had simply been a figment of her imagination. The ache inside her told a different story. She remained silent and regarded both parents with steely hatred as she exited their decaying house and began the two-mile walk to her school.
Her school was a large, redbrick manor house that had been converted by nuns during the First World War. It wasn’t very big, only about 300 pupils attended. It wasn’t fee-paying so the standards weren’t particularly high, but the atmosphere there was friendly and it was mixed, which was a quality Zoë had always liked! She arrived just as the bell rang for registration. Pupils milled around in groups, chatting happily and exchanging stories from the weekend. Zoë walked though them in a daze, feeling lost and alone. Nobody seemed to notice her; she decided she must be invisible. She passed Matt, a boy in the year above her, who she had had a crush on for years and who had never even acknowledged her existence. She sighed and fantasised about what it would feel like to be in his arms. She was so wrapped up in her daydream that she walked straight into someone, causing them to drop the pile of books they were carrying.
Zoë looked up, embarrassed. In front of her stood a tall, thin boy with bleached blonde curtains that dangled into his mischievous green eyes. She had never seen him before. Zoë and the mystery boy both started apologising hopelessly to each other, both wishing to take the blame and offer compensation to the other. In the end the boy stopped babbling and laughed, flashing a dazzling, slightly lop-sided smile. A wave of confusion passed over Zoë. Was he laughing at her? His smile didn’t seem malicious; it seemed open and genuine. Zoë relaxed and smiled back. The mystery boy held out his hand and introduced himself.
“Hi, I’m James. I’m new here. Do you happen to know where room B4 is?” Zoë stood stunned for a second before regaining her composure and answering.
“I’m Zoë,” she replied. “I do know where room B4 is, I’m going there now. If it’s your form room you must be in my class.”
“Well it was just as well I ran into you then!” he commented, chuckling at his own joke. Zoë smiled involuntarily and felt a wave of pleasure pass through her. She helped James pick up his books and escorted him to their form room. She felt sure he’d ignore her as soon as they entered the room, but instead he followed her to the back of the room and sat in the empty seat next to her. He noticed the odd look she shot him and suddenly seemed unsure of himself.
“Erm, is it ok if I sit here?” he stammered. “It’s just that I don’t know anybody else, but if this seat’s taken I can move.” Zoë smiled. No, the seat wasn’t taken. It had always been empty.
“Of course you can sit there. If you want, I’ll be your official guide to the school until you get settled in.” She surprised herself at her confident tone. The smile returned to James’ face. It was actually quite sexy.
“I’d really like that,” he replied genuinely, holding her in a deep gaze, which made her blush red. She looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and wishing she’d kept quiet. Luckily, before either of them had a chance to say anything else, the teacher called for silence and began the day.
It turned out that James was in all her classes and they spent the whole day together. He made her laugh with stories of the town he’d moved from and the antics he’d got up to. He’d had to move because his father had got a new job. He hadn’t wanted to move away from his friends and admitted that he was scared of finding it hard to make new ones. He followed this admission by saying again how lucky he was to have immediately found such a nice person to befriend him. This caused Zoë to blush again, but unlike her usual blushes of embarrassment, this one was accompanied with feelings of pleasure. She had never had such a good day in the entire time she’d spent at the school and left feeling elated. Unlike the walk to school, the dazzling sun and vivid colours on the way home suited her mood perfectly.
Unfortunately, her good mood didn’t last long. As soon as she approached her house the dark cloud that she’d been free from all day, reformed over her heart and all those unpleasant emotions came flooding back. It made her think of ‘Beauty and the Beast’. This was the castle under the spell and her father was the beast. The only difference here was that her father was completely evil. She was not going to fall in love with him and there was no way for the spell to be broken. She opened the door slowly and entered the dingy hall. Her eyes adjusted to the light and took in the peeling wallpaper, dirt and mess that lay around her. She stood for a second and listened. Silence. The parental units must be out. That was strange; her mother was always in.
Suspicious, she walked into the kitchen to be greeted with a scene of chaos. It had been completely trashed. The floor was covered in broken crockery and some of the cupboard doors were hanging off their hinges. The window was smashed and there were a few fist-sized holes in the thin plaster walls. Zoë wasn’t sure what to think. A sensation of confusion passed over her, followed by a descending wave of panic. What had happened? She knew the answer to that already. This was the result of one of her father’s drunken raves. The real question was: what had he done?
She hurried into the living / dining room anxious to assess the full extent of the damage. She gasped as her eyes fell on the limp body of her mother, crumpled into a heap on the floor. Her face was swollen and bruised and she wore a large gash above her left eye. There were further cuts and bruises on her arms and legs. Zoë rushed to her side, tears filling her eyes. “Please be alright,” she prayed. “Please be alright”. She tentatively reached out a hand to touch her mother’s cheek and sharply withdrew it. Her skin was cold and clammy. The force of Zoë’s hand caused her head to fall forward, revealing a clump of her beautiful blonde hair matted with blood. Zoë could see now where her mother had obviously been thrown against the wall and smashed her head open on it. There was a deep red stain in the discoloured paper and a stench worse than the whisky overpowered Zoë causing her to lose her balance.
She sat stunned, staring at the horrific sight before her eyes. Suddenly she was terrified. Where was her father now? Would he run away? Would he try to kill her too so she couldn’t tell? What would happen to her? Her head swam with questions and her chest ached as if it would implode. There was no rational thought, just raw emotion. She got up unsteadily and felt an overwhelming desire to be out of the house. She ran. Out of the door, down the lane, through the forest that surrounded her cursed house. She ran and ran until her legs couldn’t take any more and she collapsed into a heap on the ground. She had no idea where she was. She just lay there, her world spinning around her like the Waltzer at the fair, her body racked with violent sobs. She felt no more will to live. She wanted to die. She wanted to be free from this relentless pain.
Her sobs calmed gradually and she sat up to see where she was. Dusk was descending and the shadows in the woods distorted everything, making it seem unfamiliar and intimidating. She walked for a few minutes until she came across a path she recognised. Her head was still spinning; she couldn’t think. All she could feel was this overwhelming pain that was growing inside her chest and engulfing her in despair. She was sure her heart must be imploding in on itself and her head felt as if it was swollen to twice its size. She wandered blindly, not conscious of where she was going. Far away in the distance she could hear someone calling her name. It sounded like she was underwater. She looked around in confusion, thinking that the voices must be inside her head. As she listened, the voice became clearer and she heard footsteps jogging up behind her.
“Zoë! I thought it was you!” an out of breath voice was panting. “Why didn’t you wait? I’ve been calling you for ages!” At first, Zoë thought it was her father and she began to panic. She spun around, her face masked in an expression of terror. But it wasn’t her father she saw coming towards her. It was James. “Hey, fancy meeting-” he began but stopped abruptly when he saw her alarmed, tear-streaked face. “Zoë!” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” Zoë couldn’t speak. She collapsed, exhausted, into his arms and let his strong grip support her and lead her to safety.
The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a bright, nicely decorated living room, with James and a woman she assumed was his mother, looking at her with sincere concern. She was flooded by such an immense sense of relief that she just burst into tears. James enveloped her in a warm, comforting hug and soothed her with reassuring whispers until she managed to calm herself. She poured out her story as coherently as she could, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. All she could think was that she couldn’t go back to her father. She never wanted to see him again. When she’d finished, James and his family sat pale and stunned. His mother rushed off to the kitchen to get her some food “before she fainted” and his father went to call the police. James stayed at her side through the entire ordeal, offering frequent words of comfort and support. The police came and left, and it was decided that Zoë should stay with James’ family for the night.
She slept deeply and peacefully, more because she was physically and emotionally exhausted than because of anything else. For a moment when she woke up, she remembered where she was and smiled. Then she remembered why she was there and the smile faded into a grimace of pain. She didn’t bother getting up. She didn’t feel like she could handle life, the pain inside was still too great. James and his mother came up at regular intervals to check on her and bring her things. James sometimes sat with her for a few minutes, just holding her hand and reassuring her. But she hardly noticed; she was in a world of her own. Her mind was full of images. Images of her father, drunk and full of desires. Images of her beautiful mother, lying still and lifeless, hair matted with blood. Memories of happy days, when she was very little, flitted through her mind. She remembered when her father taught her how to ride a bike, and the time he took her fishing with him. She remembered her mother’s smiling face when she’d had chickenpox and the caring, maternal way in which she’d tended to her. But that was all over now. She had nothing left.

Obviously she couldn’t stay with James and his family forever. She was moved to a children’s home where she stayed with lots of other children who had been abused or been through traumatic ordeals. James visited her regularly. Their friendship quickly blossomed into something deeper and Zoë spent many afternoons just lying in his arms and enjoying the comforting security of his strong hold. He took her out, made her laugh and tried to take her mind off things. Zoë knew that if he hadn’t been there for her, she would never have made it through. She would have curled up and faded away, and nobody would have even noticed. He knew how grateful she was, she didn’t need to tell him, he could see it in her eyes. And in return, she could see in his that he really cared about her and always would.
Zoë made other friends at the children’s home too. One boy called Sam, who was a couple of years older than her and seemed to be at the top of the social structure, fascinated her. Everyone respected him and he seemed to control what everybody did. Sam was equally interested in Zoë. She was still beautiful despite having become quite pale and sickly, and her mysteriousness made her all the more attractive. He often came and sat by her when she was curled up in a corner, and watched her contemplatively. One day, after lunch, Sam approached her and asked if she wanted to make her afternoon a little more interesting. Zoë rarely took part in the group activities around the home so she thought she might as well. She wasn’t exactly sure how he was planning on making it interesting but her curiosity increased as he led her down the garden and through an almost invisible gap in the hedge.
Zoë looked around her and found herself in a small clearing surrounded by bushes. There were some tree stumps scattered around which obviously served as seats. Sam sat down so Zoë followed his lead. With a mischievous glint in his eye, Sam pulled out a little box from his pocket. Zoë looked on with fascination. In silence, Sam slowly opened the box revealing a small syringe. Zoë was confused. She didn’t know much about drugs and it didn’t seem like Sam was in the mood for explanations.
“Do you trust me?” he asked mysteriously. Zoë nodded cautiously. His high social stature had led her to believe that there must be something about him that people liked; therefore he must be pretty trustworthy too. Sam beckoned her over to where he was sitting and signalled for her to sit down next to him. Zoë did so slowly. “Don’t be scared,” he told her. “This won’t hurt and you’ll love it. Trust me.” Zoë did. She watched apprehensively as he began to slide the needle into her forearm and inject the mysterious substance into a vein. She flinched as the needle penetrated the skin and looked away. She hated injections.
For a minute, Sam sat staring at her, an impish smile on his face. Zoë waited and after a while, a sensation of happiness came over her. She felt light-headed and carefree. She hadn’t felt this good for as long as she could remember. It was exhilarating. It was miraculous. She felt like she was flying and she never wanted to come down. She wished life could always feel this good. She sat in the clearing with Sam for a long time, talking and laughing. It felt so good to laugh that she found herself in hysterics over the silliest things. She forgot all about her past. She thought about James, she thought about the future. For the first time she felt like she had something to live for and she loved it.
As the light began to fade, she and Sam headed back to the house. She went to bed humming happily and drifted into a peaceful slumber. Suddenly, she awoke with a start. It was pitch black and everything was quiet. Her heart was pumping and she was hit by a sensation of fear and dread. She wasn’t sure what she was scared of, but she knew it didn’t feel good. All her traumas came flooding back to her and everything seemed worse than before. She spent the night tossing and turning, fighting urges to slit her throat with that sharp knife they used for slicing meat. Bad memories hit her hard and fast, bringing feelings of terror, despair, hopelessness, misery and depression. She counted the minutes until 7am when she got up and rushed to Sam’s room to beg him for some more of that drug. He was more than happy to oblige and within no time at all, Zoë was back on that euphoric high.
After breakfast James arrived to take her out for the day. They were going bowling. Zoë was excited and when James arrived she greeted him with a big smile, her face full of colour and life. James was extremely happy and surprised to see Zoë on such good form. He wasn’t sure what had provoked the transformation but whatever it was, it had worked miracles. She was more like the Zoë he had met on that first day in school, even happier. They laughed so much that day. Zoë felt like she was seeing the world through a stained glass window. It was suddenly full of colour and hope. She saw the birds singing in the trees and wanted to sing with them. She saw the sun but felt like she was shining brighter. Eventually, James couldn’t take the suspense anymore.
“Well?” he enquired, “What’s happened to make you so happy?” Zoë thought for a moment. She knew injecting drugs was bad and she didn’t know if James would approve. Should she tell him? She couldn’t keep it to herself. It felt too good; she just had to share it with him. As she told him about Sam and the previous night, James’ face fell. Zoë was babbling so happily that she didn’t even notice, but after she’d finished she looked into his eyes and was met with a stony gaze.
“I’m so disappointed in you Zoë,” he said quietly. “I thought you were smarter than that.” Zoë felt resentful and angry. She was trying to share something with him that made her really happy. He knew how depressed she’d been. He should be happy for her. “You have to stop,” he continued. “You can’t get into this Zoë, you don’t know what your doing.” Zoë was suddenly beset with rage. How dare he patronise her! How dare her tell her what she could and couldn’t do! Why couldn’t he just let her be happy?
“What’s your problem?!” she retaliated. “I’ve finally found something that makes me happy and you want to take it away from me! Screw you!” And with that she turned on her heel and marched off. James stared after her, utterly defeated. What could he do? How could he make her see how stupid she was being? He loved her too much to let her do this to herself.
Zoë was still fuming when she got back to the house. She felt betrayed and hurt. She’d thought she could count on James. He obviously wanted her to be depressed so that she’d need him. Selfish bastard. Well she didn’t need him. She had Sam and her stained glass window. It still seemed like a miracle to her. Yesterday, she’d been looking at the world though windows covered in grime so thick that she could hardly see through. Today she was seeing though bright, clean, colourful, hopeful windows. Sam had given her new sight, and she wasn’t going to throw it away.
Over the next few weeks, Zoë became completely dependent on her “stained glass window” which she soon discovered was evoked by heroin. She remembered being told that it was very dangerous and highly addictive. “Yeah right,” she thought. “Sam wouldn’t let me do anything dangerous. He cares about me. He’s the only person I’ve got left now. Everyone else wants me to be unhappy. They’re so selfish! They all want me to be dependant on them. Especially James. Selfish Bastard.” James had been coming to the house regularly but Zoë refused to see him. He felt completely helpless. He could see what she was doing to herself. Why couldn’t she? She was alienating herself from everyone around her. She’d become rude and even more introverted than before. All she cared about was her next fix. She was completely paranoid that everyone was against her. She wouldn’t let anyone near her room or her belongings in case they tried to take her needles away. It was ridiculous.
Eventually James gave up trying to see her. She wouldn’t come out. She either wasn’t there or she was busy. She wouldn’t even take his calls. He thought about her all the time and desperately tried to think of a way to save her from herself and her stupid windows. Months went by, in which Zoë completely cut herself off from the world. The comedowns got worse and more intense and she needed more regular fixes. She’d started sleeping with Sam as payment for the drug. It was the only way, as she didn’t have any money. None of them did. It was like a business for him, he gave the girls heroin in return for sex. It worked for everybody. Now that James was out of the way she didn’t even have to worry about feeling guilty.
One night there was a violent storm. The rain lashed against the windows so hard they might have broken under the force. Zoë had fallen asleep watching the storm through her stained glass window. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The lightning illuminating the sky, like slender dragons darting through trails of fire. The thunder had shaken her very soul with its baritone rumbles. She was woken by a sudden clap of thunder right above the house. She was terrified. She had never felt this scared before, even that day when she discovered her mother…
She raced to Sam’s room and burst in on him fucking a brunette junkie called Robin. She didn’t even bother to interrupt them. She rushed to the panel behind which Sam kept all his drug paraphernalia and grabbed a couple of needles. Sam and Robin didn’t even pause. They ignored the interruption and continued unfazed. Zoë made it back to her room, her heart racing and struggling to catch her breath. The storm was still wild outside and she was still terrified. She injected the first shot and waited for it’s calming effect. When it didn’t come, Zoë began to panic. Maybe there was something wrong with it. She injected again and again without even thinking. She needed her stained glass window. The room began swimming around her and she relaxed. She let her body fall back onto the bed and drifted into unconsciousness.

Beep…. Beep…. Beep…. What’s that? Zoë struggled to open her eyes. Her head was throbbing; her brain was going to explode. All around her was noise and confusion. She tried desperately to make sense of it all. She was in a bed. There were people in blue robes rushing around her. James was there. She tried to focus on him. He was crying.
“Zoë! Zoë! Can you hear me?!” She tried to answer him but couldn’t move. She met his gaze. Tears were rolling down his face. “It’s gonna be ok,” he was saying “You overdosed but your in hospital now and your gonna be fine.” It was starting to make sense now. “I love you Zoë, I love you.” Zoë knew. She loved him too, more than anything else in the world. More than stained glass windows. She was suddenly very sorry for ignoring him all those months. But he was here now. Zoë relaxed. James loved her. James was with her. It was all going to be ok. She let herself drift away on a cloud of contentment. The confusion and noise faded away into a blur. She felt like she was sinking. She was sinking underwater and everything was getting further and further away. The lights were becoming less bright and the sounds we getting muffled.
“ZOE!”
“It’s ok James,” she thought. “I love you too. I’m sorry for shutting you out. It’s gonna be ok now and we’re gonna be together forever.”

James couldn’t stop the tears streaming down his face as Zoë’s hand became limp in his. If only he hadn’t given up. Maybe he could have prevented this from happening. But it was too late now. It was strange; through the pain he felt a prevailing sense of calm as he gazed down at her pale face. That look she’d given him just before…. It was so full of love. It was almost as if she was saying sorry and trying to reassure him. Well he’d have to try and carry on without her, but at least she’d be happy. Far away from bad memories and even worse experiences. She could watch him through a permanent stained glass window now, and one day he’d look down through it too.