BRANCE + RINNEY

birthdays and bruises; short

Blood pooled from his mouth, coating his purple and bruised lips. He could taste a mixture of copper and salt, tears. His knuckles, bloody and split open by shards of glass, gleamed underneath the light above the bathroom sink.

"Fuck." His words were gurgled out, spit into the sink with beads of crimson blood. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, grimacing at the hard feeling of his matted hair. His legs wobbled, pained like the rest of his body. His mind fogged up, his head sore and coated with bruises and splotches of red.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, sharp and downright frightening. He straightened his posture, balancing his movements on his unconsciously moving legs. His hands shook, gripping onto the edges of the sink like a lifeline as the broken shards of mirror stared back at him and beamed.

"Finney, I know you're in there man. Let me take a look at ya." Vance attempted to make his voice soft, his fists ruining along the other side of the door as Finney remained still. "Kid, we're all worried about you. There's blood everywhere and shit is trashed. Can you open the door?"

Finney ran his tongue over his lips, taking in the remaining beads of blood and warm tears. He moved from the sink, his hand slamming against the bathroom door in means of propping himself up.

The door unlocked with a click and Finney backed away, moving towards the wall as the door swung open.

"You've got to be fucking kidding. That fucking bastard." Vance stood in the center of the doorway, Robin and Bruce behind him with matching looks of concern. Finney slowly fell to the ground, his back pushed against the wall of the bathtub as he laughed bitterly.

"Happy birthday to me, right?"