Bryce cleared his throat, looking at the canvas and glancing at the model perched on the block, her hair braided with her back to him as a shirt covered everything except her shoulders and mid back. Charcoal stained his fingers as he tried his best not to think about last night. He was foolish enough to think going out of the country would distance himself from what happened sixteen years ago. To some people that might have seemed long ago, but to him it was still fresh and raw.

 **Please tell me in the comments what you thought, and if you liked it. If not, why? “Stained” is a working title.