27. Phoenix
Phoenix
There’s blood on the dumpster. Spattered. Chunked. I’m still huddled against it, my legs locked in a corner I didn’t realize I’d backed myself into until I see the streak of crimson pooling beside my sneaker. Storm is breathing like an animal.
I have never seen anything so unbelievably terrifying. It’s as though right before my eyes, Storm has disappeared and been replaced by a being of pure rage and pain. His eyes are wild, the light blue almost completely enveloping the tiny black dots of his pupils.
His mouth is twisted into a snarl, his hand still gripping his blade, blood dripping off of it as he stares at the other Titans coming down the alley. He stares, but I don’t think he sees them.
“Storm?” I call as he turns his body toward the other Titans, putting himself between me and them. They slow down, looking nervously at each other.
“Storm?” I call again. The only response he gives is a low growl as he holds his hand behind him, as if to tell me to stay back. Now I know he doesn’t see the Titans—he only sees threats coming for me.
“Storm, please?” I say, my voice shaking with fear. “I need you.”
That’s what breaks him. Not the fear in my voice. Not the blood. It’s the need.
He turns to me and sees me huddled into a ball, shaking, in the corner between the wall and a dumpster.
His blade hits the pavement with a sharp metallic clatter.
Then he’s moving—fast—dropping to his knees in front of me, his hands catching my face too roughly, smearing blood across my cheeks. His voice is wrong when he speaks. Thinner. Younger. “Are you hurt? Angel, are you hurt? You’re?—”
“I’m okay,” I say, even though I’m not. “It’s not mine. You protected me.” I sit back, trying to untuck my body and stop the trembling radiating down my limbs. I don’t want him to know that I’m scared. I want him to know the danger is gone—that he protected me.
But he’s not listening. Not really. His eyes are darting everywhere. His fingers run over my arms, my legs, down my ribs, up my spine. He’s trying to find the damage.
When he looks down at his hands and sees the blood, his face pales. Then he looks back to my face, no doubt seeing the red handprints I can feel on my cheeks.
“What did I do?” he asks. This time, the fear is in his voice, not mine. “Oh dear God, I don’t remember what happened. What did I do?”
And that’s when I see him fall.
I pull him in without thinking.
The other Titans approach, but I hold up a hand, telling them to stay back as I wrap my arms around his trembling shoulders and hold on. His whole body shakes. It’s like he’s unraveling in my lap, and I’m the only thing tethering him to earth.
I cradle Storm’s head and neck in my arms, holding him to my chest as I sway back and forth.
Sobs rack his entire body, and I know I’m seeing a side of Storm no one else really ever sees.
I’ve only ever caught glimpses of it before.
This is the Storm who isn’t tough as nails or terrifying—this is the scared boy hidden deep inside the man.
A lullaby rises up in my throat, one I haven’t thought of in years. A lullaby that my mother used to sing to me, a song steeped in the scents of lavender and vodka, and I start humming the simple, sweet melody. The words are in Latin, but they’re easy to remember. Dona nobis pacem.
I whisper it again and again in a voice that cracks, rocking Storm gently like I’m trying to uncoil the fury trapped inside his bones.
My mother would sing it every time I screamed or cried or had a temper tantrum. When my father started drinking and falling deeper into his gambling addiction, she’d do the same for him .
Grant us peace. The soft, repetitive melody always felt like a plea to me—a whisper to heaven for sanctuary from whatever storm was breaking loose. Whether it was the tantrum of a child, the pull of addiction, or—like now—the demons clawing at the man in my arms.
After the last line of the melody, I start again, but this time I hum it, low and slow, letting the sound fill the space around us like a blanket.
I just hold him. Rock him. Take care of him in a way I don’t think anyone ever has.
His arms wrap around my waist, and his head nuzzles into my neck as we hold each other. I’m positive Storm has never been comforted like this—not even as a child.
It just makes me want to hold on to him tighter, to protect him from all the evils in the world that have already done so much damage to this beautiful man.
When I look up, the other Titans are standing above us, staring down, their eyes wide in shock.
“What the fuck just happened?” Maverick asks .
“He went into a frenzy,” Atticus says, his eyes wide, like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “He went into a full out frenzy—and she pulled him out of it.”
“No one pulls the Storm out of a frenzy. The last time we tried, I got stabbed, and we had to lock him in a room for three days,” Con argues.
They’re still speaking in low, awed voices—like they’re afraid any sudden move might break the spell.
I don’t really care what they’re talking about; I don’t know what a frenzy is or what exactly they mean. None of that matters right now. I understand the desire to stab Con—but more importantly, my attention is on Storm.
When I finish the tune again, I brush a lock of his white-blond hair behind his ear, and he looks up at me. His eyes are back to normal, his breathing even, and the only sign that anything had ever been wrong is the blood that still covers us both.
“What did I do, angel?” he asks, voice raw. “ Tell me what I did. He looks into my eyes like he’s still drowning, pleading for an answer but terrified to hear it .
I press my hand to his cheek, right where his blood left a print on mine. “You saved me.”
I say it like a truth. Like a promise.
Because maybe if I say it enough, it’ll save him, too.