Chapter 27
My breaths come in fast and shallow as I lean against the cold, smooth exterior of the dorm, waiting for Phantom. Why am I so nervous? We’ve hung out plenty of times now and I’ve always been excited, but never nervous like this. What’s changed? They’re just showing me where they live. No big deal.
A tense, measured breath emerges from my lips in a cloud.
That’s a lie. It’s a huge deal. The biggest.
That’s why my heart has been tripping along in my chest all damn day.
Because I know what this visit really means, beneath the surface.
Phantom’s a private person. They value their space and protect their heart fiercely.
But today, they’re letting me in. I’m honored, and also horribly worried I’ll somehow mess it up.
I want them to trust me. I want them to trust more people in their life than just me. I want—no, I need for this to go well.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Phantom’s voice drifts into my mind, disbanding my internal monologue.
I lift my face and find Phantom a few feet away standing over their bike, dressed in navy chinos, a cream sweater, and a puffy coat with a navy bandana restraining their unruly waves like a terribly adorable, trendy sailor.
I can’t help but grin at the sight of them.
“For you, I’ll give them away for free,” I joke as I walk toward them.
Their dual-toned eyes flash with amusement. “Oh, goodie.”
I snort a laugh as I climb onto the foot pegs attached to the bike’s rear wheel.
Instinctively, I lean my chest against their back, eagerly breathing in the refreshing minty scent of them, just like the first time I rode with them.
Only this time, I don’t put any space between us as Phantom takes off.
I stay close, savoring the warmth bleeding through their coat.
My breathing slows, the rhythm even and steady, as if before this moment I’d never had an anxious thought in my life.
“So, what were you thinking about?” Phantom asks as they tilt their face toward me. The soft cotton of their mask brushes against my cheek.
My face heats, but instead of running from the sensation, I lean into it and decide to tell the truth. “You.”
Phantom straightens beneath my touch as we bike beyond campus and toward Main Street. The cold breeze chills my face in an instant. But then Phantom chuckles. “All good things, I hope.”
“Always,” I murmur, barely loud enough for my own ears to hear. But Phantom relaxes a moment later, and I know they heard me. I let my head fall against their neck, but it’s not enough. I need more.
I memorize our route as we bike through town: a right on Greenbriar after Main Street, then a left on Richman, followed by another sharp right onto a long, winding road near the forest’s edge.
After a minute or so, a tall brick building emerges on our left.
My head swivels around as we approach it.
There are no other buildings, no parks, or even sidewalks. Just this solitary, run-down building.
Phantom stops before a large, rusty metal door and I hop off. They lean their bike against the brick wall and open the door with a squeak, gesturing with a tilt of their head for me to enter. In the overcast light, I notice a fine sheen of sweat glistening on their brow.
How difficult is this for them? Should I give them an out?
“Phantom,” I begin, shuffling anxiously on my feet as my gaze drops to the cracked pavement. Tufts of dying grass infiltrate the fissures. “We don’t have to do this. I—I mean, we can do something else, if you wanted.”
For several beats, Phantom doesn’t speak, but then their hand wraps around mine, and they gently tug me forward.
Inside the door we walk through a large, empty room that looks like an office lobby. The randomly indented carpet on the floor is dusty and stained, and the space smells of mold and paint fumes. I tighten my hold on Phantom’s hand as we pass by an elevator with an ‘out of order’ sign taped to it.
My stomach clenches uneasily as we drift through another doorway and come upon a stairwell.
Phantom climbs the steps, dragging me along behind them.
My breathing returns to an uneven tempo as I contemplate what kind of home situation a person would have to have endured to end up living in an abandoned building like this.
Phantom peels off the staircase on the second floor, finally dropping my hand. We walk down a short hallway and stop before another metal door.
“This is me,” Phantom says with a jerk of their thumb toward the door.
My heartbeat pounds in my throat as they push the door open, revealing a large room with exposed brick, tall ceilings, and aluminum piping overhead.
The room itself is packed to the gills. An entire wall is covered in shelves upon shelves of painting supplies.
Another is home to an explosion of graffiti designs with at least a hundred finished canvases leaning in large piles against it.
Easels and stools are scattered about haphazardly, and a solitary bed sits in the far corner beneath a sheer, black canopy—the shiny, velvet comforter a striking crimson red.
But then my gaze snags on the smaller details: long strips of flashing, technicolor LED lights bordering the ceiling and strings of green, plastic vines hanging from hooks around the room; the same exact ones I have hanging in my room back home.
I notice a large neon sign hanging above the small kitchenette, the phrase ‘good vibes only’ glowing in psychedelic red and yellow hues.
After taking it all in, the room seems like an ideal space for Phantom. The contrast between this room and their muted online persona is unbelievable. This really must be where Phantom feels safest. A space safe enough to be unapologetically themself.
“It’s amazing,” I say as I walk through the doorway.
When I get to the center of the room, I throw my arms out wide and spin in a circle.
My gaze lands on the wall of graffiti and I rush toward it.
My eyes rove over so many designs and colors that my mind can barely keep up.
There are lots of illustrations of ghosts and unique abstract designs, but my attention is ensnared by the small, somber images peppered throughout: a small girl with sad eyes dressed in a hospital gown, a man’s face crossed out with a big black X, and a woman with speech bubbles next to her full of censored dialogue.
None of it makes sense to me, but I imagine the emotions these images evoke have something to do with why Phantom ended up living here, separated from the rest of the town, all alone.
“I still add it to sometimes,” Phantom says as they walk up beside me.
My gaze sweeps over the wall. “But there’s no more room. It’s completely covered.”
Phantom chuckles. “I just paint over it.”
“I love that,” I whisper. “An ever-evolving mural.”
Phantom’s eyes sparkle at me. “Exactly.”
“I’ve never done that,” I admit. “Never painted over a painting before.”
Phantom nods before turning their gaze to the wall. “Life’s always changing. Why shouldn’t art?”
My breath catches in my throat. I’ve never considered that before.
I look to the wall again, and suddenly, I can see the places where Phantom did it, where they painted over an area that was ready for a change. Is it that easy? Can you just paint over something you’ve worked so hard to make, with something new, something better?
I don’t even realize that Phantom’s walked away until I hear a somber tune filling the room. I turn to see it’s coming from a record player in the corner. I don’t recognize the song, but the melody is soft and melancholy.
Phantom notices my confused expression as I approach them. “What? Did you expect me to like screamo or something?”
“Maybe not screamo, but perhaps something a little bit darker and more mysterious,” I admit as I finger through their collection of finished canvases. Landscapes, portraits, abstracts, still lifes––hundreds of paintings. My eyes eat them up like I’ve been starved for them my entire life.
I’m about to move to the next pile when Phantom takes my hand again, pulling me into an embrace.
Their arms wrap around my waist as they begin to sway to the rhythm of the music.
At their touch, warmth coils in my lower abdomen and I lean into their movement, snaking my arms around their neck and letting them lead me wherever they please.
Phantom begins to rotate us in circles and the world behind them dissolves into a heavenly swirl of bright colors.
“You don’t go to Lizbeth, do you?” I ask quietly.
“No,” Phantom confirms. “Does that bother you?”
I look up at them. “Not at all.”
A moment passes before I ask, “So, why do you live here instead of in an apartment or a house or—”
Phantom sighs. “That’s a long story, and it’s not a happy one, so I don’t like talking about it.” Their gaze drifts and snags on something over my shoulder, an unusual pattern I’m beginning to recognize.
“I have time,” I say, but then the melody speeds up and Phantom responds by unclasping my hands from around their neck and whipping me out in a dizzying spin, my rotations in perfect sync with the beat of the music.
I laugh as our arms pull taut, my soul absolutely shining in the light of Phantom’s glow.
Their eyes glisten as they tug me back in.
“You’re too good at this,” I say before a chuckle passes my lips.
Phantom leans their masked cheek against the side of mine. “Only because I have an excellent partner.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you.”
“You—”
I press my fingers against their mask, lightly pressing against their lips. “Don’t argue. Not about this,” I murmur as I meet their questioning gaze.
They nod and I drop my hand, leaning into the dance once more. After a moment, I feel Phantom’s forehead fall against the top of my shoulder. They breathe in deep, before releasing a tense breath through their nose.
“What’s wr—” I start to ask.
“I don’t want you like a friend.”
We stop moving, and at the same time, the music fades to silence.
Stars sparkle in my peripheral vision. How do I breathe again? How do I speak?
Phantom wants . . . me.
“Me either,” I admit in a small voice.
Phantom raises their face to meet mine. “You don’t?” they ask with wide eyes.
“No.” My voice breaks on the word. “I want . . . more.”
The hope in their expression makes me swoon; I want to give each and every part of myself to the brilliant, kind, courageous person in my arms.
“But I have to do something important first . . . before we can be,” I remind them aloud, using the words to also plead with my own insistent heart for patience.
The set of Phantom’s eyes tenses. “Right.”
They try to slip from my grasp, but I grip them tighter, refusing to be anywhere but here in their arms, at least for a little while longer. “Keep dancing with me,” I urge. “Please.”
Their gaze softens and they tangle their hands in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me to their chest before swaying to the melody of a new song as it drifts through the air around us. As we stay like that, holding onto each other for dear life, I have another epiphany.
There’s no distance here. Not like there is with Noah.
Sure, with him I’ve always been enough, but with Phantom, I’m somehow more. Together, we’re more.
We understand each other in ways no one else even tries to. We eat, drink, and breathe art. It’s who we are, down to our very essence, and I guess, in a way, it makes sense why we’re the only ones who get it.
But it rocks me to my core—this connection we have. Because of Phantom, I’m able to see a whirlwind of colors I wasn’t even aware I could see before.
I don’t think either of us realized how stressful it can be; being vulnerable in real life, off the canvas. No disguises, just us. Slowly showing each other the artist behind the masterpiece.
But now, I can’t help by wonder: What can I do for them? How can I inspire them? How can I make them feel safe and seen?
They’re one of the most genuine people I know, and yet still so guarded. Instead of darkness, as they’d like the world to believe, technicolor brushstrokes follow them wherever they go.
I was oblivious to how colorful the world could be, and how much my heart could feel.
But then Phantom stepped in and fractured my reality.
They told me they wanted to stay. They said they wanted to be more.
And I’m thankful. But now I’m stuck because I don’t know how to repay them for all they’ve done, for everything they’ve taught me, about art and about myself.
Phantom’s murmur interrupts my thoughts, “I’m going to miss you over the break.”
I pull back just far enough to look up at them. Their blue and green is more vibrant than anything I’ve ever seen. If I could give them these colors on a palette as a thank you, I would.
“My birthday’s coming up, you know,” I whisper.
“I know,” they say with a bob of their chin, and I’m not surprised.
“I’d like to come back to campus early and spend it with you,” I admit, a renewed flush rising in my cheeks.
“That means you’ll only have two days at home for the break.”
“I know.”
Pure joy narrows their eyes into a full-blown squint. “I’d love to spend your birthday with you.”
An exhilarated grin splits my own face in half. I’ll show my gratitude by spending every spare second I have with them, because my heart craves it too—more.