Chapter 29
We both overreacted. I realize that as I open my eyes, the memories of last night tumbling forth like a rockslide, burying me beneath heaps of scattered dreams. If I had just stayed calm and listened, instead of bolting, we wouldn’t have gotten in that fight.
But still, that doesn’t excuse Phantom’s actions.
They warned me they would hurt me. Not physically, but emotionally, and now they have.
I scramble out of bed, scanning the room frantically. It’s empty. I’m still alone.
A wave of relief sends me sinking to the cold linoleum floor. The sunrise is just starting to peak over the horizon, tossing long, clawing shadows across the room. They reach for me hungrily as the fear from last night rises anew.
Phantom isn’t who I thought they were. They’re manipulative, and terrifying. I’m not sure I can forgive them for what they’ve done, for how they’ve scared me. But logic wars against my emotions. They have an illness. An illness can be treated.
Worry and dread sweep through me like a rising tide. I crawl to my bed, pulling myself back up and grabbing my phone from the nightstand. It’s on the charger. But then I think back to last night. Phantom took my phone when they locked me in. I didn’t put it here.
Phantom did.
And they returned my key. I grab it and run to the door. It opens immediately, unlocked. Phantom repaired the doorknob while I slept. I’d cried myself to sleep last night, so I must have been out cold.
While I squint at my phone screen, pulling up Dad’s number, I close the door.
I have to call my family and tell them what happened. They’ll know what to do. They’ll know what the right decision is.
But as my thumb hovers over the call button, a notification banner pops up.
One new post from Phantom.
Sweat pools under my arms. I hesitate before I click it, opening the app. It’s a video of Phantom, showing the world the mural on the roof. The roof of this dorm.
My gaze snaps upward. They’re up there right now.
I look back at the video. Phantom’s laughing, but it sounds nothing like them. It’s a sick and twisted sound. Chaotic and sorrowful; like the sound I imagine a soul makes as it’s dragged from this world against its will. The sound of a phantom.
The muscles in my back tense as I open the comments section of the video, which is full of insults and hate. The public doesn’t appear to like the artist behind the ski mask. Screw them. They don’t know Phantom like I do.
Phantom’s work has always pushed boundaries, but thus far, they’ve kept their darker pieces off their social media accounts. Hiding their demons from view, as they would say. So, why are they showing them now?
It’s me, I realize. Our fight. They’re scared too.
I can’t lose you.
They’re doing this because they feel helpless . . . and alone.
Can I really just walk away, knowing the consequences of my actions could be serious?
I look at the video again, at the hollowness in Phantom’s eyes.
No. I can’t do that either.
Phantom’s life is worth fighting for. Just like mine is. Just like everyone’s is.
I change quickly, and my hand trembles as I reach for the repaired doorknob again. I’m terrified. There’s no use denying it. But I grit my teeth against the fear and imagine Phantom, battling against their illness all alone. That’s no way to live.
My heart gallops as I climb the stairs to the roof. I take them two at a time, not giving myself time to change my mind. Bursting through the rusted door, I race around the roof. It’s empty. Phantom’s already gone. Shit.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Another new video from Phantom. They’re in a large, dark room, blackout curtains drawn across tall windows, and they’re sitting on the floor. I gasp as I notice the floor is stained red.
No! They’ve hurt themself.
I have no other choice. Without a car or a bike or a reliable ride share service in this small town, I’m going to have to run all the way to Phantom’s studio.
I rush down the dorm steps and throw myself out onto the sidewalk.
Hot breath tears through my lungs as I pump my arms and legs as fast and as hard as I can.
I don’t think about the burning in my calves, or the cramp searing my side.
All I can do is repeat their name, over and over again in my mind, as gut-wrenching images flash before my mind’s eye.
Phantom with a pocket knife. Phantom bleeding out.
Phantom cold in a pool of their own blood.
A flash flood of fury allows me to force the mental images away. I refuse to believe it.
When I crash through the heavy door of Phantom’s building twenty minutes later, it’s eerily quiet. And then I realize there’s no one here to help me.
I have to save them. All by myself.
“Phantom,” I scream as I sprint across the grimy lobby and up the staircase. My throat’s already sore and my voice is scratchy. Just as I’m about to fling myself onto the second-floor landing, I hear a crash down the hallway.
“Phantom? Phantom,” I yell as I run down the corridor. I skid to a stop before their studio door and bang against the metal with the back of both fists before I try the handle. It budges. Unlocked.
I barge in, immediately slipping and falling into a pool of liquid on the floor. My stomach heaves as I lift a soiled hand before my face. It’s not blood, I realize after rubbing my fingers and thumb together—far too viscous for that.
It’s paint. Thank God! It’s just paint.
I look around the dark studio until my eyes adjust and land on a heap on the floor, lying in the middle of all this spilled paint. “Phantom?” I ask, quieter and softer this time.
They barely move, opting only to turn their head toward me. Their eyes are bloodshot and their pupils are dilated, so wide the black is blocking out almost all the green and blue.
“Phantom,” I breathe, crawling toward them.
“Maeve?” they ask, their voice just as hoarse as mine, as if they’ve been yelling too.
My eyes well with tears despite myself. I’m still angry and scared and confused. But Phantom’s here and they’re . . . well, not okay, but they’re alive.
“I’m here,” I whisper, picking their head up off the floor and laying it on my lap.
“I didn’t lose you?” they ask, looking at me as if I were an angel sent to them straight from heaven.
“You didn’t lose me,” I confirm. “I won’t leave you alone in this. I promise.”
Their eyes leak as they speak. “I made you promises too, and I broke them. I promised my demons wouldn’t hurt you. But they did. I did.”
“You did the best you could, Phantom. That’s all we can do.” I wipe the paint-soaked hair off their forehead.
“All we can do,” they repeat slowly, dropping their gaze from mine. “It’s not enough.”
I have no response to that, so we sit in the puddle of paint in silence. I find strength in their steady, calm breaths.
“Can you stand?” I ask after a while.
Phantom nods.
“Good, come on. We need to shower and clean this place up.”
Phantom follows my lead. I help them stand, undress to their underwear, and climb into the shower in the bathroom connected to their studio.
Worried how they would react if I tried to remove it, I leave their face mask in place too.
I climb into the shower after them, fully clothed, and help them wash the paint from their hair and skin.
Once I’m satisfied I’ve removed it all, I have them change into a fresh pair of sweats I found in a small wooden dresser, and tip-toe around the paint to their bed.
I tuck them into the soft bedding and look around the room, assessing the mess.
Phantom rolls toward the wall when I fling the curtains open and I frown at them. They’re clearly in a depressive episode. I need to stay and make sure they at least drink and eat something. I can do that. They’re no threat to me like this.
I go back out into the hallway and return with a mop and bucket.
It takes me over an hour to mop up all the paint from the floor, but when I’m finished, Phantom is sleeping soundly, and I’m disgusting, covered in a nasty mixture of paint and sweat.
I consider going back to my dorm to shower and change, but my anxiety stops me.
It’s way too far away. I’ll just shower here and wear some of Phantom’s clothes.
When I’m clean and changed, I step out of the bathroom to find Phantom staring at me. They’ve changed their mask, replacing the stained one for a fresh, clean one.
“Maeve.” My name is a whisper.
“Hi,” I say, trying, and probably failing, to smile at them.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving.”
They swallow hard and turn their face away from me.
“Is it Echo?” I ask gently, moving toward the bed.
They nod.
“What are they saying?”
“That I’m going to hurt you some more . . . because I’m toxic, and I poison everything.”
“Well,” I say as I climb onto the bed. They look shocked, eyes thrown wide as I crawl toward them. “You can tell Echo that I say they can royally fuck off.” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
“What?”
“Never mind,” I say, abandoning that tactic and switching to another. “You’re not toxic, Phantom. No matter what Echo says. You’re just sick, and need help getting better. Show me someone who doesn’t need help recovering from an illness at some point in their life, and I’ll show you a unicorn.”
“Why are you being like this?” Phantom asks, their gaze empty.
“Like what?”
They shrug against their pillow. “Normal.”
A sharp pang burns the back of my throat. “I was angry and scared earlier, I’ll be honest. But I’m not anymore. I want to help you.”
“You really are perfect, you know.”
I meet their dark gaze. “There’s no such thing, Phantom. And thank the stars for that.”
Their eyes smile. It’s minuscule, but it’s there.
I lift the covers and climb under, scooting closer to Phantom. I don’t touch them, but I’m close enough to feel their body heat. Despite all that’s happened, my body still reacts to theirs, warming and relaxing, begging me to scoot closer. But I don’t. And I won’t until I feel safe again.
We lay in silence for a while before Phantom speaks. “If I knew how, I would love you with my whole heart.”
“I know,” I say, and my chest aches. “It makes me happy to know that. It’d be an honor to be loved by you.”
Their eyes glaze over. “You mean that?”
“More than words can describe.”
“Then paint it . . . please.”
“Now?” I ask.
“There’s an easel and empty canvases right there,” they say, pointing a few feet away.
“Okay, if you’re sure,” I say as I toss off the covers.
I ask Phantom to drink water and eat microwave ramen noodles while I paint with my back to them.
It takes me most of the day, and Phantom drifts in and out of sleep as they watch me, but when I’m done, their eyes crinkle at the edges as they study the image.
A painting of two intertwining hands, their vibrant life forces, depicted in shimmering silver hues, flowing between the point of contact, merging and melding together, becoming one.
“Beautiful.”
“Yeah,” I agree, turning to look at Phantom. “You are.”
I feel my walls crumbling back down that evening.
Phantom apologizes for everything: for meddling in my life, for lying to me about it, for locking me in my dorm room.
They promise to go with me to the local hospital in the morning to get the help they need.
I promise them that I’ll stay with them the entire time, never leaving their side.
We fall asleep holding hands, clinging to the relationship we’re both desperately trying to save.
We’ll make it through this, I think as I fall into an easy sleep. We’ll be okay. We can fix this. Together.