Chapter 32
They wait a moment, staring at me, studying my reaction before continuing, but I don’t say a word. There are no words to describe it.
“After she was out of the way, I thought I’d finally be enough for them.
Despite how much I hated them, there was still this twisted, biological need for their approval.
But the weight of the guilt crushed me right away.
It wasn’t Echo’s fault, that my life was the way that it was.
That blame falls on my parents . . . and myself.
She deserved to live a long life.” Phantom releases a shaky breath.
“It didn’t take long for them to notice me breaking, even more than I was before, and eventually, their open contempt and cold shoulders beat the truth from me like a drum.
“But Echo was the final straw. She waited until the day of her funeral to come back to haunt me. I think she did it to trick me, to make me think I’d won, but I already knew I hadn’t.
Even though I was the only one left drawing breath .
. . I was still the loser.” Their tone is glacial.
“Because I’d sold my soul to the demons inside me. ”
Phantom lowers their brush and palette, suddenly looking over their shoulder. At Echo. Their gaze is full of pure, unbridled hatred. “You enjoyed watching me squirm like a bug beneath a magnifying glass, didn’t you?” I tremble as they shake their head. “But maybe not as much as what came next.”
Speaking to me again, they say, “When I told my parents what I did, they weren’t even surprised.
That was the worst part. They didn’t even seem concerned about the horrific crime their child had just committed.
No, all they cared about was the impact it would have on their precious reputation if it ever got out.
So, they covered it up and shunned me. I was the one piece they could never perfect, a blight in their prized portfolio, and so they discarded me.
“I haven’t laid eyes on them since the night I confessed.
That’s why Emmy doesn’t know me. Our parents became friends after my grandmother took me in.
” They turn back to the canvas, raising their brush.
“It’s disgusting how easy it is for rich white people to get away with murder.
I should’ve gone to juvie, should’ve paid for what I’d done, but I didn’t. Echo is my prison master now.”
Phantom steps toward me, their paintbrush forgotten, dangling from their hand at their side, their expression tortured. “Say something, Maeve. Please. Anything’s better than this deafening silence.” Their free hand reaches out. “That’s when Echo’s loudest.”
I don’t flinch as their hand finds my shoulder, a gentle, grounding touch, before it slowly wraps around the side of my neck.
Their grip is firm, but not hard. It’s not threatening, this contact between us, instead it’s searching, desperate, almost .
. . sensual, and my body reacts in spite of the truths I just heard.
My pulse quickens beneath Phantom’s fingers, and their eyes darken as they register the speed of it, the heat blooming beneath my skin.
Phantom steps even closer, so close I could count each of their long, dark eyelashes if I tried. “Maeve?”
I try to speak. Honestly, I do. But I can’t. I can’t find the words, or my breath. My body hums in their presence, begging for more of their warmth, their touch, but my thoughts are an unraveling ball of yarn, each undone thread worse than the last.
Phantom killed someone.
How can a person hear something like that and just keep going? How can I still be this attracted to such a dangerous person? I need to get out of here. I need to be alone. I need to think. If I stay in Phantom’s orbit like this, I’ll never leave.
I drop the painting supplies in my hands and sprint to the bathroom. The door has a lock. I saw it earlier. In my periphery, Phantom’s chin drops to their chest and their paintbrush clatters to the floor a moment later. They don’t try to chase me.
In the bathroom, my breaths come in too fast and shallow, making me dizzy instead of steadying me.
I sit on the toilet and put my head between my knees.
My tears form small puddles on the concrete floor.
Before I know it, I’m screaming. Releasing my fear, pain, and sorrow .
. . for Phantom. If they’d been born into a different family, or lived a different life, they wouldn’t have made the decisions they did.
They wouldn’t be haunted by this darkness.
Phantom is a product of the environment they grew up in.
An environment void of the nurturing love of a parent.
I don’t know how to love.
My vocal cords are on fire by the time I’m spent. I slide down to the floor and rock back and forth, trying to thwart the storm raging within my nervous system.
“Fuck,” Phantom screeches. A booming crash echoes as the floor beneath me vibrates. “You’re right! I know you’re right. I’ve always known you were right. I’m toxic. Vile. Putrid. Bad. Bad. Bad!”
I lift my head off my knees.
“You’ve got what you’ve always wanted, Echo. Me, miserable and alone.”
A moment of silence.
“Not even art can save me this time.” The timbre of their voice is more than hollow. It’s hopeless.
Crashes explode on the other side of the bathroom wall. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! I hate . . . myself!”
“Just let me die,” Phantom sobs, their words barely discernible. “Echo, please. Just let me do it this time. Let my sentence be over. Let me go!”
Every instinct in my body tells me to stay where I am, on the cold floor of this bathroom.
But that’s not what my body does. It stands, and I watch in awe as my hand turns the door handle, like an out-of-body experience.
I can’t hear anything over the ringing in my ears as I throw the door open and run.
The exit is on my left, but I run straight.
Straight toward one of the most dangerous, broken, and pained souls I’ve ever met.
Maybe they don’t deserve salvation for the crimes they’ve committed. Or maybe they do. I have no right to make that decision. There’s only one decision I can make in this moment. To preserve a life. And fight like hell against Phantom’s demons.
“Phantom,” I scream, my legs and arms pumping.
The room is destroyed. The wall of shelving that held hundreds of painting supplies has crashed to the floor and thick splashes of paint now cover every surface in the room: floor, walls, ceiling, and windows, like the inside of a kaleidoscope.
Phantom’s large neon sign lies broken on the floor in a puddle of fractured glass, the flickering neon light casting grotesque, orange-hued shadows like a raging fire.
Our canvas is ruined, newly covered in large splotches of dark paint, but I don’t care about any of it.
I slam into Phantom’s back, wrapping my arms around theirs. They’re on their knees with their head in their hands, sobs racking their body so violently they’re struggling to breathe.
“Don’t touch me,” they wail, knocking me off them. I fall hard to the floor. My elbow throbs, but I jump right back up, wrapping myself around them again.
“Get the fuck off!”
“No!”
“Get off!” I fall again. Get up again. And embrace them again.
They sob harder. “I’ll ruin you. Like I ruin everything. Echo’s right. She’s always been right.”
“I don’t care.”
They shake their head, but I can barely register it over the trembling of their body. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t see what I see, Phantom. You don’t see it. And you fucking should. This life you’ve led . . . it’s not fair.”
They relax slightly beneath my grip and turn their head to peer at me over their shoulder. Inflammation rims their eyes red; a martyrial fire raging in their depths.
“You didn’t ask for any of this, Phantom.
You might’ve done bad things. Terrible, unforgivable things.
But you regret them. You regret them so much your brain conjured up a ghost to haunt you.
” I take a deep, shaky breath, leaning my head against their upper back.
“You weren’t born a monster. You were molded into one.
And now you torture yourself for it.” They release another shuddering sob.
“There’s still time to make different choices.
Time to repent, to make amends. Time to banish the demons and slay the monster. ”
They wilt beneath my words.
“You’ve been so strong,” I whisper. “If you’ll let me, I can help you. We can do it together.”
They turn and I let them go, my arms dropping heavily to my sides.
“Why? You should be cursing me and running for your life. Why are you still here?”
Their broken gaze is blue and green. The colors of truth and life. My favorite colors.
“You were my inspiration, my friend, my partner, and you deceived me,” I whisper, raising my hand to their cheek. Fear flashes across their face. “I gave you my heart.”
Fresh tears fall, soaking their mask.
“Now it’s time to give me yours.” I take the soft cotton fabric between my fingers and pull.
I don’t flinch as Phantom’s mask falls to the floor, and even though I take in the mutilated scar tissue around their mouth, I never look away from those eyes.
“You tried to kill yourself.” It’s not a question.
They nod, their expression so ashamed it hurts me.
Already afraid of the answer, I ask quietly, “How?”
“The first time, I tried the same way I killed Echo, but my grandmother noticed the symptoms too early.” I flinch, horror crystalizing the blood in my veins.
“The second time I used something I thought would be stronger. Turpentine. But Echo made me throw it up the second I swallowed it. It left blisters and burns, and I was in the hospital for a week.”
I grab their face and hold it tenderly between my hands, my fingers grazing the edges of their ruined skin.
“The third time—”
I don’t let them finish. I’ve heard enough.
When my lips meet theirs, they open in shock. I back away an inch, giving them space to refuse me. But they don’t.
Then Phantom’s hands are entwined in my hair, and mine are fisted in their hoodie. The scarred skin of their lips is taut and uneven, but they’re warm and soft, and they taste like peppermint. I say everything I can’t find the words for with that kiss.
I see you. I hear you. I understand. I’m sorry. Your pain is real. I’ll carry it with you.
Phantom hears me. What I’m trying to say. I know because they deepen the kiss, pulling me to them like they wish they could absorb me into their skin. Our tongues mingle and our lips bruise, but we don’t part. We melt together and become magic.
Phantom groans in frustration when they eventually break the kiss. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Turning to empty air, they yell. “Let me have this! It’s not a lie. It’s not a sick joke. This is real, and it’s something you’ll never understand.”
I turn their face back to me. “You tell her,” I murmur proudly against their lips.
I don’t know how long we kneel there kissing, but eventually, Echo’s words become too overwhelming for Phantom.
They get up and walk around the studio, picking up random painting supplies before eventually returning to our ruined canvas.
They study it for a long time, pacing back and forth before it.
They’re still full of manic energy. I can see it in the twitch of their fingers and the feathering of a small muscle in their jaw.
But instead of lashing out, they turn the canvas on its side.
It’s then that I see it. The composition. Our masterpiece.
I rush to join them, grabbing any unspilled paint I can find off the floor.
They glance at me as I come up beside them, the full beauty of their face on display for the first time, and I can tell from their awed expression that they’ve seen it too. Words need not be said.
All that’s needed is paint.