Chapter 34
The earthy aroma of freshly brewed tea wakes me up in the morning.
Gray, dim light is filtering in through the tall studio windows, and when I look to the sky, I find rain clouds.
The perfect weather for painting. I stretch and quickly realize the bed is empty except for me.
Sitting up, I search for Phantom. They’re already mixing paint together on a palette.
They’re clean and in a fresh change of clothes with their mask back on. I frown.
Getting out of bed, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“I got us breakfast,” Phantom says, gesturing to the other end of the table they’re standing at. There’s a to-go bag and two steaming mugs. I walk over hesitantly.
“Is this just for me?” I ask, raising a chocolate croissant to my lips.
But before I can take a bite, Phantom’s beside me, chomping their jaws at my breakfast. I try to move it out of their reach, but I’m too slow, losing half of my pastry in one fell swoop.
Phantom tosses their mask down on the table as they chew, reaching into the bag for another.
Then they take a mug, drinking a long sip, before walking back to the side of the table nearest the canvas.
Finally noticing my jaw on the floor, they ask, “What?”
“You’re eating,” I say thickly.
“Yeah, that’s kind of one of those things humans need to do to survive,” they reply with a smirk. A smirk I can see.
I round the table and hug them tightly.
“What’s this for?” Phantom asks before laughing in my ear. It’s the sound of angels, not demons.
I blink against the tears that prick my eyes. “For being honest with me. For opening up.”
They hug me tighter, the infinitesimal space between us evaporating. “Thanks for not running when you saw all of me.”
I shake my head. “I would’ve been leaving a piece of me behind. And I’m sorry, but I’d like to remain whole if at all possible.”
“Maeve,” they say as they slowly pull away, suddenly serious. “After we finish this painting, I’m going to voluntarily admit myself to a psychiatric hospital.”
My eyes well further.
“I looked it up this morning. It’s almost an hour away, and it’ll probably impact my ability to be able to come and visit.” They start to turn their head away from me, as if they’re still ashamed. No more of that.
“I’m so proud of you, Phantom,” I say, rolling up on my toes to kiss their cheek, and for the second time, I see them blush.
I clean up in the bathroom after we eat our fill of breakfast, showering to scrub off the dried paint from yesterday.
When I reenter the studio, Phantom’s already hard at work and I’m in a fresh pair of clothes.
Phantom stopped by my dorm when they left to get breakfast so I’m much comfier today, in a pair of my own jeans and a sweater.
“If I’d known where you kept those adorable yellow coveralls, I would’ve brought them,” they say with an appreciative glance.
“This particular painting is worth getting messy for,” I reply matter-of-factly.
“Oh, is that so?” they ask with a smile. Their teeth are the creamy white of pearls and slightly crooked on the bottom row, like they’d had braces at one point and eventually gave up on wearing the retainer. I have a feeling I’m going to grow to love that smile more than any painting.
I want to know, I realize. I want to know everything. Every little detail of their life. So, as I approach the canvas, I ask for what I want. “Tell me more, please.”
“About me?” they ask.
I nod excitedly, picking up the brush and palette Phantom had already prepared for me.
“It’s a long story. Twenty-one years’ worth.”
I gesture to the canvas. “I think we’ve got plenty of time.”
Phantom laughs as they begin to paint. “True. Well, I guess I’ll start on a happier note today. I have a little sister.”
I gasp. “What? Why have you never mentioned her before?”
“She’s a lot younger than me. She’s only four, turning five this year.
My parents decided to have another child after my .
. . well, after I confessed to killing Echo.
I only get to see her when my parents let her visit Grandma, which isn’t often.
You’d love her. She’s stubborn and wild and fierce.
So much personality in such a little person. ”
“How does she seem?” I ask, afraid for the environment this child is being raised in.
“Better than me,” Phantom replies, correctly guessing the meaning behind my question.
“I think my parents gave up on the whole child prodigy thing after they’d failed so remarkably with me.
My dad went to rehab for a while too. Grandma says he’s been sober for five years now, so there’s that.
” Phantom makes several sweeping brush strokes before continuing.
“They’re still not perfect people, and definitely not perfect parents, but they seem to be doing better by her at least. Grandma promised me she’d make sure of it, so for now, that’s good enough for me. ”
I wince against the twinge in my heart. That sounds like the life Phantom should’ve had. Their parents should have been trying their best for them too.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I say earnestly.
In an incredulous tone, they ask, “You want to meet her?”
“Yes, Phantom. That’s typically what partners do. They meet each other’s families, spend lots of time together, and bond over shared interests.” I glance at them, noticing their lips pressed thin and worry lines creasing their forehead.
“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you all about it. You gave me your heart, after all. I’m not going to squander it.”
Their lips are on mine again before I can take another breath and my head spins, in the best possible way.
For the next four hours, Phantom talks. They tell me about their childhood.
The happy memories and the sad. They share details of their dark middle school days.
About their relationship with real-life Echo.
About their grandmother. About the dreams they’ve let go, the ones they still have, and the ones they’re still dreaming up.
I especially hope I get to be a part of those––their dreams for the future.
I laugh so hard I find myself snorting when Phantom tells me the story of them painting over Remi’s original midterm painting.
They found out Remi had been harassing me after he posted my ruined portrait online.
Phantom shouldn’t have inserted themself into my battles, seeking retribution like they did on my behalf, but I have to admit, it’s hard to ignore the love, humor, and quest for karmic justice in their actions.
The tone of the conversation changes after that though, after I tell them about Remi drugging me.
Phantom goes quiet, shaking with silent rage.
It takes a while before they can continue to talk, but when they can, they describe the moment my paintings first caught their eye on social media.
It’d been during a livestream of me painting, and I remember that particular day—that particular painting—had been hard.
I’d gotten perfect marks on one of my previous art projects, and my parents had barely even reacted after I’d told them.
I’d felt so alone, so I turned to social media, reaching my arms out into the ether, desperately craving any kind of attention I could get.
“When I looked at your painting, I felt everything you felt. It was like looking through a window into your soul. You put it all on display for the world to see. I never did that with my art. I always hid behind it. But you use yours to magnify yourself, becoming larger than life. It was invigorating and addictive. One hit, and I was hooked.”
I shake my head at them. “But I wasn’t making art for the right reasons. I was making art so someone would finally notice me, instead of passing me by and ignoring me. You make art for yourself, for your heart and your mind. I wish I was more like you in that regard.”
“And I wish I was more like you. I wish I wasn’t so afraid of people seeing the real me. I don’t even think I know how to trust, at least not yet. But you trust with every fiber of your being. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.”
Gently, they kiss my forehead before climbing up on a step ladder to begin painting the top portion of the canvas. I look at our painting and beam. It’s beyond words, and it’s only half done. My stomach flips with excitement as I return to work.
In the late afternoon, Phantom bikes to grab us some lunch.
I stay behind, thoroughly consumed with painting.
I feel the window Phantom was referring to.
It’s thrown wide open, every rapid beat of my heart exposed to the air, and right now, it’s bleeding onto the canvas.
When Phantom returns, they stand next to me, feeding me bite by bite while I paint, watching me with those eyes.
Those eyes I want to watch me for the rest of my life.
After lunch, it’s my turn to talk. I go on and on about my family, telling Phantom how my parents apologized for their absenteeism before I came to Lizbeth and how much more attentive they’ve been since then.
Phantom smiles at that and I thank them for being the instigator, the reason we were able to get to a healthier place in our relationship.
They blush again and wave me off, but I mean it.
They may have manipulated my life for their own selfish reasons at the time, but that doesn’t erase all the good it did. They should be aware of that too.
They listen as I talk about Alexis and Noah, how fiercely I miss them both.
Phantom doesn’t flinch at the mention of my ex-boyfriend; no jealousy, no toxic, possessive urge to claim me as their own.
They simply listen, and acknowledge the love and loss I feel for them both.
It’s the most heard and respected I’ve ever felt.
We contemplate dinner but think better of it, full of adrenaline and high on love.
Besides, our painting is almost complete.
We’re adding the final touches when Echo comes knocking, altering Phantom’s mood like a snap thunderstorm.
I hold them against my chest while they argue with her.
They beg her to quiet down, to leave them alone, to let them have one solitary day of uninterrupted happiness.
I kiss their tears away. It’s the only thing I can do.
Phantom’s mental illness is bigger than both of us.
And even though it’s a manifestation of the darkest part of their soul, I lean into it, accepting it at face value.
Their darkness is as much a part of them as their light is, and I love it all.
“We’ll get you the help you need soon,” I whisper as we sit huddled on the floor before the painting.
“I should’ve gone years ago. If I hadn’t waited so long, maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so bad.”
“Phantom, you were just trying to make it through, day by day. You lived in survival mode for years. You were a child that didn’t have the love or support you required to get the care you needed. That is not your fault, do you understand me?”
They nod.
“But now that you’re an adult, it’s your responsibility to get treatment.
You can’t just sit by and let your emotions hurt people, including yourself.
” I kiss the tip of their nose before rising to stand and returning to the canvas.
“Now, let’s tell Echo to fuck off for the rest of the night so we can finish our masterpiece.
Then,” I look to my partner, “we can start the rest of our lives.”
I reach for their hands, pulling them to stand before lacing our fingers and crossing our hands over our hearts.
I lean toward Phantom, placing our foreheads together.
The pose is a real-life depiction of the painting behind us.
Me and Phantom painted against an amethyst and navy background, our faces serene and at peace, as a bright golden light emits from our twined, paint-soiled hands.
I imagine that same light banishing our demons, ripping them from us like a ruined page from an old notebook, and feel a weight lift from my chest.
But my favorite part of the painting? Well, that’s easy. It’s Phantom’s smile––mask-less, scarred, and heart-stopping.
When we’re finished it’s well after midnight, but we don’t care.
We fish the record player out of the wreckage from the night before and get it going, choosing the happiest, most upbeat music from Phantom’s collection.
We dance and sing and scream. We sweat and laugh and make out against the wall before falling into bed together to do more.
We live.
And it’s the most beautiful damn night of my life.
Until it isn’t.