Phoenix Knight [A Bad Boy Story] - Editing

Chapter Nineteen

Today’s word of the chapter: ‘Jocose’. Definition: (Adjective) given to or characterised by joking; jesting; humorous; playful.

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Chapter Nineteen

The walk to the nearest bus stop was just long, cold and miserable altogether. The drumming sound of thunder indicated that rain may or may not fall in the near future but I could not care less, not while I was this troubled.

I sat in the shaded area and pulled my hood over my head so that I could wallow in my own misery without others seeing.

Tears threatened to fall but never quite did.

I was upset with Phoenix but as the time passed and I stepped onto the double-decker bus – which finally pulled up –, I began feeling angry with myself.

I couldn’t accept his help so, instead, I became livid.

I guess I just wasn’t used to having people do things for me. I had grown up having to fend for myself because my mother seemed to be under my father’s spell and I had no siblings to share in my pain. I planned on going through my father’s case without assistance. I wanted to make sure I was the one to put him behind bars.

Because I always did everything for myself.

But things were slowly starting to change, especially after Phoenix stepped into my life.

So this one time, I panicked and spoke without thinking.

And then he got cross.

And he did something he shouldn’t have.

And I said something I shouldn’t have.

We were both in the wrong and even though, he had reacted violently, I still felt as though I may have been the one that committed the worse of both crimes.

I accused him of murder. But not just any murder.

I accused him of killing his own parents.

Only someone completely heartless could do something like that.

I guess I was heartless.

I guess.

I regretted my words, which only made me more furious with myself.

At the time, it had all made sense. Phoenix Knight was a maniac, an assassin; an eighteen-year-old contract killer. And he snapped at me.

But could he possibly be horrible enough to kill his parents?

It was nearing lunch time when I entered my hotel room. My mother was nowhere to be found and my hands were folded into tight fists of anger as I left my fury drift and swallow me whole.

I kicked the door closed.

And then I slammed my foot into the bed frame.

And punched the wall.

And then kicked the wall.

I fell onto my bed and slammed my face into my pillow. My scream was dulled down to a slight squeak as I screeched my problems into the soft material.

I was never one to cry easily, even when I was overwhelmed. Even during situations like these.

So instead, I punched the pillow like it was my own face before flipping over onto my back and just lying down with my eyes cast at the ceiling. This morning had been a good one. A few hours ago, I hadn’t made one of the biggest mistakes of my life; I hadn’t acted like an ungrateful bastard.