Darkside

Fourteen

Sweat pours over my forehead. I hit my head I bolt upright so hard. The blade might as well be stabbing hard into my arm right now the wound is so fresh. My head tilts back, a deep howl of pain erupts from my chest. I want to be free from this.

"Can't...breathe..." My ragged chest aches. "Can't...breathe..."

I claw, trying to remove the hands from my throat, but I can't get at anything. There's nothing for me to grab. Burning flames of panic grip me...

"It's okay, Phoenix." Orson's soft tone soothes me. Right, he's still here. I'm in that life, I'm Phoenix, not Luvvie. She's gone. "I'm here. It was only a nightmare. Whatever happened to you, it wasn't real. I'm here."

Phoenix doesn't have nightmares.

Only, she does, and in them she's still Luvvie.

"I'll be okay." I'm strangled, just like my voice. "I just need a minute, that's all."

He won't let me go. Orson's taken on the role of my protector. Only it's too late, there's no protecting me now. Not anymore.

Once he knows that, he'll go. He has to.

***

I pace the room, waiting impatiently for Orson to finish his shower. I let him have one because I guess cleanliness is his God given right, but the longer he spends here, the more time he has to be in danger, the more likely he'll get attached to the girl who doesn't exist.

I don't know why he's still here anyway. It makes no sense. Who acts like this?

Who follows a girl into the city, a place he hates, because of a drunken phone call?

"Be a bitch." My whispering voice is right, I have to be cruel to be kind. "Crush him."

But I don't want to see his face fall, I don't want to destroy the only person in the world who cares about Phoenix. Even I haven't given a shit about her and I'm supposed to be her.

If only I could keep him, I could use someone in this awful life I'm creating, someone to make it less agonizing. I always had the idea that running off into the sunset and starting again, like I think my mother did, would be romantic and dream-like, but it's definitely more of a nightmare.

From what I heard about my mother, she wouldn't have been able to handle this. No way. It's more likely she did cross paths with an evil serial killer after all.

Each drip of the water makes me wince, but when it's switched off it sends a little shudder down my spine. He's coming, it's time to face him at last. Now I just need to work out what I'm going to say.

"Hey." I must look weird because Orson's eyes race over me in evident shock the moment he spots me. "Is everything alright?"

I part my dry, cracked lips but no words fall out. In a towel with droplets cascading all over his skin, his chest, my heart pounds hard on my ribs.

"You look a bit pale. You aren't having another panic attack, are you?"

He moves closer to me, it's dangerous, the world shrinks in on me. It's just me and Orson, nowhere for me to go. My eyes squeeze closed, I needed to block him out.

Blocking out Orson only brings up him...

"You don't know what you're doing, who you're messing with."

Hands. Fists. Airways blocked.

"You shouldn't have come into my life. You shouldn't have done this."

Blood. Too much blood. Losing sight.

"You'll regret this. I'll make sure of it."

Death. Death at the corner of my peripheral vision, claiming me.

"I don't want to die. Don't let me die."

I've heard that dying is a peaceful experience, but now I know that's the sort of bullshit they feed just to make you feel better about the whole thing. It's desperate, panicking, horrific.

"My father," I stammer as I lean into Orson, his naked body now just background noise. "My f...father."

He's a damn drunk. An asshole who puts booze before anything else. He's been that way for years. I don't know if he'll even notice me gone.

Except he will because this isn't his first brush with missing: presumed dead.

It might kill him. Me walking away from him, Luvvie becoming Phoenix might be the thing to finally finish him off. A weakness claims my legs as that concept floods me.

I've considered myself an orphan since my fourteenth birthday, but actually being one...that's something else.

"I don't want him to die, don't want him to die, don't want him to die."

Orson cradles me like I'm a baby, whispering reassuring words the entire time. The words are clouds in the sky, meaningless, nothing, but I don't need to hear them to feel their comfort.

"Do you want to see your father? I could come with you?"

I do. God I do, it's like a sharp pain in my chest. Yet I can't.

"He doesn't know me anymore, Orson. No one does."

"I feel like I do...just a little bit. I like you and I'm sure your father does as well. He must love you. Whatever's happened between you...well, anything can be fixed in families."

"You don't know." I shove him off me. "You don't understand, you can't. My family, my situation, it isn't normal. I can't go back."

"What happened? What have you been through? Tell me, I might be able to help."

"No one can help. No one. It's beyond that."

Orson's desperate to reach out to me. He's virtually a stranger and he needs to know what's going on. Only I can't give him anything. I can't.

***

With my bags packed, I'm ready to go. I'm ready to run wherever I need to go.

"What's happening?" Orson stands by the motel room door with two hot coffees burning his fingers. "Are you leaving? Again, Phoenix? Why do you keep doing this to me?"

I can't look at him.

"I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this because I'm no good."

"You can't keep telling me you're no good with no explanation." His body blocks the doorway. I'm trapped, somewhere I don't do well. "I need to understand you."

Doesn't he get it? No one can understand me.