Burnt Cities

Chapter 8

I don't tell my mother about my dad. Her healing matters to me and a mother can never heal knowing that their daughter is cohabiting a house with a monster.

"You don't need to go home if you do not want to," says Phoenix as we pull out the hospital gates. He rests his hand on my lap. "I can take you home with me."

At this point, I trust Phoenix enough to let him take me to his house. Maybe I haven't given myself enough time to get used to him but I feel so safe around him that it makes it easy for me to trust him.

"I'd like that."

"I've got you."

***

We drive into a driveway that leads to an enormous gate with ivy leavings creeping up on it, guarding a beautiful estate.

We drive for a while before we get to his apartment.

"I hope this place makes you feel safe." He leans in and gives me a kiss on the forehead.

We walk up the stairs and stop at the door at the very end of a long corridor. He unlocks the door lets me into the apartment. I walk into a room of canvases and paint tins. Abstract paintings of people and unusual landscapes are scattered all over the walls.

"You paint?"

"I do, you seem surprised."

"These are amazing."

"Did I not strike you as a talented man miss?" he smirks teasingly. He walks towards me and hooks his right arm around my lower back, looking directly into my eyes. "These paintings tell a story, about my life."

"No offense but, none of this makes sense to me."

"Do I make sense to you?" he says, his voice so low that it sounds almost like a whisper.

"You make sense to me in a way I am yet to understand."

He leans down, planting his lips on my neck.

I close my eyes, feeling his breath on my neck, mine getting heavier by the second.

He pulls away.

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

I nod and he lets go of my back. I walk to a stool, positioned in front of a painting that I assume is one of his latest creations. The painting displays a young man with his face turned away, his face a mystery. But from the detail of his hair, I am almost certain that it is Phoenix. Dark smoke is hovering around his head like a cloud.

I sit on the stool, still concentrated on the painting.

"I still know nothing about you," I say as hewalks towards e with two glasses in hand. "And I also want to know what you dofor a living to afford such a beautiful apartment and a stunning car."

"You ask too much," he hands me the glass and lies on the floor covered with newspapers.

"That's because I want to know everything."

He sighs and sits up with his arms perched on his knees.

"For starters, why are you seeing the psychologist?"

He picks up his glass and swirls it around slowly before taking a sip of the wine.

"I'm dealing with some things right now."

"Where's your family?"

"The only family I have is my mother."

"And your dad?"

"He left us."

His head drops to his knees and he rests his forehead on them.

"I'm sorry."

"My mother fell pregnant with me when she was 16. After telling him about me, he told her to get rid of me. She refused and he left her. She was young and alone with a baby and no money. We lived with my grandparents until she was 21. He must've partially come to his senses at some point because he got in touch with her when I turned 7, offering to give us a certain amount of money per month, he's been doing so ever since, but for 22 years my mother has kept him away from me. My father is alive and yet I don't even know how his face looks."

"I can't imagine how..."

"This was not an invitation for your sympathy."

We sit silently for a few minutes. I walk towards him, a new feeling of bravery overtaking my body from the few sips of wine finding its way through my body.

I sit on the floor facing him and I gently lift his head.

I slip through his legs and my lips find their way towards his. He pulls the t-shirt of my body, leaving my torso exposed with nothing but a bra on.

"Have you ever done this before?" he whispers.

"No."

His hands reach towards my back and he unclips my bra with no effort. His moves down from my lips towards my neck. I am about to lift his shirt off when my phone rings.

"Leave it."

"What if it's my mom?"

I get up and reach for my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. It's Larry.

"Hi...things are okay...he's fine...she's getting better....thanks...bye."

"That was my friend."

"Your friend has a very deep voice."

"That's a normal thing when you're a guy," I say mockingly.

"Can you turn your phone off so that we don't get more disruptions from random men," his voice has an underlying tone of annoyance.

"Larry isn't random, "I say defensively. "He was very helpful when my brother died and when my mother tried to kill herself."

He gets up and walks away, finishing the contents of his glass.

"I'm tired, you'll find me in my bedroom."

He walks to his bedroom and I am left alone topless, with a wine glass in hand.