Page 15 of Phoenix

“Yes,” he snaps as I run my hands uncomfortably down my face, not quite able to make sense of all this. I then look over to the quivering girl on the bed for some sort of confirmation, but she only hides her face beneath her long hair, crying and distraught over the mention of the asshole’s name.

“And you were there?” I ask, again, trying hard not to sound like I’m accusing him of anything.

“Not when he took her, no, I was too busy being locked up inside of his basement, waiting for him to deliver me a ‘sister’. We were both trapped in that basement, Phoenix, both prisoners of this weird pervert,” he cries, now with tears streaming down his face. I suddenly grow cold, wondering what the hell happened during those six years. “But I never let him touch her, Phoenix, I never let him do anything to her, I promise!”

“Ok, Jake,” I reassure him before crossing the gap between us and wrapping my arms around his shoulders so he can break down inside of them. “I believe you, man, of course you wouldn’t. It’s ok, Jake, you did a good job, trust me.”

“I was only fifteen, she was eleven,” he sobs. “He had tried to take others, but I had always been there to stop him, to try and talk him out of it. But the day he took Jessie and her friend, he kept me locked at home, down in that stinking basement; what could I do Phoenix?!”

“It’s ok, Jake, there’s nothing you could have done,” I whisper into his ear while I eye Jessie now falling apart on top of Lou’s bed. “I’m proud of you for looking after her, Jake. Look, she’s still alive and she didn’t have to endure what he could have done to her, and that’s all thanks to you.”

He looks back at her and immediately breaks free from my grasp so he can go and hold her again. I sigh heavily, feeling sick while strangely wanting to be part of the relationship they have, but instead, I walk over to the door to leave.

“Do you guys want anything?” I ask before I walk away.

“No, we’re good, Phoenix,” Jake says as he finally releases his tight grip so he can hold her hand; she refuses to even acknowledge me. “We’ll come out later; thanks, man.”

I simply nod, linger for a moment or two, and then leave.

_____

Jessie

I don’t know how much time passes by, being locked inside of Jake’s arms, but it feels like a lifetime. He feels just as warm as his cousin, while I remain cold, even in this much hotter climate. Jake’s tears dry up, just like when we were trapped inside of that basement. In fact, he very rarely let me see his pain when we were growing up with one another under forced circumstances. I always felt bad for him, having to be so strong because I was weaker. I’d often feel guilty for falling apart in front of him, but then, there was nowhere to privately let it all out, apart from behind a makeshift curtain that provided the only barrier between our room and a small bathroom. A girl going through puberty as well as being abducted meant it took me a while to get a hold of my emotions.

Jake’s fingers trail up and down my back as I burrow my face against his chest, until eventually, his breath steadies and I realize he’s fallen asleep. The poor boy looks exhausted, perhaps from his meltdown or just life, I can’t tell. As I study him with concern, I notice he’s looking pale, almost sickly, not how I remember him. He always looked so tanned, and on the rare occasion we laughed, he would have a small twinkle in his eye. Jake is the only part of that life I miss; everything else is a nightmare I try desperately hard to forget.

When I feel it’s safe to move without waking him, I tiptoe toward the door and wander out into the living area to try and find something to eat. I don’t eat a lot; I rarely have an appetite. However, I need at least something to keep functioning, so I have no choice but to engage with the outside world. Thankfully, the room is empty, though I can hear banging and crashing with the odd chuckle coming in from the bar area, so I try to keep as quiet as I can. First, I head to the cupboards where I manage to find some cereal, only to become stumped when the fridge offers nothing but a half-eaten packet of ham, a carton of orange juice, and what looks like an energy drink.

My grandmother used to eat her cornflakes with orange juice, which I always thought was weird…and gross. When I asked her why she didn’t have milk, she said it was because she was trying to keep the pounds off. She was seventy-six when she told me this, and being only eight, I accepted it without question. But now I have to question when the worrying stops; when do you finally give into just accepting who you are and being happy with it? Will this all-consuming anxiety that spreads through my chest like a plague ever end? I suppose my fears are somewhat more complex than having milk on my cereal. Perhaps if life had been normal, I too would worry about my weight to the point of analyzing each and every mouthful. Would I be any happier?

I pour the cereal into a bowl, grab a glass of OJ, and head straight over to the couch, giving over to the fact that I’ll just have to eat my cornflakes dry. As the flakes begin to stick to the roof of my mouth in a sticky, dry kind of texture, the door bursts open from the bar and the hulking figure of Warren walks in, muttering things to himself while hauling a huge crate over his shoulder. The sight of his strength, the ease with which he lifts such heavy loads, stirs strange feelings inside of me; the same I had felt on the first night I had seen his naked torso covered in a myriad of tattoos, and…that phoenix.

I remain huddled in a frozen lump of nerves on top of the couch, my spoon still floating around in the air, just waiting for the moment when he finally notices me.

“You want some milk with those?” he asks, surprising me because he hasn’t yet looked at me. When he finally brings his eyes my way, he must notice my surprise because he smirks smugly to himself. His arrogance only makes those feelings return full force, to the point whereby I drop my spoon with a loud clatter inside of the bowl. “Jess, not only did I have a career in being a paid assassin, but my sister was also just as quiet and unassuming as you once upon a time; in fact, she was mute until she was six.”

“Oh,” I manage to reply before averting my eyes away from the sight of his skin, which is now slightly red from exertion, with a thin layer of perspiration covering his brow, and a vein that is still raised from lugging that crate around on his shoulder. Strength against weakness; warmth against coldness; the wolf against a mouse.

“Jake asleep?” he asks as he switches on the coffee machine, the sound snapping me out of my thoughts; the images of what we must have looked like on that stormy night.

“He is,” I reply, “completely wiped out.”

“Can I ask you something?” he says, then smirks when I simply shrug with a non-committal nod of my head. “Were you ever more than…er…friends?”

Something about his question irks me, which is probably unfair because he wouldn’t have any idea how it felt growing up with someone under those circumstances. To me, his question is tantamount to asking him if he ever had sexual feelings toward his sister. But to him, Jake and I are just a completely unrelated boy and girl, living in close proximity while trying to survive a terrifying ordeal. So, although I want to snap back at him to mind his own Goddamn business and not be such a sick bastard, I simply shake my head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuine as he turns around to grab a couple of cups from the cupboard. “Coffee?”

“Please,” I reply, “thank you, Warren…Phoenix?”

He laughs softly to himself, shaking his head before passing over the cup of hot coffee to my awaiting hands. I hold it close to my chest because I’m still that cold.

“Everyone calls me Phoenix around here,” he says, “but Warren is the name on my birth certificate, so…”

“Why ‘Phoenix’?” I ask, because with the tattoo and everything else I’ve come to learn about him, it surely has to mean something.

“Because everyone has their battle scars, Jess,” he replies cryptically, “why ‘Jessie’?”

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