Page 19 of Phoenix
“Nooo!” I hear her cry and break into a quiet whimper. It’s heartbreaking to hear someone so innocent sound like that over you asking to come inside.
“Mia, sweetheart, you can’t stay in there,” I say softly, “please, don’t be scared of me. I wasn’t the one who shot your parents, that guy isn’t here and I’m not going to take you anywhere near him. Ok?”
“No, no, no!” She begins panting in a panic over my impending entrance to her hidey hole. But fuck it, I’m going to have to follow this through now. She can’t stay in there forever, drowning in her own urine and fear.
I mentally count to three before twisting the doorknob and yanking it open, like ripping off a band-aid. The smell of stale piss hits me first, right before she begins shuffling backward in desperate, panic-induced movements. I ignore her hands flapping around at me and grab hold of her wrist, which is so small my thumb and forefinger touch. I then gently pull her toward me, still with her fighting to get away. With no other idea of what to do, I wrap my arms around her and tuck her inside of my chest to hug it out while she thrashes around like a wild animal, extinguishing all of her energy until she’s a small, defeated huddle inside of me.
Her hands are still braced against my stomach as she loses the battle and instead flops against me and cries, letting it all out over my shirt while I shush her. I begin stroking her hair in gentle movements like you would a dog who is freaking out. Eventually, she falls still, even her crying has ceased, and I know she is completely spent. Exhaustion has finally hit her.
With that in mind, I carry her over to the bed and lie her on top, where she curls herself into the fetal position and closes her eyes, as though defeated. Her breathing soon turns deep and steady, sleep taking her under into a place where she might feel safe, away from all the horror that has happened to her today. I then set about trying to mop up the urine inside of the room, which takes a while seeing as the rest of the house is like a hoarder’s paradise. It takes me nearly half an hour to find some clean paper towels and a mop to clean the laminate flooring. I then look at her and brace myself for what I know I need to do, even though I feel like a fucking pervert for doing it.
I unbutton the fly to her jeans and begin to pull them down, exposing her tanned, smooth skin over her long legs. The denim is saturated and almost stone-cold. I try to pull them off as smoothly as I can, so as not to wake her, a difficult feat when they’re sticking so closely to her skin. As I study the skin on her legs more closely, I notice a red rash developing, probably through the acidity of her urine. It tells me I need to remove her panties too, though the thought makes me feel sick with myself. She’s going to imagine the worst when she wakes up, but what can I do? They’re soaked through and inflaming her skin.
I look away as I take hold of the sides to pull, but then decide the easiest thing is to just rip them apart and pull her shirt down as quickly as possible. It’s a struggle, but I think I manage to do it with her modesty left intact. I just know I’ll have some explaining to do when she finally wakes up.
With little else to do, I remove my jacket, tuck it under my head on the rug, and curl up to go to sleep. Lord knows what I’ll be waking up to, probably a cop’s gun being shoved against my temple, but I can no longer even try to keep my eyes open. I’m just too exhausted. Besides, now that I know Mia is somewhat safe, I’m happy to let unconsciousness consume me.
When the light is bright enough to force my eyes to open, I take a moment to reacquaint myself with the alien room before me. The ordered books along the desk, the neatly folded uniform sitting on the chair beside her bed, and the half-melted scented candles along the window sill. The only mess in this room is the piles of towels and urine-soaked clothes that I had removed from Mia the night before. In fact, it’s so neat and tidy, it’s hard to believe that just outside of her door, something akin to a landfill is stinking up the remainder of the house. The thought of which has me realizing that I need to get Mia out of here. Her dead parents will be starting to smell, even above the stench of their filth. When I brave it, I turn over to look at the sleeping girl and feel immense pity for her. She wasn’t like them; she was a victim of their lifestyle.
Eventually, when I feel I have enough energy to get through this, I sit up and stretch. I’ve slept on many floors before, but I can’t say I’ve ever gotten used to it. It makes you feel about a hundred years old no matter what age you are. I rub my hands over my face, then get to my feet to try and nudge the girl awake. However, when I take a closer look, I notice she’s trembling; is she pretending to be asleep?
“Mia?” I whisper and notice her whole body tense up in response. With a long sigh, I prepare myself for the ensuing battle I’m about to have with a terrified girl. With caution, I carefully sit beside her and rest my hand on her back, wincing when I feel her shuddering against me. “Mia, please—"
Before I can finish my reassurances, she begins thrashing against me, screaming and panting with complete fear in her voice. I hold her down, not only to stop her from running and giving away my name to the cops but also to save her from finding her parents bloodied and dead in the other room. It doesn’t take too long for her to lose her energy and submit to my hold over her, but her panting continues as she stares up at me with wide, moss-green eyes.
“Mia,” I whisper to her with the softest voice I can muster, one full of sorrow for her, “Mia, I’m sorry.”
As soon as I say those final words, her whole body seems to fold in on itself and she begins to howl with tears. It shocks me, her relenting in her fight to show me her vulnerability. Once I’m over the initial surprise, I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. I hold her for as long as she needs me to; I owe her this and so much more.
When her cries eventually subside, and her breathing steadies, I take a chance to talk to her again.
“Mia, sweetheart, I need to get you out of here,” I tell her, “you can‘t stay in this place. You know what happened to your parents, don’t you? You know they’re not here anymore, don’t you?” She gives no answer, just keeps her body slumped against mine. “Mia, this is what we’re going to do, we’re going to pack a bag of your stuff, ok? Whatever you need, we’ll put in a bag, and I’ll drive you someplace safe, ok?”
She doesn’t communicate, not even a nod of her head, so I pull back to look at her. She gives me nothing, just those sad, moss-green eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to work out she’s in shock; I’m more likely to get an answer from the dead couple out back than I am from this girl. I slowly let go of her and get to my feet. She wraps her arms around her legs and watches as I begin to look around for a bag. I try to hold up items, asking her if she wants them, but she simply stares straight into space. In the end, I pull out some clothes, grab a few books, and a framed photo of her and a man, which is sitting on her bedside table. I then sling the bag over my shoulder and reach out for her hand.
“Come on, Mia,” I tell her, but she simply continues to stare at it with an indecipherable expression. “I will look after you, Mia, I promise.”
Still, she makes no attempt to move. I feel for her, I really do, but my patience is wearing thin. Besides, the idea of two corpses lying not ten feet from here is beginning to make me feel itchy with anxiety.
“MIA!” I eventually shout, causing her to jump and for me to feel like more of an asshole than usual. “Mia, take my hand, NOW!”
It might well have been a shitty act on my part, but it works. She lets me take her hand away from her knee and drag her to her feet. She looks even smaller than she did last night, but I have no time to worry about it; I need to get her and me out of here before someone comes by to discover the murder that took place in the room down the hallway.
When we step outside of her room, her trembling begins to intensify, and she clings to me for dear life. Something about this house terrifies her even more than I do, even knowing what I must have done to her parents not more than twenty-four hours ago. I hold her hand a little tighter, wrap my other arm around her waist, and begin to shuffle us out before the smell can fully infiltrate our noses. Avoiding the detritus around our feet, I manage to get us outside to where my bike stands, looking like a dream come true. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to get Mia and me far away from this shithole.
I lift Mia onto the back of my bike, put my helmet on her, and then get on the front. Just as I’m about to kick off and hit the rev, she grabs hold of my upper arm and pulls back.
“Y-you won’t ever bring me back here, will you?” she asks in no more than a whisper. “P-please, don’t ever bring me back to this place.”
“Ok, Mia,” I tell her, even though her pleas confuse me, “I promise. You have my word!”
_____
Phoenix
But that’s where it ended. I thought there’d be more, something to tell us about how we came to be, something that would remind me that I was more than just ‘Phoenix’. I was once Warren, a normal little boy with a mother, a father, and a baby sister. Because, other than snippets of dancing around in that house with Mom or watching them bickering like a couple who were truly in love, I can’t remember a damn thing about my life before I became the ‘Phoenix’, the hero, the monster…the myth.
Chapter 8