Page 20 of Phoenix
Jessie
“MOMMY!” I hear Warren shouting, over and over again, sounding tortured.
It’s a disconcerting thing to hear a deep, low, gruff-sounding voice to be calling out like this, but I know where it’s coming from, and the natural nurturer inside of me can still interpret it as a desperate little boy trying to get to his mother. Jake often had outbursts in his sleep, and I would always hold him until it soothed him back into a more peaceful slumber. I never told him about it, just let him maintain his role as the protector; I think it gave him strength, much like it does for his cousin.
When I burst inside of his room, he’s writhing around on the bed, with nothing on but a thin sheet and a layer of sweat covering his trembling body. His tattoos seem to come to life under his skin while he wriggles and flails about, still in a deep sleep, still having an intense nightmare.
Initially, I halt and keep dead still, with fear and doubt infiltrating my senses. My natural instincts, which have already been tested beyond most humans my age, cause me to falter in my attempts to soothe the child inside of him. Within these few moments of contemplation over what to do for the best, he seems to come to with a sudden inhale of air, followed by rapid shallow breathing as he slowly comes down from whatever ordeal he was just having to battle through. Eventually, he turns to face me with such an intense look in his eyes, I jump back a little, feeling scared of what he’s going to do next.
After what feels like much too long for my nerves to withstand, he throws his hands up over his face and folds in on himself. I would never have imagined, given his size, attitude, and the fact he is a hired killer, that he could appear so vulnerable in front of me; in front of anyone.
“Warren?” I whisper as I reach my hand out toward him, even though I have no hope of ever being able to touch him from here. It’s the way I prefer it, it’s safer.
“Phoenix?!” Jake booms from behind me, and I instinctively move to the side to let him walk past me and over to his cousin who is now sitting on the side of the bed with his face still inside of his hands. The phoenix tattoo heaves up and down, looking as if it’s actually trying to break free from the flames. But it can’t. It’s forever stuck, just like he is.
“Hey, Cuz, you ok?” Jake stands before him and clasps a hand over his shoulder, crouching slightly to try and look at Phoenix more clearly. “Another nightmare?”
Phoenix wordlessly nods while trying to get his breathing back to normal, as if desperate to rid himself of his vulnerability in front of us.
“I-I’ll go,” I whisper, more to Jake than anyone, and he nods with a reassuring smile on his face. Before I can turn and leave, Warren jumps to his feet, stretches, and then turns to look at me with an expression I can’t quite figure out, something between anger and humiliation. Whatever it is, it scares me. “I’m s-sorry,” I blurt out, and duck my head in shame.
“Don’t be,” he murmurs, though the words sound as clear as day in my ears. By the time I look up again, he’s already pacing into his bathroom and switching on the shower. Jake walks slowly over to where I’m hovering and hugs me. I hold him back, only to catch a glimpse of Warren now giving us a strange look before he shuts the door on the room.
______
I wake much earlier than I did yesterday and decide to walk into the living room to start a book I found in Warren’s sister’s old room. It looks like a fantasy novel with a romance element to it, not my usual choice of genre, but I’m desperate for something to take my mind off things, so here it is. When I walk out, however, I catch Warren sitting hunched over his knees on the couch, his hands together as if in prayer, and still with that phoenix tattoo on show. Though, now it sits still, completely immersed inside the flames, not even trying to escape anymore.
“You can come in, Jess,” he says without looking at me, “I won’t bite.”
I slowly walk over to where he’s sitting and take up the armchair opposite while he remains like a statue in that same position. However, on closer inspection, I see he’s not praying, he’s holding something. It’s long, fluffy, and was once a deep purple shade, but now looks very much faded. He’s clutching it to his nose and seems to be breathing it in; it looks as if he’s taking great comfort from it.
“What’s that?” I ask without thinking about the ramifications of asking such a thing, given what I witnessed last night.
He opens his piercing blue eyes and focuses them on my green ones, holding me captive for a few moments with their intensity before finally flopping against the back of the couch and sighing heavily.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, ignoring my question completely, though I would never push him on it. “I sometimes have nightmares and, as it would seem, I talk in my sleep.”
“You were shouting, Warren, screaming in fact,” I tell him softly, still unsure of how open I can be in front of this huge assassin, one who was meant to kill me. And yet, I can see this is not who he really is; he’s still that scared little boy caught in the fire. “There’s no need to apologize for it, I was just worried, that’s all.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Jessie,” he says, almost with a bitter edge to his voice, “I can take care of myself, been doing so since I was seven.”
“That’s a little sad,” I reply, to which he looks at me with a condescending sort of smirk on his face, one that’s meant to antagonize. It’s all a front though, a ruse to keep others from thinking there is anything deeper than the façade of being a cold-blooded killer.
“You know more than anyone that life can be very sad, so why are you surprised? Do you think you’re the only one with demons in their past?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” I mutter and open his sister’s book to try and put an end to the conversation. I listen as he gets to his feet and expect him to walk away, but when I sense the shadow of his body fall over me, I reluctantly look back up to see him watching me, his arms folded, and his muscles tense.
“It’s me who should be apologizing,” he whispers sadly, “I’ll see you later.”
He grabs hold of a shirt and throws it over his head while walking through into the bar. I look back down to my book before I see him leave altogether, desperate to fall into a life that isn’t mine.
“Jessie?” he calls back, so I look up. “Do you want to go out today? I can take you on the bike if you like.”
“No thank you,” I reply, to which he frowns for a moment or two, but then seems to accept it with a small head shake. He leaves and I fall back into fiction; into a world that cannot hurt me.
If I’m inside, he can’t get me. If I stay hidden, I’m safe.
_____