Phantom releases a frustrated breath, but they’re not frustrated with me, I realize.
“What I mean is, you feel your emotions, fully and without apology. I admire that about you. That’s why I chose to paint you in that way. But I’m sorry. I should’ve asked your permission first.”
“You have it.”
Phantom raises a dark eyebrow.
“My permission. You have it now.”
Even shadowed, I watch as their eyes sparkle, rivaling the stars above us.
I clear my throat, willing away the rising heat in my core, but there’s no denying the effect they have on me anymore. I’m attracted to them. Insanely so. And if I don’t lock these feelings down soon, I’m afraid they’ll ruin everything.
I can’t ruin this. I just can’t.
“What are we working on tonight?” I ask, desperate for a change of subject.
“It’s a surprise.”
“For me?”
The skin framing their eyes crinkles happily. “Yes, for you.”
They discard their mug on the roof without drinking it andstand. After shoving their hands into thick gloves, they hold out a pair for me. “We’re definitely going to need these tonight.”
As I take them, I ask, “For what, exactly?”
They gesture toward the other side of the roof with a wave of their hand. “Follow me and you’ll find out.”
I take a scalding sip of my drink, burning my tongue, but I ignore the flash of pain as I stand. Following Phantom as they cross the roof, we move toward a section I’ve never noticed before. There’s a three-foot drop from the part of the roof we just came from to this new section. Phantom holds out a hand to help me down. Once I’m on my feet again, I turn toward the wall between the two sections. It’s three-fourths of the way covered in spray painted designs, all in Phantom’s classic graffiti style.
“I’ve painted a section for every year I’ve lived in Rockrose,” they say from beside me, watching me take it all in.
The first panel depicts a blood-drenched white rabbit with a crown falling from its head, stuck in a metal hunting trap. The second portrays a single drop of green acid eroding through a human hand; tissue, sinew, bone, and all. The third illustrates a man yanking their own heart from their chest; the pain etched on their face is almost unbearable to observe, the sight making my stomach churn. And the fourth panel is empty.
Phantom murmurs near my ear, “I want you to help me finish it tonight.”
I shudder. Not from the cold. Not from Phantom’s proximity. But from the feelings the images before me evoke. These paintings aren’t like Phantom’s other works. These are darker, and far more violent.
Phantom senses my hesitation.
“You don’t want to,” they say, taking several steps away from me.
I whirl on them. “No. It’s not that.”Or is it?“I’ve just never worked with spray paint before.”
“Oh,” they say with a relieved sigh. “It’s fine, I’ll teach you.”
“Okay,” I reply uneasily as I turn back to the graffiti on the wall while Phantom sets up a portable spotlight.
When they’re finished and come to stand by me again, I ask, “What do you want to paint in the final panel?”
“Hmm.” They turn their gaze toward me while they consider. “I want you to decide.”
“But this is your mural,” I remind them. “You should be the one to choose how we complete it.”
“No, that’s ridiculous,” Phantom says angrily, shifting their gaze to somewhere over my right shoulder. I turn around, following their gaze. Nothing’s there but air.
“I don’t think so,” I argue, feeling my temper rise. “This is a hill I’ll gladly die on, Phantom. You choose. Whatever you decide on, I’ll help you paint it.”
