Their eyes nearly glow with the promise. “Tonight, we’ll live as we’ve never lived before.”
And stupidly, I completely believe them.
Phantom cut me out of my restraints, which were in fact shoelaces, after I agreed to their crazy scheme, and encouraged me to freshen up in the bathroom.
I’m brushing my teeth when I hear Phantom turn on some music. After only a few notes, I realize it’s the same song we danced to not even a week ago, the first time I came here. Despair blooms, the petals black and frosty, in the pit of my stomach when I think about how much has changed since then. We’d been so happy, so ready to commit to each other. But I didn’t even know who Phantom was back then. They were as good as a stranger.
That might change tonight.
A few hours ago, I would’ve been excited by that prospect, but now all I feel is dread.
“What are we painting?” I ask as I exit the bathroom, refusing to let the fear show on my face.
Phantom studies me as they lean back against a table full of paint tubes.
“Well, I’m baring my soul to you,” they say. “So, I think it’s only fitting to depict that in the painting as well.”
“How so?” I ask.
“I’m not sure yet,” they admit. “Let’s just start and see where the muses take us.”
“I’ve never done that before,” I confess.
They question me with an arch of their eyebrow.
I purse my lips before explaining, “I always plan the composition out before I start painting.”
They nod, turning back to the canvas. “Let’s just wing it tonight.”
“All right,” I agree. “Then start talking.”
When their gaze returns to me, all I see is fear; the sight of it in their eyes all too familiar.
“Pick a color,” they instruct, pointing to the table with their paintbrush. “I guess the only place to start is at the beginning.”
I grab a wooden palette and a tube of paint the color of amethyst. Phantom’s eyes glint their approval of my choice. I can’t stop myself from rolling my own back at them.
They begin their tale while they prepare their own palette, opting for colors that complement my own. “I was born into a family of artists. My mother is a successful sculptor and my father is a well-renowned painter. So, it’s no surprise they only had one measure of value for me.” They pause as they hold their paintbrush poised before the canvas, their expression dark and deeply uncomfortable.
This won’t be easy for them to talk about, I realize.
“Sounds similar to Emmy’s family situation,” I say quietly.
Phantom nods. “Yeah, the Archibalds are my parents’ friends.”
I narrow my eyes at them. “Then how doesn’t Emmy know who you are?”
They peer sidelong at me as they ask, “You don’t want me skipping to the end, do you?”
I roll my eyes again and start painting. Since the canvas is huge, I make my brush strokes wide and sweeping.
“I think I still remember some of the good times, from before I was old enough to hold a paintbrush. But I’m not completely sure. Sometimes I worry I made the memories up. They seem too good to be true, even now.” I sneak a look at them across thecanvas. Their gaze is contemplative, and they paint in a deep navy blue. “I remember Dad reading to me in bed and Mom letting me help her bake a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.” Their tone grows angry. “But those memories sound ridiculous now. Mom hasn’t stepped foot in a kitchen in well over a decade, and Dad couldn’t keep his hands off a canvas or a bottle of bourbon long enough to acknowledge my existence.”
I turn back to the canvas, freeing them from my gaze. It’s not privacy exactly, but I think it might help.
“When I entered elementary school, everything changed. They taught me art. How to paint, sketch, sculpt, and dream. At first, I loved it. It was something we all shared, the three of us. Our creativity and love for art. But then I turned seven, and my parents made some wealthy and powerful friends in the art community. Their careers took off and we moved from Seattle to Chicago. At the time, I was too young to mind much. I remember being excited to make more friends. New friends that loved art as much as me.”
I walk back to the table, switching paintbrushes and adding black to my palette. Phantom keeps their back to me, continuing to paint all the while.
