“Yes, Phantom. That’s typically what partners do. They meet each other’s families, spend lots of time together, and bond over shared interests.” I glance at them, noticing their lips pressed thin and worry lines creasing their forehead.
“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you all about it. You gave me your heart, after all. I’m not going to squander it.”
Their lips are on mine again before I can take another breath and my head spins, in the best possible way.
For the next four hours, Phantom talks. They tell me about their childhood. The happy memories and the sad. They share details of their dark middle school days. About their relationship with real-life Echo. About their grandmother. About the dreams they’ve let go, the ones they still have, and the ones they’re still dreaming up. I especially hope I get to be a part of those––their dreams for the future.
I laugh so hard I find myself snorting when Phantom tells me the story of them painting over Remi’s original midterm painting. They found out Remi had been harassing me after he posted my ruined portrait online. Phantom shouldn’t have inserted themself into my battles, seeking retribution like they did on my behalf, but I have to admit, it’s hard to ignore the love, humor, and quest for karmic justice in their actions.
The tone of the conversation changes after that though, after I tell them about Remi drugging me. Phantom goes quiet, shaking with silent rage. It takes a while before they can continue to talk, but when they can, they describe the moment my paintings first caught their eye on social media. It’d been during a livestream ofme painting, and I remember that particular day—that particular painting—had been hard. I’d gotten perfect marks on one of my previous art projects, and my parents had barely even reacted after I’d told them. I’d felt so alone, so I turned to social media, reaching my arms out into the ether, desperately craving any kind of attention I could get.
“When I looked at your painting, I felt everything you felt. It was like looking through a window into your soul. You put it all on display for the world to see. I never did that with my art. I always hid behind it. But you use yours to magnify yourself, becoming larger than life. It was invigorating and addictive. One hit, and I was hooked.”
I shake my head at them. “But I wasn’t making art for the right reasons. I was making art so someone would finally notice me, instead of passing me by and ignoring me. You make art for yourself, for your heart and your mind. I wish I was more like you in that regard.”
“And I wish I was more like you. I wish I wasn’t so afraid of people seeing the real me. I don’t even think I know how to trust, at least not yet. But you trust with every fiber of your being. Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.”
Gently, they kiss my forehead before climbing up on a step ladder to begin painting the top portion of the canvas. I look at our painting and beam. It’s beyond words, and it’s only half done. My stomach flips with excitement as I return to work.
In the late afternoon, Phantom bikes to grab us some lunch. I stay behind, thoroughly consumed with painting. I feel the window Phantom was referring to. It’s thrown wide open, every rapid beat of my heart exposed to the air, and right now, it’s bleeding onto the canvas. When Phantom returns, they stand next to me, feeding me bite by bite while I paint, watching me with those eyes. Those eyes I want to watch me for the rest of my life.
After lunch, it’s my turn to talk. I go on and on about my family, telling Phantom how my parents apologized for their absenteeism before I came to Lizbeth and how much more attentive they’ve been since then. Phantom smiles at that and I thank them for being the instigator, the reason we were able to get to a healthier place in our relationship. They blush again and wave me off, but I mean it. They may have manipulated my life for their own selfish reasons at the time, but that doesn’t erase all the good it did. They should be aware of that too.
They listen as I talk about Alexis and Noah, how fiercely I miss them both. Phantom doesn’t flinch at the mention of my ex-boyfriend; no jealousy, no toxic, possessive urge to claim me as their own. They simply listen, and acknowledge the love and loss I feel for them both. It’s the most heard and respected I’ve ever felt.
We contemplate dinner but think better of it, full of adrenaline and high on love. Besides, our painting is almost complete. We’re adding the final touches when Echo comes knocking, altering Phantom’s mood like a snap thunderstorm. I hold them against my chest while they argue with her. They beg her to quiet down, to leave them alone, to let them have one solitary day of uninterrupted happiness. I kiss their tears away. It’s the only thing I can do. Phantom’s mental illness is bigger than both of us. And even though it’s a manifestation of the darkest part of their soul, I lean into it, accepting it at face value. Their darkness is as much a part of them as their light is, and I love it all.
“We’ll get you the help you need soon,” I whisper as we sit huddled on the floor before the painting.
“I should’ve gone years ago. If I hadn’t waited so long, maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so bad.”
“Phantom, you were just trying to make it through, day by day. You lived in survival mode for years. You were a child that didn’thave the love or support you required to get the care you needed. That isnotyour fault, do you understand me?”
They nod.
“But now that you’re an adult, it’s your responsibility to get treatment. You can’t just sit by and let your emotions hurt people, including yourself.” I kiss the tip of their nose before rising to stand and returning to the canvas. “Now, let’s tell Echo to fuck off for the rest of the night so we can finish our masterpiece. Then,” I look to my partner, “we can start the rest of our lives.”
I reach for their hands, pulling them to stand before lacing our fingers and crossing our hands over our hearts. I lean toward Phantom, placing our foreheads together. The pose is a real-life depiction of the painting behind us. Me and Phantom painted against an amethyst and navy background, our faces serene and at peace, as a bright golden light emits from our twined, paint-soiled hands.
I imagine that same light banishing our demons, ripping them from us like a ruined page from an old notebook, and feel a weight lift from my chest.
But my favorite part of the painting? Well, that’s easy. It’s Phantom’s smile––mask-less, scarred, and heart-stopping.
When we’re finished it’s well after midnight, but we don’t care. We fish the record player out of the wreckage from the night before and get it going, choosing the happiest, most upbeat music from Phantom’s collection. We dance and sing and scream. We sweat and laugh and make out against the wall before falling into bed together to do more.
Welive.
And it’s the most beautiful damn night of my life.
Until it isn’t.
35Stunning
We’re lounging on the bed, my head on Phantom’s bare chest, their fingers playing in my sex-mussed hair, when we hear a loud rapping at the door. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. Phantom is up and on their feet in a second, throwing on the nearest hoodie. They grab a palette knife off the table and walk over to the door.
“Open up, or I’m breaking down the door!” an angry voice says from the other side of the door.
Why does that voice sound familiar?
