Page 43 of Guarded By the Phantom

“The pookah entrap those who display a lack of self-awareness and crippling anxiety. In a truly predatory fashion, they assess potential victims to gauge their level of self-assuredness, and settle on those who walk with fear in their step and look to outside cues for directions and reassurance that they are not in the wrong.

The best protection against a pookah is thus a confident mind and a self-aware constitution in one who knows oneself and understands perfectly one’s goals and desires.

A mind unsure of its own preferences will easily bend to another’s will.”

I spent a long time sitting in my window nook and thinking while outside, the world plunged into a misty October dusk.

Could it be that I didn’t truly know what I wanted in life? Did I rely on outside cues to know how to conduct myself?

With tightness in my throat, I answered both questions at once. Yes, I did. I followed orders like a brainless sheep and didn’t even stop to think what I wanted, because I believed everything I came up with on my own had to be wrong.

I rarely spoke up for fear of saying the wrong thing. Even with my friends, I was always reserved, always careful in what I said and did. Honestly, they weren’t even my friends, just acquaintances. I never let anybody close enough to call them a friend.

The more I thought about it, the clearer it became how insecure I was. I studied every person I talked to for cues and adjusted immediately if their reaction suggested I said something unwelcome. I was so afraid of their judgment, I held myself rigid, never speaking my truth, never even wondering what my truth might be.

I was a puppet.

And yet, there was one person who aggravated me so much, I couldn’t even focus on playing my part. He spoke so freely and was so clearly non-judgmental of himself and the world that it was easy to talk to him. To be myself.

Someone rapped on my door, jerking me out of my thoughts. The knock was demanding just like my mother’s, but it was also way louder than hers. I realized I sat in the dark, the only light coming from my bedside lamp. The window I sat by was streaked with raindrops.

“It’s open,” I called out, hugging a pillow.

Phantom came in, leaving the door open. He leaned in the doorway, regarding me with a grin.

“Are you trying to starve yourself? Did your teacher’s comments about your horse legs really affect you that much? ‘Cause I can tell her a word or two.”

I smiled. I had another long session with Madame Morozova that day and Phantom sat in on it, polishing his gun and glaring at my teacher when she criticized me, which was all the time. Tough as she was, Madame ignored his gun and posturing, conducting the lesson as usual. She told me I was almost passable at the end, which was practically glowing praise.

Phantom continued with that easy grin. “I can tell her a whole bunch of words, and I guarantee, she will be as nice as pie. Which, incidentally, you missed at dessert. I ate it all.”

I snorted, shaking my head. He was right. It was dark outside, and I’d missed dinner. It was telling that my mother didn’t cometo see me, though. She was usually angry when I missed meals, but these days, she chose to give me the cold shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have had the pie, anyway,” I said with regret.

My mother hated it when I ate dessert. She said she could see it turn into fat on my hips at once.

“Why?” Phantom asked, folding his arms as he settled more comfortably in my doorway, as if it was the exact place he wanted to be in. He had that way of commanding space as if whichever part of the world he occupied belonged solely to him. I secretly envied it.

“Because…” I broke off, realizing I was reaching for a good argument because… because…

I lied. I actually did want the pie. And I was angry he ate it all.

“I want pie,” I said suddenly, the force in my voice surprising me. “Now. I want it now.”

Phantom laughed and stepped out into the corridor. He came back a moment later, bearing a tray with dinner and, yes, a big plate of blueberry pie with a dollop of whipped cream on top. My mouth watered.

“I was going to eat it,” he said. “But I left this one piece in case you wanted some.”

“How kind of you,” I said drily, which made him chuckle as he came in, setting the tray on my desk. “You can have my dinner. I hate steamed chicken breast. I’d rather just have the pie.”

He looked at my plate with a grimace. “Yeah, you know what, I’d rather skip this one. Looks so unappetizing. If I had a cook and she made me this, I’d cook her instead.”

I froze, staring at him. He snickered and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, doll. Some abominations eat human meat, but I’m not one of them. Tried it once and wasn’t a fan, to be honest.”

He pulled out my chair for me, but I didn’t move. “You tried… human meat.”

“Well, yeah,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “That night I told you about, when they almost burned me to death. See, abominations heal real fast but we need crazy amounts of protein to heal extensive damage. There was nothing else to eat, so if I wanted to live, I had to make do.”

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