Page 8 of Euphoria
“She signed the papers. She didn’t even read it, you know how she never, ever reads things when we tell her to.” I shake my head, smiling.
Bowie chuckles. “Oh, little lamb, so what you’re saying is by law, she’s our wife?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Your cousin Harley is here too and he’s pushing up on her. I should kill him,” I state.
“I’m on my way,” Bowie says. “And Nix, thanks for calling me.” He hangs up.
I take another deep breath and make my way towards Bambi.
* * *
Throughout the entireexchange between me, her and Harley Hanlon, Jagger’s idiotic cousin that everyone tolerates but doesn’t fuck with, I’m ready to murder.
“Yes, wife. Now, shut the fuck up and show me around before I murder this man in cold blood, then spread it all over your beautiful pant suit,” I say meaning every word.
Harley having the nerve to fucking challenge me like this tells me he’s forgotten the fact that I beat his ass back in high school, almost putting him six feet under. Bambi doesn’t move fast enough so I reach out, bunching up the lapels of her blazer in one hand. I snatch her little ass away from Harley, pulling her even closer to me. “Are you fucking deaf, Bams?”
“Not here,” she whispers. “Please, it’s my job,” she pleads with me.
I curl my lip in disgust but that’s not how I’m feeling. Fuck, I love it when she’s like this. “Then do your fucking job.” I grunt my response and practically drag her with me to the next art piece.
“Let go!” She whispers harshly right above her pleading whisper. Trying to pull my hand away from her blazer discreetly.
I lean in closer to her face,which honestly is back breaking. Fucking shorty. “Don’t make me embarrass you, Bambi. You know, I’d enjoy a few delightful stories about one of the infamous Bishops fuck ups in the tabloids. These people don’t really give a fuck about you and they won’t save your little ass either.”
“I’ll behave if you let go. I need this job, Markos.”
I cringe at the name. I let her go instantly. “Call me that again and I’ll handcuff you to me for the rest of the night.”
Her eyes are wide. She clears her throat, looking around at the people who were pretending to mind their business. Nosy fuckers.
* * *
Bambi
I need to make an escape, quickly. I blink again, stealing another glance at Phoenix as he stares at the painting in front of him. He’s so beautiful. I didn’t expect to ever see him again but now I feel like I’ve done myself a disservice. How could I go on for so long without knowing whether he was doing good? I know about his condition. I’ve always known but when I was an idiot sixteen-year-old, I thought the world of him. I told him he wasn’t what they diagnosed him as, he was more than that.
Now I want to feel that way but I’m afraid because I know it makes Phoenix unpredictable. He isn’t like the rest of us. He can’t process things like we do. Everything he’s doing, he knows that I can feel a certain way about it all but to him this is rational. This is okay to him. Even if it’s not.
I shake my head, taking him in. His dark hair is slicked back, falling a bit past his shoulders. He’s wearing a black crisp dress shirt with golden bumblebees tucked into black dress pants and complemented with dress shoes. The top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, revealing a gold chain with a bird that has their wings spread wide open. I never thought I’d see it again. It was my gift to Phoenix. There was no reason for it but I still got it for him.
His reaction to the necklace was odd, it was like he was unaffected and that’s when he told me about his condition.
“Stop staring at me.” Phoenix’s words sound downright poisonous.
“I, I’m not staring,” I confess.
Phoenix scoffs. “Right and I have no ass cheeks,” he says sarcastically.
I can’t help it as I crack and snort. Phoenix is a buffoon. This makes him turn towards me and just stare at me. It can unnerve you if you’re not used to him but for me it is comforting and I can’t let him know that. I blink rapidly, looking away and walking away to the next painting.
Phoenix follows. I clear my throat, “This is…” I lose the words because this is my painting and I don’t remember ever putting it up.
I usually hide my work and never sell it. I stare at it. The dark red and purple colors stand out much more but if you concentrate, you’ll see the same big winged bird. Its wings are bleeding off the painting and behind the wings, there is one golden-brown eye and another blue one. Eyes belonging to two certain someones who haunt me in my dreams.
“You painted this, didn’t you?” Phoenix says.
“No, I didn’t,” I lie.
Phoenix’s glare burns a hole to the side of my temple and I sheepishly look up at him. “Don’t lie to me, Bambi. I know your signature. That X.O. in the corner is yours. I know you, short stacks. Every single footprint you leave behind, I can identify it as yours with my eyes closed. Don’t ever fucking lie to me.”
Phoenix grunts and walks off. I scoff. I’m so confused. Why is he mad all of a sudden, or rather his form of being mad?
