Page 40 of Phantom
My savior sings in French. I don’t know the lyrics off the top of my head, but my addled mind still recognizes the tune. It’s one of the songs my demon sent me, “La Vie en rose,” only the way he sings it makes it sound like a lullaby.
“Get them out of here,” my savior hisses.
A door slams and the bustle of voices and questions disappear.
“Try to sing with me, Scarlett,” he whispers into my hair. The song resumes and I open my mouth to obey him, but my chest hurts too much.
“I c-can’t. My chest—”
“It’s because you’re not breathing. Come on, Scarlett.” Concern creases his brow as he pierces me with his midnight gaze from behind his skull mask. “You were born for this. Sing for me.” He places a large hand across my belly, below my rib cage. “From here.”
The combination of his embrace and the drugs are starting to calm my senses and I’m feeling lighter. Muscle memory engages my diaphragm right underneath his palm, and I suck in much-needed breaths to sing the English version of “La Vie en rose” while he hums. My eyes flicker open and closed as I attempt to keep his intense gaze. Together we sing about roses blooming and angels singing and my heart rate starts to slow down… until it getstooslow.
On that revelation, my mind tries to panic again, and as if on cue, my friend’s voice, laced with worry, interrupts us.
“She took these, Phantom. Is that why she’s acting like this?”
Phantom.
“Fuck. No,thisis a panic attack, but those drugs will be working soon enough. Count them. Quickly. She got them today so hopefully they’re all in there.”
Pills fall silently onto the rug and my eyes beg to open, but they’ve finally closed for good. My senses are already too overloaded, so I rely on the others to calm down and assess. Like smelling whiskey, sugar, and leather, or listening to the soothing voice I’ve heard in my dreams. If I open my eyes, will those things go away?
“How many did you take?” I’m jostled and brought to a sitting posture, one strong hand cups my face and shakes me not too gently. “Scarlett, baby.” My demon’s voice is harsher than before. “Answer me. How many did you take?”
“I-I don’t know.” My lips are numb and my tongue is thick. I can’t seem to hold myself up, but I want to tell my demon that I’m fine, that I know what I’m doing. But the words don’t form.
“It’s a thirty-count bottle,” my friend answers for me. His name is on the tip of my thoughts… but it’s slipping away. “There are twenty left, but she’s got more brand-new bottles I’ll have to count and there are pills everywhere.”
“Goddamnit.”
“She should go to the ER, sir. She needs to be evaluated by a psychiatrist, maybe even get her stomach pumped.”
I feel a scream build up and escape, but once it leaves my lips I only manage a whimper. “Please… no… no psych ward. Can’t go back…”
“Jamais, mon amour.I will take care of you.” He speaks with such authority that even though I don’t know what he meant, I relax in his hold, trusting him. “Call my brother, tell him to bring Dr. Portia to me.”
“Where will you be?” my friend asks, although the question seems slower than his usual cadence.
“He’ll know. Just do it.”
The world moves underneath me as my demon stands up, giving me the same queasy feeling I get when I’m on a boat. I try to push away but the arm cradling my upper back rights me and clutches me tighter while my demon sings to me again in French.
“I… I don’t know the words,” I complain numbly. My savior huffs a laugh, interrupting his sweet lullaby, and he kisses the crown of my head while squeezing me close, now with one arm surrounding my back and one underneath my legs.
“You don’t need to know the words when you inspire them,ma muse.”
“But I w-want to know them,” I insist. My frazzled mind and emotions are clinging to his music as deep slumber threatens to swallow me.
“I’ll teach you, but for now, hum along. Let the music free you from the darkness in your mind.”
My eyes peek open and burn in bleary focus at lamps ensconced in stone walls as we move through a tunnel.
Where are we?
I want to ask the question, but my mind is everywhere and nowhere, kind of like wherever we are…
The leather and whiskey scent is joined by the smell of damp earth. The lamps do little for lighting but my demon seems to have no trouble. It feels like we’re descending. Lower and lower we go until we finally stop.
