Page 39 of Phantom
Panicking has clouded my thoughts. It buzzes through me, gripping my chest like a vise. If I don’t get relief soon, I know I’ll pass out, or worse.
Do panic attacks alone cause mania?
I grunt in frustration at the anxiety and hopelessness scratching at my lungs right now.
I’m not thinking straight.
I know this.
One side of me says everything has an explanation. It desperately begs me to lie down and chill out, that this will all pass soon enough.
The other side is just as loudly screaming that I conjured up a vision in the middle of my rehearsal and is instructing me to do everything in my power to feel better as soon as possible.
Despite all the logic trying to break through the barrier of hysteria controlling my mind right now, I listen to the side that promises immediate relief and snatch one of my pill bottles up. As soon as I wrench the top open, pills clatter to my makeup desk and I frantically collect them in my hand.
It’s too many.
I know this.
And yet…
I can’t stop myself.
I swallow them whole, choking until I grab my water bottle from my nightstand. When I’m finished, I slam it back down onto the surface… right next to a spotless white rose with a bloodred ribbon tied around the thornless stem, and an envelope adorned with a crimson wax skull seal.
The rose and letter halt me in my place. My mind finally slows for once. With shaking fingers, I carefully open the envelope, keeping the skull intact like I have with every letter over the past several months.
The past.Several. Months.
Oh my god, what have I been doing? Why the hell have I been avoiding looking into this lunatic? My caring, thoughtful demon of music could be a fuckingserialkillerfor all I know. The Phantom of the French Quarter, the enforcer to the modern-day New Orleans Capulets against the Montagues, two glorified Mafia families. Rand says the Bordeauxs are dangerous. What would happen if I’veblindlyfallen into the middle of their feud? Why have I been so naive about this man? Is it because I’m afraid of what it means if he’s real? Or is Jilliana right? Am I terrified I’ve been doing this to myself all along?
I gulp, trying to push out my racing thoughts to investigate the newest letter. A folded wad of paper rests inside the envelope and I gingerly pull it out, already dreading what I’ll find.
One by one, my trembling hands set out sheet after sheet of music, all from my so-called demon. All perfectly intact. Like Jilliana hadn’t ripped them to shreds hours ago. I swivel around to the coffee table, hoping to see those scraps of music sheets piled high, evidence of what Iknowhappened today. My stomach flips at the sight of the perfectly clean coffee table.
My heart lodges in my throat and I fall to my knees, the music sheets scatter around me. Tiny drops of water smear the carefully handwritten notes. It’s someone else’s writing. Not mine. It can’t be mine. Right?
Puddles of tears form on the page like watercolors, wiping out whole measures of the songs. My vision darkens as the world presses in. I clutch my throat, trying to breathe but something is lodged there… no… it’s just my own voice.
I’m screaming.
Someone pounds on the door behind me as I rock back and forth. I curl up on my faux fur rug that covers my dorm’s carpet, trying to take comfort in its softness, hopingsomethingwill calm me down.
A crash and a thump batter my senses as whoever was at my dressing room door bulldoze it open, causing it to slam against the wall.
“Shit, Scarlo—”
Voices from the hallway talk over one another.
“What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“Is she okay?”
“Wait, who is—”
“Close the door, Dominguez.” My fingers clutch the rug until a familiar deep bass croons to me. Strong hands curve around my shoulders. “It’s me,ma petite muse. Listen to my voice, it’s just me.”
My ravaged mind doesn’t know who “me” is, but my body does. Leather, whiskey, and warm sugar fill my nose, giving me the oxygen I’ve searched for ever since this panic attack started. The man—my demon—pulls me into his chest. I cling to him instantly. He’s my port in this storm and relaxation settles deep into my bones as a song vibrates against my ear from his chest.
