by Mason, V. F.
Because whenever people said them to me… it never made me feel better.
Only worse.
“Me too.” He wipes away the tears sliding down his cheeks and then laughs, although it’s so cold it sends chills down my spine. “Dad probably can’t wait.”
I stay silent, not knowing what to do, and just let him speak.
Sometimes, silence is the only support we can offer when someone grieves. Or at least that’s what my teacher at school claims.
He opens his mouth to share more, when we hear a man panting far away from the road, rushing in our direction, and wearing a funny suit along with a hat.
Is he a captain or what?
The boy narrows his eyes on him and mutters, “Here we go.”
And that’s when the man reaches us, gulping for breath and wiggling his finger at the boy. “You can’t run away, young master. We were so worried.”
Young master?
I giggle at the term, and the boy sends a smile my way. I think he should do it more often, because he is beautiful when he smiles.
“Don’t sweat it, James.” He gets up, addressing me. “I gotta go. See you around, kid.” Then he gives me his ice cream along with some money. “Buy yourself some more, but don’t get sick.”
I give the money back. “No, that’s okay. But thank you!”
He pauses, either shocked or annoyed. I’m not sure which by his face expression, but then he shrugs, putting the money inside his pocket again.
With this, he walks off, but not before I run back to him, and he raises his brow while James waits for him, stepping away from us as if giving us privacy. “What’s your mother’s name?”
“Why?”
I point at the concrete. “I will write her name here. And whenever you’re sad, you can come to the playground and look at her name under the sun,” I tell him, and tears form in his eyes.
But he doesn’t let them break through, because he clears his throat and says, “Katherine. My mom’s name is Katherine.” And with this, the boy joins the man as they go to the road where a shiny black car is waiting for them, all while I stand with two ice creams melting under the sun, the sticky substance sliding over my hands.
I should have asked for his name, but I didn’t.
Instead, I finished my ice creams and wrote his mom’s name, winking at the sky and hoping it will stay here forever so he can look at it and remember.
On that day, I came home bouncing, slipping through the back door and sleeping tightly.
And the next day, I decided to be a doctor who can do the impossible, so I won’t see boys sad like him anymore.
Or at least try.
Phoenix
The gates of prison buzz loudly as I step in front of them. The guard behind me asks, “Ready for freedom, Hale?” She nudges me a little bit with her elbow, tearing my gaze away from the iron-clad gates that remind me of those in Hades, keeping all the sinful souls locked in one place while evil god rules it.
“As much as I can be,” I reply, my tone indifferent, and I shiver a little under the harsh wind, hating how my washed-out suit, the same one I wore in the last hearing at the DA’s office, barely serves as protection from this weather.
“Probably lots of plans, huh? Saw a TV program about you. They said losing you was devastating. You did wonders even in your residency years.”
Did they now?
Funny how I remember it all very differently, down to the chief of the hospital who summoned me to his office with the board of directors present to inform me they were taking away my license.
What was it he said while every eye watched me with scrutiny and judgment, mumbling snarky comments under their breaths all while chanting how much money “my little situation” could cost them?
“The police investigation showed you were driving under the influence, right after you left the prison. Which means you could have been drunk while working with the patient. This is not how we operate,” he says, glancing down and shuffling between papers. “Phoenix Hale, your license is revoked, and from today, you no longer work for this hospital or anywhere else.”
I barely hold back the bitter chuckle threatening to slip past my lips while the gates screech loudly, grating on my nerves as they finally start to slide open, so painfully slow I wonder if it’s intentionally done.
Enjoy your freedom, suckers, but not before we slow time for you one last time.
The guard continues to yap, either not noticing my disinterest in this conversation or not giving a shit about my desire. Probably both, judging by my experience in this place. “Can’t wait to get back to work, huh?”
“Hardly. I don’t have a medical license. And I don’t want it anyway.” I picture all the faces of the people who came to my hearing, which was made public for some reason despite all the press, how many relatives of my patients came, and each one of them told the judge how crazy I was. Okay, so maybe they just explained how relentless I was whenever I wanted to fully understand the diagnosis of my patients and if it was right for them. According to them, it brought chaos to their life, and sometimes they didn’t think I was stable.
Apparently, no one fucking cares my obsession helped their family members. Just based on such behavior, the judge concluded I must have drunk constantly on the job, or at least that’s what everyone accused me of.
I busted my ass for them, and no one came to support me. What’s the point of doing goodness then, if everyone uses it against me at the end of the day?
“Well, I think—”
The gate finally slides open, and I throw over my shoulder, not bothering even to let her finish, “Goodbye.” And with this, I take my first step toward freedom, the sun shining brightly on me while the wind slaps me hard, flapping my suit jacket back, yet a smile curves my mouth, welcoming the cold.
I close my eyes, lifting my face up, and breathe in the fresh air that even tastes like freedom.
Because with the click of the iron gates behind me, I know that part of my life is over.
My body and soul will forever harbor scars reminding me of it, scars that will bleed and bleed with no medication or words to soothe it.
Although the sky is a clear blue, even the birds don’t fly around or chirp loudly, enjoying the beautiful day.
A roaring of a car in the distance snaps my attention to the road where I see a vehicle speedily driving in my direction, almost in a blur, and I gasp in surprise, wanting to step away from it. Yet I can’t do anything but stand frozen, the sounds reminding me of another car.
And the inevitable crash that followed with the woman lying on the concrete, bleeding to death.
Palming my head, I pray for the voices to disappear so the weakness keeping me standing still will go away, allowing me to distance myself from the car, but it doesn’t work.
Scrunching my eyes, I wait like a sheep ready to be slaughtered, and then the loud screeching of tires on concrete brings me back to the present. I focus my stare on the tip of the bumper as the car stops about an inch away from me.
Swallowing past the bile in my throat, first I notice the rusty paint of the vehicle and several bumps. A crack is on the windshield as if someone threw a rock at it. There are more scratches on the side panels, from keys I assume as a few not-so-flattering words are written on it.
The horn of the car startles me, making me jump in place, and I put my hand on my chest, breathing heavily while my gaze lands on the driver, who waves at me.
Since I’m standing frozen in place, he exhales heavily and gets out of the car, his pink hair the first thing I notice about him. He slides his sunglasses on top of his head, showcasing his green orbs, which oddly mismatch his completely black clothes. He’s so pale I can almost see every vein pop in his neck, and both his arms have sleeve tattoos that peek out from the T-shirt he’s wearing.
He clicks his fingers at me, pointing his index one. “Phoenix Hale, right?” I nod, and he winks at me, motioning toward the vehicle. “Then hop in, babe. We
’re about to go home.” I blink in confusion at him, wracking my mind to find any clue how I could know this guy, but nothing pops up.
He must read it on my face, because he chuckles, introducing himself. “My name is Rafe Baker. I’m Sara’s brother. She must have told you about me.”
Oh my God, how could I have forgotten?
Sara almost pushed me into agreeing to stay at her place, claiming she had her room available for me while I figure out what to do. All my personal assets were split with Sebastian and then sold to pay out some part of the fine the state assigned me. I don’t have anything valuable to my name, and even though Lydia promised to sue the state for compensation, it could take years before I see any of that money back. If ever.
Which means I have no money or a place to stay. Lydia offered, but I never agreed to that.
No one needs strangers in their house. That is one harsh truth no one wants to share in fear of sounding like an asshole.
“She did. I just didn’t know she called you.”
Rafe’s brow rises. “If Sara decides something, you bet your ass it’ll come to life.” Yeah, I have to agree with him on that, as the woman’s stubbornness reared its head in full glory when she refused to go to the hospital to treat her broken nose. “So, come on. I heard someone leaked to the press that you’re getting out today, and unless you want all this—” He lifts his hand up and down in the air. “—to be gracing every newspaper in the country, we gotta get the fuck out of here.” At the reminder of the press, I quickly do as he says; I can hash out the arrangements later. Fortunately, I fasten my seatbelt just a second before he starts the car. My back presses firmly against the seat as he speeds up, moving so fast it’s a wonder I can breathe from the wind hitting me through the open windows.
Clearly, the guy doesn’t get cold, since he acts as if we’re in the middle of summer.
“Thank you,” I say, straightening up in my seat and pushing the button to close the freaking window before I catch a cold. “For coming on time.”
He waves his hand in a don’t-mention-it gesture before pressing several other buttons, and slow music echoes in the enclosed space, filling it with a familiar beat; I used to listen to this song all the time while preparing for my exams back in college. “Hey, no matter what you did, you still have rights.”
My brows furrow at this, because it sounds like he means that even if I killed someone, it’s okay and all.
And I don’t know, maybe that’s the truth, yet I don’t find it normal after years of people treating me worse than the dirt under their feet. “If you say so.”
He laughs. “Let’s be frank, shall we?” He turns his head to me, his pools filled with amusement as he speeds up a little bit—the max on his car reaching almost one hundred forty. “I don’t care what you did or didn’t do. If Sara trusts you enough to give you her room, you can’t be bad in my book.”
“Because you trust her gut?”
“Yep, my sister is not a saint and did some shit in her life. But she’d never put me in danger or worse. Above all else though, it’s trust in her judgment.” And that’s the end of the conversation for now it seems, because he turns the volume up, the music mixing with the loud whooshing of the wind almost casting us in a vacuum-like space.
Yet I can’t help but think about the words he so easily told me.
Trust.
Everything comes down to it, doesn’t it?
If you love someone, you trust them.
If the loved one says he or she didn’t do it… shouldn’t you at least give them the benefit of the doubt?
Yes, many people take advantage of that, doing horrible deeds and still making their loved ones suffer through it, presenting a façade that showcases their goodness, even though they are evil people.
But in my case, my loved ones never had a reason to not believe or trust me.
Yet every single one of them betrayed me.
And in this, even when I get my medical license back… and probably some of those people will show remorse—I know them well enough to expect that—I will never trust them.
They destroyed my heart once, and that’s shame on them.
But if I let them do it again… it will be shame on me.
* * *
I startle from my sleep, my eyes snapping open when the car stops abruptly, sending me flying forward, but the seat belt snags me back. “We’re here,” Rafe announces, turning off the car and glancing at the small black bag on my lap. “That’s all you have?”
My cheeks heat up from embarrassment, my fingers digging harshly into the leather, even though there is no running away from the truth. “Yeah.”
Three years of prison and one small bag that holds my notebooks and my documents… everything else was destroyed by Sebastian in his rage.
“That sucks” is all Rafe says before getting out of the car, and I follow, wincing at the numbness in my legs from sitting for so long. I think I fell asleep around an hour into the drive. I stretch a little while my eyes assess the view around me.
Or lack thereof, really.
We are in a grimy neighborhood. I can guess that by the disgusting smells floating in the air from the multistoried, cracked-brick buildings surrounding us. Some graffiti paintings, quite beautiful in their own way, are smeared all over the walls, and I see people sitting by the entrances, smoking joints and drinking beer.
Several stray cats and dogs roam around along with children who play on a playground that has seen better days, judging by the broken swing and dirty sand. In addition, the road around us must be bumpy, since there are several holes in it.
From the first level, where a window is open, I hear a loud female scream, “You’re fucking wasted again! I don’t make enough money for this shit.”
“Shut your mouth, Marissa!” someone yells back at her, and loud tumbling follows it.
Rafe rolls his eyes, wiggling his fingers as we move in the direction of the second building from where the shouting comes. “You’ll get used to the crazy couple. I think they argue every fucking day.”
“And stay together?” I ask. “It must be true love.”
He barks a laugh. “Oh, I think I will like you, Phoenix.” We pass by three men playing cards and drinking beer, and Rafe greets them. “Hey, guys! This is Phoenix. She’ll live here from now on.” They briefly glance my way and shrug. “Don’t mess with her.” Rafe drags me by the elbow inside the building. The air freezes in my lungs when the smell of onions and something else mixed together fills my nostrils, making me almost gag.
We go up the stairs, and I do it carefully, noticing several broken on the way. I wonder how safe this building actually is, because the walls shake with every buffeting of the wind.
Once we’re on the fifth floor, a narrow hallway with a wooden floor opens up to countless doors on either side of it.
Once again, different noises from crying to laughing to screaming and then cursing can be heard. There’s only one bulb in the whole hallway, flickering on and off, creating a darkish mood that once would have sent goose bumps through me.
Except, in prison, sometime there was no light at all, so I don’t care.
Finally, we reach the apartment almost at the end of the hall, and Rafe twists the locks. “Don’t pay attention to the mess.” And we step inside with him flicking the light on, and my jaw almost drops to the floor.
Because there is no way in hell I can’t pay attention to that!
First thing that comes into view is the small living room connected to the kitchen by its alcove-like counter, where countless food boxes are spread between it and the living room coffee table.
Clothes are spread all over the couch, the TV has several stains on the screen that look like ketchup, and the sink is full of dirty dishes, although for what I have no clue. Based on the picture presented to me, it seems all he does is order takeout.
The buzzing of the refrigerator echoes around the apartment while the spoiled smell of trash floats in the air
, making the previous smells pale in comparison.
I see a small hallway leading to three more rooms, and Rafe explains before I can ask. “One of them is a bathroom.” Dread fills me when I imagine what I will encounter there if the guy doesn’t bother with the other parts of his apartment, and he sends me a sheepish smile. “I’m really sorry about the mess. I just had midterms, so you know.”
He’s a student? Sara never mentioned that about him. The only thing she kept saying about her brother was that he’s very smart, and if only he used his brains wisely, he could have gone places.
But if he studies at the university, what other places does she want him to go?
“Oh. What degree?”
“Computer science.”
I tease him. “So you’re a wizard when it comes to technology.”
Amusement along with something else flashes in his eyes, but it’s so quickly gone I don’t have time to catch it. “You can say that. Or learning to be.”
“Good luck.” I suddenly feel so tired that I want to either sit or lie down and not think about anything. Even the mess I’ll probably clean shortly—because I’m a germ freak and won’t be able to function around all of it.
Not to mention the smell. Freedom shouldn’t smell like this.
“Where is my room?”
He face-palms his forehead before saying, “First room.” He takes out the keys from his pocket, and they dangle loudly in the room. “Sara has a rule not to enter it. I didn’t touch it, but she has clean sheets in the second drawer and some clothes too.” He scans me from head to toe, biting his lower lip. “I think you’re about the same size.”
Right.
As humiliating as it is, I don’t have any changes of clothes, and unless I have some cash on hand, I will have to borrow some of hers.
Thank you, Sara.
I walk toward it, inserting the key, when he calls, “Phoenix.” I turn my head to him as he leans on the counter, not caring how the ketchup smears his elbow. “Do you have money?”