Phoenix (10 page)

“This is so thoughtful of you. I love it. I love the piano keys and the
roses.”

“You are my rose,” he whispers.

“What?” I ask softly.

“You are beautiful, just like a rose.”

“Phoenix.” My breathing becomes laboured at the way he’s looking at me.

He prowls toward me now, head down, hair hanging over his face, and uses
his hands to spread my legs wider. I let him. His fingers move along my inner
thighs, reaching for the apex. He lowers me slightly so that he can put his
mouth on my neck. Then he licks me from the base of my throat to the line of my
jaw.

My every pore feels as though it is ready to explode.

I run my hands over his muscular shoulders, taut beneath the blue work
shirt he’s wearing. Then, taking a deep breath for courage, I let my hand fall
to his crotch. I can feel how hard he is even though I’m barely touching him. His
mouth pauses on my neck and it feels like he is shaking. I quickly withdraw my
hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

He shoves away from me and walks to the other side of the room. Running
both hands through his hair, he looks at me with an agonised expression.

“Don’t apologise,” comes his choked response. “It’s so easy to be with
you, but it’s also difficult for me to let you touch me like that. It’s been so
long and I…I find it hard not being the one in the lead.”

“Why?” I ask, barely a whisper.

I don’t understand how he can touch me but not let me touch him back in
the same way. I think through the few brief intimate times we have shared and
realise that it had always been him holding the reins, being in control of the
situation.

Air seeps from his mouth in a sigh as he walks back and slides up onto
the table beside me.

“You remember the women I told you about? The ones who were my reward for
winning a fight?”

“Yes,” I reply, watching how he is wringing his hands.

“Close to the end I had no interest in them, but often they wouldn’t take
no for an answer. So, I would lie there motionless, no longer in my right mind,
and they would…they would do what they wanted to me. Richard, I mean, the British
man, told them not to leave until they had fucked me.”

I gasp and take his hands into mine. I can’t think of a thing to say.

“It’s another of the reasons why I became celibate. For a long time,
women repulsed me. I couldn’t stomach being with them. But then there was you,
Eve. So fucking sweet and innocent. So unlike those women from the fights, and
the things I once felt for the opposite sex started returning to me. I mean,
even that first time we had dinner together I couldn’t stop myself from propositioning
you. I wanted you from the start. But I am still having difficulty with the
parts that involve you touching me, instead of the other way around. When I
said you weren’t ready for all of me, it was a lie. Because the truth is that I
am not ready for all of you.”

My eyes grow wet as I stare at him. “Phoenix, I would never touch you
unless you wanted me to.”

“I know that, darling,” he says, reaching out to wipe away the tear that
is falling down my cheek. “Never cry for a lost cause.”

“You’re far from a lost cause. You can’t imagine how much you have
changed me for the better in the short time I’ve known you.”

“Don’t say that if it isn’t true.”

“It’s true, Phoenix.”

He grips my hand tight and clears his throat. “So, you like the box?” he
asks tentatively.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful. I can put all of my jewellery and knick
knacks in it.”

“I’m glad.” He smiles at me with dark eyes and we sit in silence for a
moment.

“Tell me about the British man, Phoenix,” I whisper. “You said his name
was Richard.”

He emits a small, joyless laugh. “Yes, that was his name. Most of the
time, though, he made me call him Commander. He was a psychopath of the highest
calibre. A human trafficker. Modern day slaver. Lowest of the low. You don’t
want to know about him, Eve.”

“I want to know what happened to you. Did you ever tell the police? After
you got free of him, I mean?”

His expression grows dark. “No. When it came down to it, I did not need
the police to be free of him.”

“How then?” I ask, breath gushing out of me.

“You have to understand, my entire life was played out in an underground
world where illegality didn’t exist. The fights I fought were not voluntary. They
were forced and they were to the death. Now, a lot of the men I went up against
were not enslaved like I was. They chose that life for the money it could
bring.”

“To the death?” I gasp. I didn’t know circuits like that even existed. I
thought they were simply the creations of over-the-top gangster films.

“Yes, Eve, to the death. I have killed. Not by choice, but under duress I
have killed many. On my final fight my head was filled with thoughts of how I
had lost myself, how the world was this grey place and I was merely existing
within it. When I looked out into the crowd, I saw a rose on the ground. It was
the only thing I could see colour in and it gave me my spirit back, made me
want to break free. I ended the fight and leapt from the ring, running through
the audience.”

A rose. He said I was his rose.

“Men tried to stop me but I was ravenous at that point and fought all of
them off. I managed to get to the area where bets were placed. I incapacitated
the bookie before taking as much money as I could fit in a plastic bag. I
finally got out of the building, which was at the end of a functioning
industrial estate. I ran. Some of Richard’s hired muscle caught up with me and
beat me, almost bashed in my skull. I fought back and escaped them again. They
shot at me and got me in the shoulder. As luck would have it, a cargo lorry was
driving by and I jumped onto the back of it.

“I lost consciousness then and when I woke up I was still in the lorry in
another industrial estate hundreds of miles away. Half bled out, I climbed from
the vehicle and started walking. Finally, I came to a wooded area and sat down
to rest. With my bare hands I dug a hole and hid the money. When I awoke I was
in a hospital bed in a town close to this one. A couple who were out walking in
the woods found me and called an ambulance. That is how I ended up in this part
of the world.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. So he
was
faking the memory loss to
the workers at the hospital after all.

“I can’t believe you escaped him after all those years. I can’t believe
Richard never found you.”

“Oh, he found me,” says Phoenix, his words barely audible.

“What?” I breathe.

“I said, he found me. The people at the hospital thought I might be a
missing person, so they put notices in the newspapers with my picture. I told
them I couldn’t remember anything and they believed me. I had nowhere to go
anyway, not back to Greece, to a father who had sold me, and not to the life of
fighting I had run from. After they released me from the hospital, I went and
dug up the money I had buried. I counted it and found I had over one hundred
thousand pounds. I rented a room and began working for a construction company
for a while. Nobody was going to sell me a house with a plastic bag full of
money and no identification.

“For months I worked and managed to create a small semblance of a life.
Then, they came for me in the night, Richard and two of his goons. Little did
they know, I was well aware they had been watching me and I was ready for them.
It is kind of poetic to think that for years Richard trained me to be a killer
and then died at the very same hands of the murderer he created.”

Phoenix pauses and looks at me now. “I killed all three of them with my
bare hands, Eve, and I felt nothing. This is why I am a lost cause. Someone as
beautiful as you does not deserve to have a murderer in her life.”

“They were bad men. They deserved to die,” I say with conviction, holding
my chin up high. “And you are not a murderer, you’re a survivor. There’s a big
difference. I’m glad you killed them. It gives me relief to know that the man
who caused you so much suffering is dead.”

Somebody who did not experience the childhood I did might be horrified by
the fact that Phoenix has killed, but not me. So many times I would lie there
as Maxwell beat on me and fantasise about his death. I understand what it is
like to be imprisoned by a psychopath, even if the situation was entirely
different.

I pull Phoenix into my arms now and hug him tight. He doesn’t pull away
and I place a small kiss to his temple.

“I never thought I would meet someone who accepts me as you do,” he
whispers into the quiet room.

“If anyone deserves acceptance, Phoenix, it’s you,” I whisper back.

Every day for the
rest of the week I go to Phoenix’s shop after school finishes. Sometimes I sit
and observe him working in the back room and other times I recline in the rocking
chair by the window and watch the customers as they come and go. This spending
time together thing is good. I think it’s helping him to get used to me. He’s
like a wild animal that I’m trying to domesticate, just like my occasional tom
cat visitor, Jeffrey.

“I really like this chair,” I say to Phoenix as he sorts through
paperwork at the counter on Friday evening. “I think I might buy it from you
for my cottage.”

I am correcting some Year 10 homework in my lap.

“Take it. It’s yours,” he says, glancing at me affectionately and then
focusing back on his papers.

“I can’t just take it. I want to pay you for it,” I reply, holding firm.

He’s about to say something else but then the bell rings over the shop
door and a middle aged man comes in. Phoenix becomes occupied with the customer
and I return my attention to correcting homework. I smile as I read an
assignment where the student has somehow managed to confuse Anne Boleyn with
Marie Antoinette. The only similarities are that they were both married to monarchs
and suffered some seriously violent deaths. Other than that, completely
different countries and completely different centuries.

Phoenix takes down the specs for a set of kitchen cupboards the customer
wants built. Sometimes when he’s working he takes off his shirt and goes
topless. I like watching how the muscles in his back move as he saws the wood.
How he sweats.

When the customer leaves I decide to take a break and make us both some
tea. I put the kettle on in the back room and then return, hitching myself up
onto the counter beside Phoenix’s paperwork. He smiles softly but doesn’t look
up at me, scribbling down numbers with his pen.

“Would you like tea?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, thank you,” he replies, eyes wandering to the curve of my thigh for
a moment. He glances up at me then and our eyes lock, my mouth opens slightly
as I start breathing heavily.

The moment is broken when the shop door opens again. I turn and get a
surprise to see Deborah standing there. She looks surprised to see me here,
too, but she quickly wipes her expression clean. She’s wearing one of those
fitted business suits in a dark navy colour and her hair is twisted up into a
high bun.

“Deborah,” says Phoenix, “what can I do for you?”

Her heels click as she walks inside and stops just shy of the counter.
Her red lips purse as she glances at me again. I make a move to jump down and
return to my rocking chair but Phoenix places his hand on my thigh to prevent
me. He squeezes tight once. Deborah’s eyes zone in on the touch. You’d think
she’d have gotten the message after all these years of him turning her down. I
guess she’s annoyed that he’s suddenly allowed me into his life when normally
he steers clear of all women.

“I want to put new pine doors in my living and dining rooms. I thought I’d
come to the best man in town for the job,” she replies in a sweet voice.

“Have you got the measurements?” Phoenix asks.

Deborah smiles seductively. “Measurements? Oh, no I forgot. You’ll have
to pop over to the house and take them for me. I wouldn’t have a clue how to do
it, what with Mark being away and all.”

Mark must be her husband. She puts an extra emphasis on her words when
she tells Phoenix that he’s away.

“Okay, I can pencil you in for Monday,” he replies, pulling an organiser
out from beneath the counter.

“I was hoping you could come over later today. I’m really eager to get
the project started.”

“I only make house calls Monday to Thursday, and I’m busy tonight.” His
hand on my thigh strokes lightly.

Deborah coughs, disgruntled. “Well, I suppose Monday will just have to do
then,” she snaps.

“Very good,” says Phoenix. “I’ll pencil you in for five-thirty.”

Deborah nods and turns her attention to me. I look at her warily. “I
think you might want to get down from there, honey. It’s a sturdy counter but
it’s not
that
sturdy.”

Oh my God. I can’t believe she just said that. My mouth hangs open for a
moment and my cheeks go red. I’m just about to get down like she suggested when
something inside of me hardens. I can’t keep letting people like Deborah
intimidate me. I have to make a stand, and if anything in my life is worth
taking a stand for it’s the relationship I’m building with Phoenix. She’s
trying to make me run with her snide comment. I’m not going to run.

Phoenix looks at me as if to say,
if you don’t say something, I will.

Taking courage, I narrow my gaze on her and reply, “Oh, piss off. Aren’t
you a little old to still be such a bitch?”

She gasps. Phoenix smiles widely, ripping off a piece of paper with her
appointment and handing it to her. She swipes it from him, glares at me and
then swiftly walks out the door.

Now Phoenix is chuckling.

I can’t help grinning back at him.

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” he says, running his hand over my cheek
and levelling his eyes on me. “No more letting people push you around, okay?
Not your brother, not anyone.”

I nod. He kisses me then, feather light. I lean in, needing more. We kiss
for another minute or two, more deeply, before he pulls away.

“I have to close up for the night,” he pants.

“Okay.”

 “Do you have any plans this evening?” he asks as he tidies away his
papers.

“Not really.”

“In that case, can I cook you dinner?”

I’m taken aback and excited all at once by his sudden offer, and I can’t
help but to smile and say, “Of course. That would be lovely.”

He finishes closing up and then we get in his truck to drive home. I’m
intrigued to see what the inside of his house looks like. I follow his lead when
we get there, as he takes me around to the rear of the house and in through the
back door. Inside, I notice how all of the walls are white. He takes me from
the kitchen into the hallway and then into his living room, which is populated
by a large black leather couch that looks old and well worn.

There are shelves upon shelves of books, a large fireplace, a radio on the
mantelpiece and a modest television set by the window. There is also a pine
wooden coffee table in front of the couch that is unvarnished, the wood roughly
sanded.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing to the couch.

 “I really like your house, Phoenix,” I reply, looking around at the
simple furnishings.

He stands by the door, hesitating. “Would you like to see the upstairs?”

“Yes, sure,” I answer, gulping as I think that’s where his bedroom is.

I follow him up the bare wooden staircase. When we reach the landing he
leads me into a big bedroom that’s not used as a bedroom. There are tables and
stools and chairs and all sorts of pieces of furniture made from varying kinds
of wood. It’s stacked high, taking up most of the space.

“You made all this?”

He scratches his head. “Yes. Some nights I have a hard time sleeping, so
I make things. It’s the only way I can exhaust myself enough to finally rest.”

“You should try meditating. Eventually you’ll have no room left in the
cottage,” I joke.

“I do meditate, but sometimes it’s just not enough. I bring the excess to
the shop and sell it.”

“Ah, I guess it’s a profitable endeavour, then,” I say, running my hand
over the top of a chair.

“Working with my hands relaxes me,” he comments, coming to stand too
close behind me. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out. When the air hits
the back of my neck I emit an involuntary moan. Realising what I just did, I
clamp my hand over my mouth in mortification.

Phoenix runs a single finger over the spot he just breathed on.

“Come,” he says, taking my hand. “I have more to show you.”

In the next room there are book shelves and a writing desk. I presume
this is his study. I glance at some of the titles on the shelves. Among them
are a lot of philosophers; Kant, Nietzsche, Hannah Arendt, Derrida. I imagine
that having lived the life he has, these kinds of books help him to find
answers.

“Have you read all of these?” I ask.

He shrugs and replies simply, “I read a lot.”

I believe him. Phoenix doesn’t strike me as one of those types who buys
books just to impress people by having them on his shelves.

Lastly, he takes me to see his bedroom, in which there is nothing but a
wooden four poster bed with white sheets. There is so much light in the room
because the huge window by the left wall has no drapes. The sunlight reflects
off the white walls, white fabrics and light pine bed.

I don’t know if I should say anything about this room. I mean, how do you
compliment a bedroom like this one?

Um, I really like the, um, bed
.

That’s all you can say because there isn’t anything else in it. I turn to
go back out, thinking he will follow my lead, but when I turn to face him he is
right in front of me, so close our cheeks could almost touch. I can’t speak.
Again my voice is lost.

But he doesn’t speak either, and when I look up into his eyes I feel like
I might melt away into their depths. He brushes his lips over my left cheek and
I shiver. The bed is right there, and I have no idea what to do if I end up in
it with Phoenix.

He leans into me and presses me right up against the wall beside the
door. I can’t look at him anymore because if I do I think I might lose control
of my legs. I put my head down and rest it on his shoulder and now I’m the one
who’s shaking. Phoenix notices this and takes my hands into his.

“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively.

“Yes. It’s nothing.” I try to pull away but he keeps me close.

“Eve, your hands are shaking.” His soft voice washes over me.

“I’m…” I pause and gulp. “I’m fine.”

He looks at me as if I am a tiny little frightened lamb.

“What a pair we make, eh?” he says, smiling fondly. Then his expression
darkens. “Are you frightened of me now that you know my history?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I just get anxious sometimes. It’s a problem, but
I deal with it as best I can.”

“I know. You are so beautiful.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

I feel my hands slowly relax as he holds them, and then my heart begins
to beat at a less erratic pace. When he can tell I’ve stopped shaking he lets
them drop back down by my sides.

He breathes deeply as though taking in my scent, and then as gentle as a
petal he places his soft lips on mine. I feel heat pool in my belly. His
stubble is a contrast to his lips as it scrapes me, so masculine.

My body responds to his kiss by pulling him in closer to me and he
continues kissing me slowly, languidly. His hand travels up along my thigh to
my hips and I put my hand on his neck. Then my fingers travel to his hair. He
doesn’t try to pull away when I touch him and my heart sings. I’m so frightened
of doing something wrong, of touching him in the wrong way. His breathing has
become hoarse and he stops kissing me for a minute.

“We should probably go back downstairs,” I suggest.

I don’t want to stop, but I don’t know what will happen if we continue.
Scratch that, I know exactly what will happen and it terrifies me.

“You taste too good,” he growls and my cheeks flush red. “I’ve been
thinking all sorts of bad things about you this week, Eve, while you sat in my
shop so unaware of what was in my head.”

My chest flutters and I look away, embarrassed. He bends down and kisses
me again, but this time with more force. I can feel him touch me as his hand
wanders inside of my cardigan and then under my T-shirt to the skin of my back.
I tremble all over. His fingertips travel up my spine and I sigh quietly with
my face in the crook of his neck. My heart jolts when he unhooks my bra and I
begin to get nervous again.

“Should we stop?” I pant, unable to get enough air.

“I don’t want to,” he sighs as his hand touches the side of my breast. “You’re
so soft,” he sighs again, more heavily this time.

I let out a strangled whimper.

He stops kissing me. His eyes are intent on mine. “I want you.” he breathes.
“If you’ll allow me to take the lead.”

I think he sees the uncertainty in my eyes, because he draws away from me
a little.

His eyes flick back and forth between mine, as though he is trying to
read something within their green depths. Then he strokes away the strands of
hair that have fallen in my face. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not
ready, darling.”

I let out a relieved breath and sag against him.

He pets my hair for a while and holds me to him.

“That was...exquisite,” he says, voice full of intensity.

A few moments later he takes me by the hand and leads me back down the
stairs.