Physis (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #4)

by Michelle Irwin

  Even though it was a fact I’d acknowledged myself, it was impossible to admit to it. “What are you talking about? I talk to you all the time.”

  She wrapped her fingers around mine. “No, you speak around me. You ask general questions that include me, but you don’t talk to me. Not like we used to. The only time we have any back and forth at all is when you snap and yell at me.”

  Leaving my hand wrapped in the warm embrace of hers, I cast my eyes downward. She was right. The truth was printed onto every fibre of my being.

  I didn’t want her to be right.

  “I can’t be in your life like this, Pheebs.”

  “Like what?” It took three attempts and two hard swallows to find the words and set them free.

  “Watching from the sidelines while everyone else gets your affection.” She lifted our joined hands up to place them on her cheek. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t know a single thing that’s going on in your head anymore.”

  My fingers stayed stiff against her cheek, not curling around her face like they once might have. “You don’t want in on those thoughts. They’re too dark to share with you, my angel.”

  “Then let me go.” She pressed her hand against mine, coaxing my fingers into position around her jaw. “I can’t walk away from you, Pheebs. I’ve never been able to, not if you need me. But this is killing me. It hurts worse than anything Mum ever did.”

  She could have slapped me and it would’ve hurt less. And yet it was far less than I deserved for the way I’d treated her. “I—I don’t know what you want me to do.”

  “Let me in. Let me help. Share your burden and let me take some of the load.”

  It was impossible to blacken her soul that way. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Then tell me to go away and I will.”

  The thought of never seeing her again—worse, of being the reason she wasn’t in my life—was too painful to bear. “I can’t do that either.”

  My gaze cut to Beau, standing by the entrance waiting for us. Although he had affected a nonchalant air, as though he had no clue what was happening or a single care in the world, the fact that he was very deliberately not looking in my direction spoke volumes. He knew exactly what this conversation was about.

  Angel looked to the ground. “You have to choose.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Angel,” I said, hoping that would be enough to forestall any need to make an immediate decision.

  “And I wish that was enough of an answer,” she said, “but it’s not. It can’t be.”

  I met her green eyes and saw the damage I was doing to her. Where her emerald irises had once sparkled with life and amusement, they were dull and flat. Dark circles ran under her eyes. Her skin was sallow and blemished. “What do you need from me to make you stay?”

  “Don’t you know?” When I didn’t answer her, she gave a mirthless laugh. “You.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She leant against the palm pressed to her face, almost as if willing it to stay glued to her face when she pulled her hand away. She slicked her lips with her tongue. “I need my girl back.”

  “I—”

  She silenced me with one finger pressed against my lips. “I don’t care if you’re not the same dirty-talking, fun-loving, driven racer chick you always were or not. I just need you, girlie. I need it to be us from time to time. Just you and me with no one else around.” She stared straight into the heart of me when she added, “I just need you.”

  “So what? Like one day a week that’s just for us?” I asked.

  “Something like that. Honestly, I don’t give a shit if it’s one day a week, an hour a day, or even just a few minutes every hour. I just want to talk like we used to. I want to get through a conversation with you without fighting.”

  Don’t let the bastards win. It echoed in my mind. Letting her go would be letting them win. Xavier, in particular, had wanted her out of my life, and if I let her go, he’d win. Not only that, but I would’ve let the one person who’d always been my lifeline go. “Dr Bradshaw says I’ve been fighting you so hard because you represent what I lost.”

  “I don’t give a shit what your shrink says. I want to know what you think about what I said.”

  “I’m trying to tell you that. I-I’m trying to let you in.”

  “Oh!” A sheepish grin crept across her lips. “Sorry.”

  I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. “I know I’ve been a grade-A bitch, and I can’t promise it’s going to get any easier anytime soon. But I miss you too. I miss us. I don’t want you to walk away. That’s why I asked you not to.”

  Her hands wrapped around my waist in return, her thumb skimming the line between my blouse and my jeans. When she spoke, her breath filled the space between us. “I don’t want to imagine my life without you in it.”

  My tears soaked into her loose hair. “But you were prepared to walk away?”

  “As much as it would suck, it’d be better doing that than hanging around the fringes and taking the punches.”

  Our first reunion, shortly after I arrived home, flooded me. The words she’d said about Mum, about how it must have been nice to come home to happy news about a new baby. The way I’d reacted to her statement, grabbing her shoulders and screaming that she knew nothing. My denials over Mum’s pregnancy and Angel pushing me to see the truth, pushing and pushing until . . . “When I—I didn’t mean—I’d never do that ag—”

  She flinched in my hold. “The emotional ones, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, you can rag on me all day long about any complaint you have if you need to, but that’s different to what’s been happening, and you know it.”

  I couldn’t nod because my head was buried against her neck and hers against mine. It felt like home, but there was still one other thing I needed to know. “Angel,” I whispered into the limited space between us.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have feelings for Beau?”

  Her back stiffened slightly and it took her a while to answer. Each fraction of a second seemed to drag forever as I held my breath, waiting for her response. “He’s become someone I can rely on. He helped keep me sane in the States while we were looking for you, and he’s helped me find my feet with the room in his house.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “He-he’s my best guy friend. Nothing more, I swear.”

  I considered that for a moment, especially the qualification she put between best and friend. “So you still like me better?” I joked, wanting to show that I was willing to try to get us back to what we once were.

  She sighed against my skin. “Always. You’re the other half of my soul. Even if I had to walk away, that would always be true.”

  EVEN THOUGH WE needed to follow my family inside, I was reluctant to pull away from Angel. In that moment, we were us again. What would happen when we pulled apart? When life slipped between us again.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go out on the track with us?” I asked as I pulled away and cupped her cheek.

  “I’ll just be a moving chicane.”

  I opened my mouth to argue that she wouldn’t be in our way on the track, but she silenced me with a smirk.

  “Besides, I’d rather watch from the sidelines while you kick Beau’s arse.”

  “Let’s go then.” Our fingers entwined as we moved toward the entrance.

  Dad stood beside Beau, both of them scanning around the car park as if they were indifferent over waiting for us, but their gazes fell to Angel and me too often to be completely devoid of interest.

  “What are you two waiting for?” I asked as we got closer. Despite trying to keep my voice clear of accusations, they slipped in anyway.

  “Brock, Parker, and Beth are out on the slower track already, but we were thinking we’d hit the Formula One karts,” Dad said. “Really get the blood pumping. What do you think?”

  “As if I’d go on anything slower.” It was false bravado; my mind kept turning
over what had happened when I was in the car. If I stumbled onto a memory that caused a flashback while I was travelling so fast, it’d be hard to recover. I needed to get back on the track in any way I could if I ever wanted to get back in a car as a career, though. And I did. After talking it through with Dr Bradshaw, I’d decided that was my goal. I just wasn’t sure I would be ready in time to take the car when Steve retired.

  Within ten minutes, the three of us rolled around the track on a slow first lap, getting ready to line up to launch hard at the same time. Beau was at one side of me, Dad at the other. I’d made sure they both were under strict instructions to go as hard as they could. If I suspected either of them was taking it easy on me or handing me an easy win, I was going to be pissed.

  The karts were the fastest around with seat belts and roll cages. Unlike the track Beau and I had raced on at the Fun Spot, this one was all one level. There were twists and turns, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for me. This was a track I’d won at countless times. It was a track I knew. The way a certain corner banked slightly to the right, meaning an extra boost if I could slide the kart into the right position, was written in my blood.

  When we reached the start/finish line, I slammed my foot onto the accelerator, pleased to see in my periphery that both Dad and Beau kept up with me. It meant they weren’t taking it easy, at least not yet.

  Instead of letting myself fall into my own mind, I concentrated on the corners, focusing on each curve before they came up. The layout ran on repeat in my mind as I anticipated each corner in advance, picking the best line and focusing on the two karts around me.

  By the third lap, I was pulling slightly ahead of the other two. Something had taken over me, and I was more in the zone than ever before. The nightmares crept in, but each time, I’d just envision the track in my head. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed to work.

  When I came to the start/finish line to start the last of our laps for the current race, I was still ahead. It was close though; both Dad and Beau had edged ahead at different times over the twenty laps, but I’d managed to get back in front each time.

  Halfway through the lap, Beau edged ahead. I pushed my kart as close to him as I could, getting ready to slingshot around him. He cut across in front of my nose, forcing me around the outside. Desperate to get around him, I went into the corner too fast. The excess speed made cornering almost impossible. I clenched my jaw, squeezed the steering wheel tighter, and held on. I couldn’t wrestle it around. For a split second on the apex of the corner, another voice filled my head.

  “You know you were never on the track because you’re special. You’re just a stupid little girl with an arsehole father. He stole the life I should’ve had, and then passed it on to you.” The whistle of the cane through the air stopped my breath. With the material covering my face, I didn’t know where it would land—couldn’t say which direction the sound was coming from. I braced every muscle in anticipation. It landed with a crack against my knuckles. The force of the strike pulled on my wrists and I cried out.

  Shoving my foot on the brake, I pulled my hands into my body, proving to myself that my hands weren’t chained together or secured above my head. The kart stalled as it crashed into the tyre wall, but thankfully I’d been able to shear off most of the speed before I hit. The seat belt pinned me in place, and I couldn’t escape. I needed to get out of there.

  Although I knew how to start the kart, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything more than hold my hands into my chest and try to catch my breath. Minutes later, two karts pulled up beside me at almost the exact same time. Both Dad and Beau were at my side in seconds.

  “Phoebe,” Dad called.

  “Dawson, are ya all right?” Beau asked at the same time.

  I shook my head as the tears started again. “I don’t belong on the track. I—I don’t deserve it.”

  “Bullshit,” Dad muttered.

  Beau knelt on the track beside my kart and tried to get me to focus on him. “Ya don’t believe that.”

  I couldn’t move my head to look at him; I was lost in the memory. My fingers ached from the ghost of the cane that cracked across my knuckles, across my thighs, and then over my arse before Bee disappeared after telling me how hot he was after the beating.

  “D’ya think you can drive back to the pits?”

  “I—I can’t.” I held up my hands, showing him how badly they shook.

  He glanced up, no doubt meeting Dad’s eyes.

  “Can you get your seat belt off?” Dad asked.

  I tried, but my hands shook too much.

  “Will ya let me help ya?” Beau asked.

  Resting my hands on the steering wheel, I twisted my fingers into place and held on for grim death while Beau reached for my seat belt and undid it for me. He offered me his hand to help me from the car.

  The instant I was settled on my feet, I wrapped my arms around Beau. He held me in return. Within a few minutes, staff from the track were at our side and with a quiet word from Dad, taking the karts back to the pits themselves.

  “God, I’ve ruined the whole day, haven’t I?” I whispered to Beau as we walked behind Dad.

  “Course not, darlin’. No one knows what happened.”

  “They’ll be able to guess.” I could almost hear Brock’s voice, taunting and calling me a freak.

  “It’s your family. They understand.”

  “They don’t. No one does. Not really.”

  He rubbed his hand over my shoulder. “They try.”

  He was right. When we reached everyone else, Mum’s gaze held some concern, Angel looked about ready for tears, and Dad whispered something to Mum, but everyone else continued with their day. Beth, Brock, and Parker were all digging into their meals as if they’d never been fed before, arguing about who won what races.

  “So who won out of you guys?” Brock asked when he noticed the three of us were back.

  “Your dad edged me out at the last second.” Beau’s guiding hand on my spine never shifted as he spoke to my brother while guiding me to a seat.

  “I thought for sure Phoebe was going to kick both of your arses,” Brock said. “She’s always been the queen of this track.”

  While Mum admonished Brock for his swear word—she was still staunchly trying to stem the flow of curse words to the younger generation, even though it was a losing battle—I stared at my hands and bit hard on the insides of my cheeks to stem my tears.

  “You ain’t seen me race,” Beau said, offering me his hand. I grabbed hold and squeezed to say thank you. With Brock and I slowly rebuilding the relationship that had been shattered by my odd behaviour, it seemed easier to let him think both Beau and Dad had beaten me at the last second rather than telling him the truth—that I’d spun off track and crashed.

  “Did you really beat Phoebe?” Beth asked Beau. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she stared up at Beau.

  “Did you beat Phoebe?” Xavier’s voice filled my head even though I was curled under the blanket using my hands to block out the noise. Because of the cuffs around my wrists, I couldn’t completely enclose my head. Instead, my fingers stretched out to cover my ears. I wanted to hum or sing or do anything to drown out their argument, to take me away, but I didn’t want to call attention to myself. “She hasn’t moved or spoken all day.”

  Bee’s laughter echoed through me. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, only now it would always bring the image of him with the camera in his hand as he took Polaroid after Polaroid of me. “You wanted me to fix her. Sluts like her only respond to extreme punishment.”

  I flinched as the memory of the “punishments” he’d forced on me lingered in my head. Unshakeable, they all played over and over in my mind. Every moment of the torture repeated all at once, layering itself again and again until it coated my skin and crawled down my throat. I could only hope he’d spared the girl like he promised.

  My stomach twisted again as the thought assailed me.

  “Mum said there was b
lood and dirt over the bed and Phoebe this morning.”

  “I think you should ask your little sinner about the reason for that.”

  My hands pressed harder against my ears as I tried to force his voice and the memories it brought from my head.

  Begging even though I didn’t want to.

  Being tossed around like a rag doll, unable to resist without someone else being hurt.

  A weight against my back.

  Pain.

  My screaming.

  His laughter.

  A flash as he took another photo.

  A sob left me. The voices grew garbled as my hands pressed harder still until all I could hear was the pressure in my head and the echoes of my cries. Outside the relative safety of my blanket, the voices grew louder. The door slammed open and then closed again. The squeak that I’d grown used to hearing as people came or went sounded.

  If the light had gone, I would’ve thought I was alone, but the brightness still backlit my thin blanket. Someone was still with me. I braced, waiting to discover what torture was in store for me next.

  “Phoebe.” Xavier’s hand came to rest near my shoulder as he whispered my name. “Phoebe.” He shook me lightly, trying to rouse me, but that only made the sobbing grow.

  “Dawson!” Brock shouted across the table, throwing a french fry at me. Since learning the key word, he could draw me back almost as effectively as Beau. Although he never said the name with as much reverence as Beau or was as caring about where I’d gone.

  I blinked at him through the tears. “I-I want to go home.”

  Beau’s hand squeezed mine. “We can leave now if ya wanna.” He’d driven with Angel, so I was certain he’d be able to take me home if I insisted.

  With the memories lingering, I wanted to insist. Then my gaze travelled over my family. Everyone was having a good time. We were almost normal again for once. I decided to try to stick it out for a little longer. With a long breath, I said, “Actually, I think I’m okay.”