Captured (A Modern Medusa Story)

CHAPTER 14: PHOEBE💙

I've mostly wondered how my mother smelled like, more than what she looked like.

Scent had become a major part of my life ever since I lost my eyesight. Maybe even before that. I've always found myself taking notes of what other people and things smelled like. It was my survival instinct. I might not see who walks into the room, but I could tell when someone broke into my place unnoticed or when someone I liked was close by.

And I guess my father knew that. Because he never gave off a signature scent. He knew what I was capable of, so he always said he liked to have 'zero scent'. I guess he never wanted me to recognize his presence without his own permission. So he kept himself like water. Plain and with no taste.

It scared me sometimes, how he showed up in my space with no warning. Or worse, how I suddenly realized he had been in the same room with me for god knows how long. I hated it. And maybe he knew I hated it. That's why he kept doing it.

He made sure there was no way I could sense him, no matter what I did. He moved like a ghost. Even though deep down I knew it was just his way of making me push my limits so I could learn to work beyond my senses, it was too much of a lethal game to play. But again, wasn't that what my father was? Lethal.

Rumors said he was to be feared. That he was a scientist and discoverer like no other. One that could cross borders that can never be crossed and risk everything to satisfy his curiosity and fulfill his wildest dreams.

And he sure had the wildest dreams.

He mentioned to me once how he desired to open up a humongous zoo of all the amazing creatures he collected recently. Or open a magic show where he performed his chemical tricks.

"Tricks? Like how to turn someone blind?" I had asked, and he laughed.

Not the laugh that insinuated that it was a bad idea, but more of the one that clearly said that it was actually the greatest idea of all time. I shivered at the thought.

He was the type of man who would do anything to get what he wanted. Worse, he could do so. He was well-off enough and held a position of power that had no name. My father was the reason Daresm City never ran out of tourists, bringing up museums and sites out of the soil and breathing life into them. He was the god of the city. People were scared of him, but not for the same reasons I was scared of him.

I made sure to lock the door this time, so he wouldn't walk in on me typing my poems again. He didn't like what I did, but poetry was my way out. It was the only thing I felt content to do. The only way I could pour myself out.

I ignored the sourness on my knuckles as my fingers kept tapping on my braille.

Every thought morphed into something bigger and I felt like I was creating a bouquet out of my deepest desires.

A part of me was still stuck on how the girl never said a word to me the last time she saw me. It was as if I wasn't there and it hurt. I understood that I was just a stranger but . . .  our last encounter had given me high hopes for what was about to come. Despite of how she had left so abruptly with her friend that day, I couldn't help but fantasize about how our next conversation would come about.

"She ain't staring at you anymore," Noreen had marked, content weaved underneath her words. "Maybe she's finally over you."

The words made my skin shudder. I didn't want her to be over me. How could she when we hadn't even started anything? But again, leave it to Noreen to ruin my mood. I bet she was never even going to tell me the girl's name. I guess I better find out by myself.

I ignored the prospects of the girl actually being over me, asked a neighbor to write a note for me, and passed it back so it could reach her.

Maybe that was the reason I couldn't focus on my writing anymore. Because I had written a note with my phone number in it and given it to her. And now I was on the edge of my seat, high-key waiting for a certain phone call. Also hoping the note had reached the right person. Long braids, chocolate skin.