Phoenix Knight [A Bad Boy Story] - Editing

Chapter Eighteen

Today’s word of the chapter: ‘Objurgate’. Definition: (Verb) to scold or rebuke sharply.

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Chapter Eighteen

I lay in my bed and stared at the darkened ceiling, feeling bored out of my wits as my mother continued to slumber. The hotel room was decorated with a blue hue because there was only an hour until daybreak and I had drawn the curtains in a failed attempt to entertain myself.

Today marked my third sleepless night and I feared that I was suffering from stress-induced insomnia.

I didn’t mind though.

Aside from my lack of possible amusement options at this hour of the day, I found that I enjoyed the silence. It allowed me to think.

About my father.

About Phoenix.

About my friends.

About missing school.

I hated being so exposed at the hotel while my father ran rouge in search of my mother and I. I knew that it would not take long for him to fit the pieces into place but all I could hope was that the police could catch him before he was ever given the opportunity to corner us and... I didn’t want to think about what came after the “and”.

Attending school on Monday may well have been the worst decision I had ever made. I actually had little justification for my actions other than, possibly, that I wanted to regain a sense of companionship with my friends by explaining why I ran away from them on Saturday.

Except Jason had beaten me to them and fed every last one a lie that they believed because, apparently, I was too good for them.

How could I ever be too good for a group like the Sweatpants Sisters?

Other than an odd affinity for woodwork and occasionally thinking about jogging, I was about as plain as they came.

Jordan could play football like a professional and beat up someone with the help of a black belt that she had earned in Taekwondo.

Ivy – well, Ivy was a lot like me. We had few hobbies that ever truly interested us. But Ivy was a genius. She understood more about Chemistry and Biology than I knew about the back of my right hand.

As for Zora, she was born with two left feet but behind the bushy hair and thick glasses, she was actually an amazing photographer.

From what little I knew about Bea, it was obvious that she was a complete math genius – unlike myself – and dedicated swimmer. Not to mention her ability to speak two languages which was one more than I could.

Those four were great people with even greater personalities. But their pasts had created a barrier between their self confidence and how they were shaped to view themselves.

Perhaps that was the reason why we all sort of drifted towards each. Maybe it was a sixth sense we had; the ability to scope out someone that was experiencing what we, ourselves, were. The same feelings of self hatred and depression.

It helped us.

Well, it helped them.

They talked about what they used to experience and they protected each other in case it ever happened again.

But I could never bring myself to talk about it.

I was always scared; scared that someone might tell their mother or father who would, in turn, have my father arrested. I knew who he was. I knew what would happen if he was ever arrested. He would think it was my fault or my mother’s fault and he would finally snap and turn domestic violence into a fatal strike against either or both of us.