The Phoenix Pharaoh: Rise from the Ashes

XIX

Sprawled in a narrow bed was Mera, swaddled in a tattered quilt as if he had just been born moments before Zahra flung open his door. Furrowed brows sat atop of his closed eyes, creasing his skin into smooth currents for his sweat to roll down. His skin, pale and sickly, matched the faint haze—or, perhaps, smog—blocking the morning sun that rose beyond the tapestry of partially exposed power cords and twisted branches.

Zahra, however, did not care for his pasty complexion, the overturned ashtray on his nightstand, or the fact that it was 6:21 a.m.

"I'll come get you in a few," Mera had said before promptly disappearing for the night.

Fucking dick, Zahra thought whilst bending over Mera.

"Where were you, Mera?" she snarled, unraveling the quilt off of her startled brother, who fell onto the dingy pile of ash at his bedside. "What was so much more important than helping out your sister, who, news flash, you hadn't seen in—"

"Can you keep your voice down?" Mera said, his voice wispy, as he rubbed his face.

"Where did you even go, hmm? You told me you'd be right inside, and then—"

With every second, more and more fuming words spilled from Zahra's lips. Mera, however, crossed the room, stumbling along like a fresh-faced college student after his first night of binge drinking, to shut the door.

"Why would you just leave me here?"

Mera staggered back to his bed, mouth etched in a firm, straight line. Bending down, he gathered his sweat-infused quilt, holding it in his arms as if it were his infant child he yearned to hold—that's when Zahra noticed it, the oddness of his movements. They were clumsy and clunky like a poorly-designed puppet. His face, usually as dark as wet sand, was flushed, drained of its rich color.

"What's wrong with you?" Zahra asked.

"I'm fine." Mera brushed crust off of his eyelashes. "Why are you pissed at me now? Something about abandoning you or whatever."

"Or whatever?" Zahra repeated as if he had spoken an alien language. "You told me you'd be right back and then you vanished all night."

"So? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that you left me here with that psychic lady to probe away at my mind! You knew I was nervous about it and—"

"Well, you're fine now, aren't you?"

Zahra huffed. "That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" She paused, hoping for the silence to be broken by an apology for her brother. Instead, he pushed the quilt off of his lap and retrieved a lighter from his pocket. "I was scared, Mera," she continued. "I didn't know what Aditi was going to do inside my head. I didn't even want to experience that night again, but," she let out a long-winded breath, "I needed you, okay? You're the only one here I actually trust, and you were just...just gone."

Mera drew a cigarette from its crumpled box on his nightstand. "I had something else to do," he said before placing the cigarette between his lips.

Zahra crossed her arms. "And what was that?"

With a flick of the flint wheel, a tiny flame sputtered out of the metallic mouth of the lighter and gnawed away at the end of Mera's cig.

"Well?" Zahra said.

Mera inhaled a heavy drag. His bare chest rose as he did so, which guided Zahra's eyes to its keen unnaturalness. The dipping curves of her brother's breast—the shallow ribs that outlined his stomach like a cavern on the brink of collapse—ceased her heavy breathing for a moment. It was abnormal just as his movements were. He had a sturdy body with toned arms and broad shoulders yet, somehow, the faint edges of his ribs poked through his skin.