Harry's POV

Around us a forest thrived, trees growing as tall as the clouds above, their leaves shuffling in the gentle breeze. We moved on foot, Dr Smith occasionally making a comment about nature and feeling free which most people ignored.

We walked in pairs, making it seem like we were animals lining up for Noah's Arc, and Phoenix remained silent as her eyes surveyed the area around us. On the long flight she had been unusually quiet, but I had put this down to tiredness and/or a suppressed fear of flying. We ambled along in this long train of morphine pumped lunatics for a while until we reached the campsite which was surprisingly large.

Groans of satisfaction filled the air as people dropped their bags onto the floor, and Dr Smith practically beamed at all of us. I couldn't understand why he was so excited for the trip, maybe he was glad to get a free holiday.

"Find a tent partner. If you're with the opposite sex I'm assuming there will be no funny business!" Smith cast his gaze over to Phoenix and I for a brief second, and Phoenix merely chuckled before dragging me over to the furthest point of the campsite.

"This is our spot," she muttered absentmindedly, and began to unload her rucksack; I watched her with fascination and wondered what had happened to her.

Why had she suddenly become so reclusive? So unlike her usual self? But instead of questioning her, I leant her a hand and put up our neon-coloured tent which forced me to raise an eyebrow.

Inside the tent was small, and you could have easily mistaken it for a spacious one man tent, but I didn't mind being close to Phoenix. As long as she didn't try to burn the thing down, I was happy being her companion. Just like me, she didn't seem to have any other friends at the centre despite the fact that I knew she had been there for years.

What secrets was she holding in those mischievous eyes?

***

The campfire spluttered and sparked, and I paid careful attention to the way Phoenix stared at it so intently. There was an unknown emotion in her eyes, something between guilt and lust as her pupils followed the roaring fire. All around me people chatted, some laughed while others looked utterly despondent.

Bed time was called out as if we were little children, and the large group slowly made their way to bed inside the uncomfortable tents. Phoenix hung at the back of the crowd and watched as the burning embers finally died out; she appeared as though she were in a trance like state and for the first time I began to understand her.

While she was so confident and so outspoken, when having to face reality she became a whole new person. She hated her illness as much as I hated my addiction, but she didn't seem as though she wanted to change anything.

"Phoenix!" I called when I grew tired of waiting, and her head snapped up to look at me.

She dazedly walked over to our tent and clambered inside like a small monkey, wrapping herself up in her sleeping bag and turning away from me. I would have been a fool to ignore the sadness that radiated off her, the tears gleaming in her eyes and her general shift in mood.

Stroking her hair, she jerked slightly but did not tell me to stop. Maybe she found comfort in my friendly touch, maybe she hadn't been comforted in so long. Without saying a word, I felt her small body shake beneath my hands as tears fell from the corners of her eyes. She wept silently, almost as if it were something she had got down to an art form: she made no noise, her tears were absorbed in her sleeve and her breaths were shallow and almost silent.

"I'm not as strong as you think," she whispered, her speech hoarse and forced as she tried to get the syllables out of her dry throat.

"No one is. Being strong all the time doesn't make you any more brave than allowing yourself to be weak once in a while," I replied back hesitantly, wondering what would calm her down from her state.

"I feel as though Dr Smith will attack me on this trip. I can see the glint in his eye, the way he looks at me. Every second I expect him him turn around and beckon me into his tent. Both the one he's pegged up and the one in his trousers," she chuckled at her own joke, but it was the sort of saddened laugh that didn't really mean anything.

"Phoenix... Has he ever...?"

"Touched me? Raped me? Abused me? No, but I know he wants to. He whispers things in my ears that only I'm supposed to hear, things that my brain can't forget even if I tried. But he's just Smith, too harmless and too timid to do anything more," there was an uncertainty in her voice that made me worried for her, and while we had often joked about Dr Smith, I knew he was anything but harmless.

That man has crazy etched into his eyes, and I had seen lapses in his constantly-happy facade. It made me want to hold her close, but it was obvious that she wasn't ready for human contact. This woman who I had admired as a solid rock of a human had actual emotions, something I had blindly forgotten about in the time of knowing her.

We lay all night together, both awake yet neither of us a spoke a word. Her head was pressed against my chest, and her arms were sprawled over my torso. She seemed so small, so vulnerable, and for the first time I wanted to help her. Before then, I had always assumed that Phoenix didn't need anyone's help and that she was self sufficient, but she had deep scars covering her and I knew I had to help heal them.

So Phoenix is worried about Smith? Is she being irrational? He is slightly creepy...

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