Finding Home (Phan) (Without Trilogy Part II)

10

I looked over at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes fast (and in military time, which Phil abhorred) but I knew, five minutes or not, that my roommate was late. As in the kind of late where he would text me from class to warn me to leave some Ramen out, or from the set to say he'd bring something home. Couple goals, I know.

So far, though, I'd heard nothing. And, at the risk of seeming like the crazed motherly friend, I texted him about five times, each message with the same sort of idea: USING RELATIVE LOCATION WHERE THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL ARE YOU???

Finally, around ten o'clock (by which time I had stopped pacing and started actually considering calling the police), Phil stumbled in through the door, his arm around the waist of a petite blond girl with tan skin and blue eyes that seemed to be pieces of the sky. They were both laughing quietly, gently in each others ears the way only friends (or lovers, I thought, not without a hint of jealousy) could, so close that even the wind couldn't steal their words. 

Phil looked up and saw me, his face breaking into one of uproarious laughter. "Ha! Dan's home. Dan, you're home! What the fuck." He looked at me quizzically, suddenly no longer laughing, "What the fuck?"

I ran over to him, but not quickly enough to catch him before he fell...into the girl's arms. Fuck. "Are you fucking drunk?" I snarled, kneeling next to him. I felt like I wanted to slap him, or kiss him, or maybe just cry. None of which seemed to be viable options.  The only time I'd ever been this confused was when my friends mixed up the pot brownies with the regular ones. Well, just mine. Instead, I started to take off his boots, which were coated in mud and glitter. (I mean, seriously. The mud was understandable; it'd been raining for the past week, almost none stop. But glitter? What the hell?)

"Who the fuck are you, anyway?" I directed this question at the girl, who was untying Phil's other boot. I pushed her away and did it myself, needing something to do with my hands lest they reach for her throat. "He missed filming because of this! And if you were any friend of Phil's, you'd know he literally cannot hold his alcohol. Two shots and he's out."

"He had five, and he seems fine to me."

"This is FINE? You consider this mess to be a functional human being? He has three tests tomorrow! And he has to memorize a main scene!"

Phil groaned on the floor, rolling onto his side. His face was too green for comfort, so I shoved a flower pot next to him. "Not on the fucking carpet," I told him, a little more gently. Then, with the same anger as before, I tuned to the girl. "Who the fuck are you, anyway? Some sort of hooker?"

"No," she said, sounding hurt. And dammit, she was pretty. And kind, from what I could tell. And probably smart and a good singer and not always so careless and just fucking perfect and together they'd be perfect. Shit. Dammit. Fuck fuck FUCK this hurt. "I'm Jade."