Hunger Point | Phan

Chapter Twenty-nine: Regrets

[ Phil ]

    

     "Phil!" My mum reprimanded when I hung up the phone with Dan. "What?" I asked,  playing dumb, handing her her phone back. "I told Dan it was a bad idea to talk to you and you proved my point...God, Phil, imagine things from his perspective before you say things."

Then she was gone. I felt like I had been punched in the throat.

     Did she not see it was affecting me, too? It fucking hurt to do this to Dan, not to mention I didn't want it in the first place. It was Bart.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was me. Maybe I needed something to destroy me in order to have a reason to hurt so badly. I'm still depressed...and technically I don't have a valid reason. I do now. Maybe my father brainwashed me. I mean, I loved Dan more than I loved anything, would I really do this to him? I thought of his sadness and how when he cries he pulls my heart out with every tear, how I'd do anything to make it go away, and how his happiness makes me feel like I'm floating and how when I cause him to laugh, I'm flying. How when he won't eat, I'm ready to die because he's slowly killing himself, and how he's not here and I just feel empty and numb and I know why I'm doing this--I'm testing myself, I'm so desperate to feel something, anything but emptiness, that I'd destroy the one I love most, only to still feel barren.

     Screw it. This is no way to live. I want to live--I want to feel alive. I have to.

{ Dan }

     "Dan, please eat," Mitch was pleading of me as he packed all his things in a suitcase, making me sick to my stomach. I refused to leave my bed after he was gone. I wouldn't. They couldn't make me. Neither could Mitch before he did leave. "You aren't eating and that's why you're stuck in bed, you don't have any energy, you're actually looking sick now. Please." He begged, shooting me a highly disapproving scowl to further prove his point. He proceeded to throw his clothes in his bag. I shifted my eyes from the scene. If I had food in my stomach, I'd puke.

Eventually he gave up, focusing on packing his things. When he zipped his bag shut, he turned to face me, sitting down on the edge of his bed. I mimicked his motions, pushing myself into a sitting position. Our eyes met. "Today's my last day." He noted, picking at a fingernail as distraction. I felt a tug in my stomach and felt myself gag. Dryheaving is the worst. "I know." I said, gulping. He reminded me we were in a hospital, I had forgotten. I had also forgotten we'd only known eachother for a little over a week, it felt like a lifetime. But a week in here was like a year in the real world.

     He stood and I mimed his every movement (breaking my stay-in-bed promise) until we were standing three inches away. I blinked tears back, swallowed hard. "Promise to visit me on the outside," He ordered, tugging me closer by my shirt collar. "But how will I contact--," I began but was interrupted...but not by words. By lips, his lips, and it felt amazing, I felt a tingle all the way down to my toes, and I didn't want to love it but I did; I also didn't want to feel guilty but I did. I still loved Phil. But Mitch brought a smile to my face when all Phil gave was tears and is that not essentially love? I think I loved Mitch, too.

But then his lips flew away from me and my mind went foggy for his touch. But when my groggy head cleared, he was gone, everything he had to his name gone too...except his poetry notebook, resting on the shelf by my bed. . .

     [ Phil ]

I looked down sixty feet, my stomach churning. My stomach was saying I should be scared but my head was assuring me that everything was okay. I couldn't decipher any of my emotions except confusion and frustration...which frustrated me further. I just wanted to feel...how was I so happy and full of life this time last week, and now be empty? Where did it all go?

     Jump. Jumpjumpjump J U M P! My mind screamed but the wind blew, forcing me up against the water tower. I gripped the round edges, the December air making the tower cold--the coolness seeping in through my fingertips, freezing me to the core. I still didn't feel scared--I didn't feel anything, otherwise the chill of the air.

I leaned over the ledge precariously, my eyes met with asphalt. I saw peace and refuge there and wanted nothing but to seek shelter in it and paint it with my blood--but I wouldn't.  I thought of my mum, and Keaton, and my friends, and Dan--even Dan...I couldn't follow through. Having the threat of jumping before me was enough. I left with a blank mind and a heavy heart and I hadn't felt scared but I now felt very sad and I suppose that's better than nothing.

     -   -   -

"Come as you are, As you were, As I want you to be," A Nirvana song played through the speakers from inside the very trailer I was ducking underneath. PJ and Chris showed it to me when we were only fifteen. It was obviously still in use by the music playing, though if you were a cop you'd assume it was from the inside, not the underneath. Plus, what tipped me off of its use, the owner has a Kurt Cobain obsession.

     After I walked home, took a handful of sleeping medication (not to die. To sleep), then woke up hours later and pondered over my predicament a bit, I headed out into the city at almost one a.m. to find out what I thought I needed to know. Part of me was using it as an excuse to obtain a distraction.

I was here partly because I knew this girl knew my father and Dan's mother. Maybe she knew where my dad was, maybe he'd been by. The other part...like I mentioned: a distraction. She was only nineteen but if you did drugs or knew someone who does: you know her or her family.

     I kicked aside the brick that looks to be holding the trailer up and slipped into their cave. She--brunette hair, brown eyes, Nirvana sweatshirt (obviously)--was on her bed, writing in a journal.  The "room" had a concrete floor, folding table and three chairs, a twin bed, and a latter to access the actual house. Who would choose to live this way? I guess its odd because of my environment. Maybe I'm too quick to judge.

"Leighton?" I asked, surprised when she looked up, smiling, revealing shockingly pretty teeth. "I need to know about one of your customers..." I told her my purpose before she could start offering me prices. This comes first. She twisted up her lips like she was sucking on a lemon. "How do I know you aren't with the police? I need you to buy before I can sell," She said, crossing her arms with finality.  I shrugged. A little pot couldn't hurt. This was the distraction I wanted, after all. "Okay. What are your prices?"

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Listen here fuckboys, I'm feeling generous, so if you want spoilers from the chapters in the late thirties + a quick update pls comment letting me know bc i value comments and want some so give it to me in exchange for goodies

     ALSO WATCH PINOF6 FOR PHEELS BC HEART EYES HOWELL IS POTENT IN IT BC OF PHIL ARGH (((also this chapter: sorry bout it)