ques·tion
verb
feel or express doubt about; raise objections to.
Boing, boing, boing.
It was around midnight, and the moon was full, it's light seeping in through my black curtains. I was sat atop my bed, the checkered duvet crumpled and unmade. The sound of a red bouncy ball thumping echoed throughout the empty house. I was using my "powers" to bounce it around my bedroom, lost in my head.
Boing, boing, boing.
Each bump pretty much represented my thought processing at the moment. My sense of interest bounced from one topic to the other, kinda like that ball.
First it went to Phil, then to whatever I was feeling, then back to Phil again. An endless loop.
We already went to the film. It was fun, and I didn't even care that the trip didn't have any of that sappy romantic movie moments; like where hands brush while reaching for the popcorn, or one yawns and uses it as an excuse to cuddle the other.
Okay, so maybe I wouldn't have exactly minded that stuff happening, but I was still okay it didn't. Those actually might have happened if we didn't leave thirty minutes into the film, I suspected.
But since we were the only lone seniors in highschool sitting in the theatre watching Finding Nemo (we chose it ironically), we ended up ditching to go play mario kart at my house.
In the week that had passed since then, I can proudly say the paritally nonexistent goal to hang out with Phil more was going swimmingly. We haven't went to Phil's house, him always having put it off, but that was okay. I was just content to finally have a friend, somebody to obsess over pointless fandoms and bands with. Even if he did pretty much destroy my view on just about everything, I enjoyed spending time with him. It felt like we've known each other for years rather than just the short time we actually have, what with how comfortable our friendship had settled.
I couldn't help but wonder if Phil was gay. I mean, he sure as hell acts like he is. Flirting all the time, frequent unnecessary body contact with me (in innocence, of course). Maybe, if he is gay, he likes me.
Say he is gay, and he does like me. That still leaves one very important question to remain.
Do I like him?
Something somewhere inside of me would definitely answer yes to that. He was attractive as hell, and the only person to have ever broke through my bubble of existence. But I kinda didn't want to accept the fact I might have a crush on Phil. Having a friend was already worrying enough, but a crush? How would an outcast like me ever be able to have a boyfriend? That's just it, I couldn't. I'd only hurt them, only hurt Phil.
I rubbed my eyes, fighting back the urge to start crying. Be strong, you twat.
Boing, boing, CRASH!
I jumped. I had apparently lost my concentration with the ball while rubbing my eyes, and now it had knocked over something. I stood up and wondered over to where the aforementioned mysterious object had fallen behind my dresser.
I glanced down at the hole a drawer I had previously destroyed once lied, then peered over the back to look at what I had managed to break now.
First my eyes found the bouncy ball, slumped between two papers I had slid back there in the midst of tidying from who knows how long ago. Then, a lamp. Shattered into a dozen of pieces.
I groaned, bending over and picking up the shade to it. The shards probably needed to be swept, though. I glared at the ball, which was as red and glossy as ever, shining like it had done me a huge favour by murdering my lamp. I decided to leave the ball there as a punishment for its crime, even though I was well aware it was a inanimate object and held no brain function or even an acknowledgement to existing. Still, it was the thought that counted.
I shuffled down the stairs to find the broom, mumbling grumpily to myself. I found it abandoned in our storage closet in the hallway, grabbing it by the neck and turning back to go to my room. It would probably be best to clean it up manually, considering my dumbass abnormal tendencies were what got me into this mess.
Just as I was about to put my foot on the first step, the doorbell rang, making my eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. This was odd for two reasons: one, I had no friends who would ring, and two, neither did my dad. Aside from Phil, who had promised to never come by my place unless asking first because of my dad, my father and I were the only people that even entered the house.
I, broom still in hand, hesitantly made way to the front door. In times like these I resented the fact of not having a peep hole, or whatever its called. I'd just have to hope it wasn't a murderer or something. I twisted the knob and pulled it open, startled when Phil collapsed into my arms.
I let the broom clatter to the ground, wrapping my arms around the smaller boy. Shutting the door behind us, I came to the realization he was crying.
"Phil? Phil, what's wrong? What happened?" I whispered, trying to keep my voice calm even though my brain was on panic mode. Phil never cried. Or at least, never cried in my presence. Not to mention how late it was, so what the hell happened?
Phil shook his head into my chest, something I assumed to mean that he didn't want to talk about it yet. I took a deep breath, the lamp remains long forgotten, and lead him up to my room. The couch would have been closer, but I didn't know when my dad would be home and didn't want to take any chances. Before traveling through the stairs, I blinked over to the door and locked it.
We sat down on my bed. Or rather, I sat and he fell over top of me, bawling his pretty blue eyes out. I let him cry, knowing from experience the best thing to do was to not hold back. I tried to be helpful and patted his back. I mean, I'd seen people do it on tv and read it in books, so I assumed that to be the right thing. It really just felt awkward, honestly. Or maybe that was because I was internally freaking out about having Phil Lester cradled up in my arms, so close to me. The closest we've really ever been was our sides or legs brushing. I pushed my mixed feelings towards Phil away, though, trying to concentrate on being supportive.
Still, Phil was upset, and he came to me. How amazing is that?
Phil's heart wrenching sobs soon began to falter into gentle sniffles. He trembled in my arms, and I wanted to hug him tighter. I wanted to squeeze the pain from him, to keep him close to me until all his troubles were forgotten.
But he only stayed a few minutes longer before pulling away. He scooted back, all snuffly, and kept his face hidden beneath his black fringe.
"Feel better?" I asked quietly. He nodded slowly, then turned his face up. I frowned as I took in his appearance, feeling another urge to cradle him. His blue eyes were like an ocean of tears, rimmed red and gray from crying. A blush was painted from one cheek to the other, traveling across his nose. He was staring at his lap, playing anxiously with his hands.
"What happened?" I repeated softly.
Phil took a slow, shaky intake of breath. He looked up and pulled his mouth into the emptiest, saddest smile I had ever seen.
"My parents kicked me out." He whispered. I felt my jaw unhinge in surprise, but quickly shut it afterwards.
"Why?" I asked, hesitant. What on earth could my precious, innocent Phil do to upset his family so much? He was about as harmful as a butterfly and--wait, did I just say my Phil?
"They..." He began, smile dropping, obviously nervous and unsure about this whole exchange. His fingers twisted more urgently in his lap as he struggled to find the courage to say what he was thinking.
I edged closer to him, tenderly removing one of his hands from the other. I linked our fingers together, hoping this worked as an act of comfort and not just something weird. He paused his stuttering, eyeing our hands, before looking up and smiling weakly.
I smiled back, relief trickling through me. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing in deeply, then opened his eyes and exhaled. He seemed more confident now; he was sitting up straighter, and his eyes were less dull. Still a little sad looking, but more confident overall. I felt a warmth settle inside me at knowing I was the one to make that happen.
"My parents are very strict. Religious, too." He began. "They weren't always so strict, of course. I...I had a sister a few years ago."
"Had?" I asked tentatively. Phil nodded, closing his eyes, as if recapping an old memory.
"She was thirteen, Dan. Thirteen when she died."
"I'm sorry." I said softly, glancing down at our joint hands when his grip tightened. I was quite familiar with how it felt to loose somebody close to you. In fact, I was practically family with the feeling.
"She was hit by a car." Phil opened his eyes. He was staring distantly behind me, eyes glazed over with a sense of painful nostalgia. "After she died, my parents began to strap more rules down. It was like the death broke them. They stopped caring about what I wanted, I think. We used to live around here, but had to move about a month after the death because they couldn't handle living in a place full of memories of her. The only reason we came back was because it costed too much there.
"But anyway, like I said, they are religious as hell. Its always god this, and god that. I wouldn't be surprised if they sleep with a bible hugged to their chests or something.
"Back where I used to live I had a boyfriend. They didn't know about him, but we took a lot of pictures together. I left my phone at home today, and..." Phil stopped for a second, swallowing. "They found the pictures. The names they called me weren't good. They told me I was dead to them when I refused to 'change my mind', as they put it. Like I could just snap my fingers and, poof, I'm straight."
Phil gave a dry laugh, but it quickly dissipated. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and looking ready to cry again. "Then they told me to get out. To leave."
I stared at him a moment, letting the full taste of his words fizzle a reaction. I blinked, sympathy flitting over my brown eyes. "Oh, Phil. I'm so sorry. How long do you have?"
"A week." He sighed.
"Have you got a place to stay?" I asked.
"My Nan said I could live with her." Phil smiled weakly. "It'll be okay."
I smiled back, but my brain was still chewing on some bits and pieces of what he had said. Specifically the part about his boyfriend.
"So, you're gay?" I asked, rather awkwardly, after a brief silence. Phil nodded, laughing a little at my awkwardness.
"I'm bi." I said, though my stomach was fluttering slightly with the knowing that Phil was gay. That answers one question I had been wondering earlier. But what about the other two?
Phil nodded again, but I couldn't help but notice that his eyes seemed a little brighter.
"What happened to your boyfriend?" The words just kept tumbling. Dammit, Dan, shut up.
"Broke up." Phil said, shrugging slightly.
"Oh. I'm sorry." I said for, like, the third time today. How original I was.
"Don't be." Phil smiled widely, his deep blue eyes sparkling. He leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to my cheek. "I like you way more than I ever liked him."
I felt my face instantly start to heat up as he pulled away. But before I could be forced upon the seemingly impossible task of stimulating a reply to that, the door downstairs slammed loudly. My heart lurched, the red in my cheeks instantly draining.
Dad was home.
Phil and I both jumped. Panic pulsed into me, and I finally found my voice. "Window, Phil, time to go." I whispered, pushing him towards it urgently.
He didn't question me, since I had already told him vaguely about my Dad (minding the beating part). I pulled it open, trying to be quiet. The cold night air cooled my face and I helped Phil onto the ledge.
My room was on the top floor, but the roof outside my window curved slightly on the sides, and the trashcans were directly below to the left. I pointed him to it, and he, glancing back at me with wide and fearful eyes, made way.
Our hands were pulled apart. I didn't prod on how cold mine felt afterwards, though. Instead, I closed the window and locked it, heart ramming into my ribcage. I could only pray dad wouldn't come upstairs tonight.
Trying to control my breathing, I climbed back onto my bed. I thought about everything Phil just said, and how he kissed me. I thought about him losing his sister, and his parents.
But as I pondered our previous conversation more and more, something seemed to stick out. It made a weird feeling settle in his stomach. There was something weirdly familiar about the way Phil's sister died.
I swallowed dryly and shook the thoughts away.
A/N - I kinda liked this chapter. outcast is almost over, holy fudge. there is only five more parts I will be uploading until I can official say its complete, including the epilogue. all the feedback I've been getting is really motivational, honestly. so so close to 1k reads, I cannot believe this. seriously. you guys are awesome, writing is becoming one of the only things that can make me happy, and its an amazing feeling to know my writing makes others happy too. thank you xxx.