the broken

Chapter 13

MARCH, 2009

Phil

I've been sat in my room in the dark for who knows how long, legs folded under me, tired eyes wide open, mind racing endlessly. Had I drunk an entire gallon of coffee, I would have been less awake than I was right now. In my tired state, everything seems so much louder, so much clearer, so much more real. I can hear the whispers of air that curl through my room, the soft creaks of the floorboards, the uneven sound of breathing coming from Dans room across the hall.

Today had been better than I thought life could be, waking up with him in my arms, breathing in that smell of warm and soft and sweet, and then he'd gone and woken up and turned even cuter, with his tired brown eyes and his floppy mop of curls, the way he'd automatically snuggled back into my side as soon as he woke up, the way our legs tangled like we had been glued together.

He'd spent the whole day with me.

Even on his good days, I could never get him all to myself, but this morning, I couldn't find any ghosts in his eyes, couldn't find the sag in his shoulders or the tired shuffle that made it seem as though he carried the whole world on his back.

And god, was that beautiful to see.

But at the end of the day, he collapsed again, folded in on himself like a broken accordion, and watching the shadows grow longer on his face made the world taste bitter.

I want him to be happy, I want to see him like that all the time, want to find out what color his eyes turn when he's laughing. I would kill to see him smile at me and mean it.

I don't know how to help anymore.

Hence the reason I am sitting up in my bed at three in the morning, mind racing.

He is a novel that I can't open.

This all swirls in my head until finally I am fed up, and I let out an angry groan into my pillow, tangling my hands in my hair in frustration.

Why does he do this to me, why does he have such an effect on me?

All of a sudden, I hear my door creak open.

"Phil?"

I look up to see Jamie's concerned face peering through the empty space.

"What's wrong?" he asks quietly, crossing the room and crawling into my bed, wrapping his arms around me. His arms are warm and remind me of the days before he hated me.

"I'm just...stressed."

His face darkens.

"Is it because of Dan?"

"Well, yeah, but..." I start to say, but he cuts me off.

"No. Stop. I hate him for doing this. You didn't ask for him to dump his mess onto you."

I turn to look at him angrily.

"He is not 'dumping his mess' on me. I'm stressed because somethings wrong and he's pretending that there isn't. Thats my problem, that's my issue, and it's not on him. It's not his fault."

"Why do you even care, Phil. He's just some pathetic kid you picked up off the street. Do you like him or something?"

"No," I stutter, cheeks red. "Why do you care if I do anyways?"

"Because I love you"

"I know, and me caring about Dan doesn't change that?"

"No, Phil, you're so oblivious. I love you."