No, I'm Just Delusional (Phan) RE-WRITE IN PROCESS

Society Almost Killed The Beauty

Dan -

I am so tired. For weeks, months I have sat here, waiting. Time has seemed to slip away. There is no measure only the rare and irregular times I can be bothered to get up.

My days usually consist if watching, waiting, hating and regretting.

A specialist came yesterday, or I think it was yesterday. They said they were going to cut the life support, that there was no point any more. 'He's as good as dead.' I couldn't let that happen. I spoke, and my voice was raspy and kept breaking, I hadn't spoken in weeks. 'No,' I said. 'You wouldn't dare, I'm paying for treat... his life support, a-and you-you can't!" I stopes talking and let the endless stream of tears erupt from my eyes and cascade down my cheeks.

My cheeks are still not dry and I don't have the strength to wipe them away. I glance up at Phil's face and want so badly to wipe the hair that clings to his forehead away, but I don't, I have no right to touch him; he probably wouldn't even want me here, but I stay for my own sick reasons. My reasons being that I need him, after everything I have do to him I need him.

I haven't left the room if days an if I'm being honest I really need to pee. I stretch out my legs, wincing every time I move them. I put my arms on the side of the chair I have been living in and propel myself into a standing position. I stumble around a bit, but manage to get my balance.

I slowly walk out the door and head towards the bathroom. I throw a worried glance behind me and try to hobble as fast as I can towards the bathrooms. As soon as I leave the room I instantly feel guilty. I shouldn't be leaving, if he can't why should I get to? I try to push the thoughts out of my mind and direct my energy to getting to the bathroom as fast as possible.

I turn the corner and shuffle towards the navy painted door with a large sign on the front saying 'Gentlemen'. I struggle to push open the door, my frail arms pushing with all the strength I have. I eventually get it open kneel over panting. 'It shouldn't be that hard to open a god damn door.' I think to myself. I shake it off and walk into one of the stalls, locking it behind me.

*

I open the door and walk out, going over to the shitty yellow sinks and dirty mirrors perched above. I squirt some soap into my hands and turn the tap on, trying not to get soap on the cold water tap handle. I manage to turn it on and keep my eyes focussed on my hands. I make the mistake of looking up when turning the handle off.

My eyes meet with a disgusting creature. With dark dishevelled hair, cold, pale skin, sickeningly skinny figure, but the thing that stands out the most is the dark, empty eyes. They look so soulless. Thats when I realise that they are. They hold a deep sadness and an anger, so hungry it has consumed them. I observe their cold features, taking note of their posture, so poor and... defeated. Disgust litters their face and I then realise that it is no creature, it is me.

Again observe myself. I look so.. so dead. The fact that I haven't eaten in days and before that who knows how long, is obvious. My once fit and just skinny body now looks small and fragile. I look like I could brake at any moment, like any small movement could kill me. 'I deserve it,' I think. 'After everything I have done, I deserve to die.'

I move my hand up to brush away a few stray hairs and I startle myself when my hand reaches up, so small and delicate, like a child's hand. I hesitantly move it towards my face, scared of it, scared of myself. I feel tired. I don't usually leave Phil but I haven't left in over three days and I really needed to go to the toilet. I feel myself slowly drain of energy and decide that I need to get back to Phil.

I don't want to leave.

I know it sounds stupid but in here I don't have to face the real world. I can just lock myself in a toilet and never come out. I seriously consider it, but I know that they will find me and make me leave. My parents that is.

Ever since Phil... got hurt, they have been telling me, threatening me if I don't go home and start being the perfect son again then they'll disown me. I remember laughing at them, a cold and hard laugh. I knew they would never do that. To disown me would mean that I wasn't perfect and thats all that they cared about being perfect. But see I knew that no matter what I do I will never be perfect. I don't want to be perfect. I want to be me. I want to have people come and talk to me about random things and go listen to Muse, to read great books, to travel, to hang around with people that cared more about me as a person, rather than the money in my pocket. It was a great battle and it was one I knew I could never win. I could try, but I would always know that society ruins everything.

People, places, ideas, originality, love, hope, society killed them all. Society killed me. I might not be dead physically but mentally I'm about as alive as a plastic bag. In a way it is wrong to blame society for this but indirectly it is because of them. If I I hadn't been pressured to be this way, to wear these clothes, to 'be friends' with these people , then I wouldn't have hurt Phil, he would still be here and maybe we would even be friends. I know I'm just dreaming.

The thing is though when I say that society killed me, do I include myself in that?

I need to get back to the room, I turn and head back. I turn into the corridor where Phil's room is. I am suddenly very aware of several raised voices.

“Pass me the...”

“Heart rates down and decreasing...”

“We don't have long...”

“What about the other one?” I hear distinctly, the voices stop for a moment and then they blur together again.

So many thoughts are echoing in my head right now.

Phil, Phil, Phil.

I rush towards the room, ignoring my protesting legs, I have to get there, I have to save him.

“Heart rate's down to 45...”

“All clear?”

“Clear.”

I hear the distinct sound of electricity and I hear the shock of the hit. I am still running towards the room, tears now fall down my cheeks more than they have in while. I finally reach the room and clumsily open the door, only a flimsy sheet of plastic blocks Phil from my view, I push it away. What I see next breaks my heart.

Phil's body limp and pale. His face emotionless. Four people surround him, one checks his pulse. “Time of death 4:19 pm.” I stand there. Nothing. No. Phil. Gone.

I run, it all seems so slow. I reach his bed. I shake him. “Phil, no, no, NO! Y-you can't leave me, NO PHIL!” I scream his name over and over again. I am not even aware when that the people leave. “PHIL, Phil, please, please, y-you can't leave me,” I am shaking so much, I tears cloud me vision but nothing can stop me from seeing the cold, limp body in my arms. 

I lift him up and chuck the pillows angrily across the room. I place his head on my lap. I kiss hid eye lids, his nose, his cheeks, I kiss every part of his face muttering over and over again, “I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry.”

My tears drop on to his still face and time has no meaning. “PHIL!” I scream, I scream so loud that I am pretty sure everyone in the hospital heard me, but that doesn't mean that I care. I have to say it before I-I, I have to say it. “I love you Phillip Lester, I do, more than I ever said, more than I could ever show you, more than you'll ever know, I love you.” And just like that I am ready. I am ready to end this. To die.

I carefully lift Phil's face from my lap and rest it again on the bed. I press my lips up against Phil's forehead and whisper softly “I love you.”

I turn to leave without looking back. I push the plastic sheet back and walk through. My hand rests on the door handle. I turn it and am about to walk through when I hear the faintest beep. From the monitor, that could only be one thing.

A heart beat.