emotions (phan)

seven

I woke up the next morning to find Phil's arms around me and my back pressed against his chest. Our legs were intertwined, his head nudged slightly against the back of my neck, and the only clothing blocking us were a pair of boxers.

Oddly, I kind of liked it. But this all had to come to end. I had things I needed to ask him, to tell him.

I turned over and tapped him lightly on the forehead. He didn't wake up. "Phil," I whispered. He hummed into the pillow.

"Mm, morning," he spoke, his voice muffled from the sheets.

"Good morning to you too," I joked. "I have to go to work in a couple of hours, but we have to talk first."

He opened his eyes and looked at me. "Okay."

"Is there a different reason as to why you want me to have emotions again?" I asked. He exhaled, looking up at the ceiling before replying,

He rolled to lay on his back, glancing up at the ceiling to avoid my gaze. "When my family died, all I ever did was blame myself," he began. "I told myself that it was my fault, that I deserved to die instead of them, that they probably hate me because of what I did to them. I couldn't handle the voices in my head. At one point it became too much, and before I knew it my eyes were shutting and I couldn't bring myself to open them back up. When I opened them again, I felt nothing. No misery, no blame, no guilt. Just anger."

I braced myself.

"So I went clubbing a bunch. I got in fights with people, even people on the streets, I got kicked out of schools and suspended for weeks. I nearly killed someone, Dan." His voice cracked at my name and I looked at him to see a single tear running down his cheek.

Before I knew what I was doing I reached under the covers and took his hand in mine, squeezing it in a soothing gesture.

"When I finally turned my feelings back on, I was a mess. A-All that guilt and bad things I did to people in that time came rushing back. I ditched school because of how unhappy I was. That's why I hate the fact you don't have any emotions on. Dan, if you don't turn them back on now, you'll never want to turn them back on again. It's the most painful thing I ever had to do, but I'm so glad I did it. If you do choose to turn them back on, I'll be right there with you. That's a promise."

I sighed and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm scared."

"That's what makes you human, Dan. If you aren't scared, you aren't feeling. This means we're getting somewhere with your emotions."

-

I heard a knock at my door and smiled to myself, excited to see Phil.

But when I opened the door, it was somebody completely different. "Jamie?" I blinked. He looked pissed.

"Hi, Dan." He smirked deviously. Oh god. He has his emotions off, doesn't he? "Here's your weed, and this," he handed the bag to me and without warning, punched me right in the gut. I gasped for air, falling to my knees. "I'm not your servant anymore, I've got my own problems. I'm tired of treating you like a god and you treating me like dirt." Then Jamie began to turn away.

"I treated you exactly how I thought of you!" I snapped without thinking. Jamie swiftly turned back to me, pulling me up by my shirt and slamming me against the wall, my back pressing against a glass picture. I flinched as I felt the material break and pierce through my sweater, slice my skin.

"You better watch your mouth, tough guy. I could care less if I killed you right here and now. You're a worthless, selfish bitch who only hurts anything they lay eyes on. I hope you burn in hell where you belong."

He let go of me after that, stomping out the apartment. And then I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was crying but no tears were coming out, only wrecked sobs and whimpers.

I clutched at my chest and managed to crawl over to grab my fallen phone, dialing Phil. He picked up right away.

"Dan? You never call me. Are you drunk, horny, or both?" He joked. I held back a laugh, too shaken up to smile.

"C-can you come over? Please?" I sniffled.

There was a pause, his mood switching immediately. "Are you okay?" Phil asked worriedly.

No. No, I'm not. You're changing me. You're giving me all these horrible emotions.

"P-please hurry. . ."

"I'll be over in five, stay where you are."

I hung up without a reply and just laid against the wall on the floor, my back burning.

Phil burst in the door and as soon as he saw me, he dropped down to look at me. "What the hell happened? Are you hurt?"

"My back," I murmured, my chest heaving. "S'bleeding."

He exhaled, helping me up and moving me into my room. "Turn around," he instructed. I faced away from him and he lifted up my shirt slightly. "Where's your first aid kit?"

"Bathroom cabinet," I told him.

"I'll go get it, take off your shirt in the meantime."

He left and I slipped off my top, tensing as I peeled it from the drying blood.

Phil came back and helped me up, leading me to the couch and sitting me down onto it. "Who did this to you?" He wiped at the fresh cuts, cleaning them up and bandaging them.

"Guy from the bar we met at. Revenge plot."

"I'm gonna go put the kit back up," Phil said, then left. I sat on my bed waiting, but when he came back, he was holding something. He didn't seem pleased at all, in fact his fists were clenched and he was glaring at me. He shoved what he was holding in my face.

My weed.