High On You (Phan) // Unfinished

Chapter 13

I laid supine on my couch, staring at the dull, off-white ceiling. Every little thing and nothing ran through my mind at once at an unbearably quick pace. I spat curse words in a sussurant manner until I couldn't think of any unused ones.

I knew I loved him. After approximately a week of knowing Phil Lester, who I'm still convinced I'm plagued by kalopsia about, I was in love.

In love? Am I sure about that? Or did I just love him? As a friend? Friends don't make-out with each other and take off each others shirts and casually mention they may have had sex with the other if they didn't stop. Friends don't look at each other the way we do. He gazes into my eyes like they're the damn cynosure of the universe.

Friends...even best friends don't do that to each other.

Especially guys, unless it's a joke; or acting; but we are doing neither of those things. Or at least I'm not. Maybe he's cromulent, maybe he's fucking with me.

I don't think he is, though. It's hard to fake the way he seems to feel about me.

I didn't want to drown in my thoughts, but it was inevitable. I'm not saying he's broken me, because that's used in emo teenage poems to describe how they feel after the end of a two-week long relationship. But he's definitely confused me. He's upset me and boggled my fucking mind with his effervescent nature, beautiful face, and kalon.

What's horrible is that I'm inure to feeling depressed. I was diagnosed with it a year ago and I never told my parents, although Adrian knows. I feel like even though we don't talk much, I'm still his older brother and I should at least let him know the half of what's going on with me. He may not know everything, but our parents know virtually nothing.

I wish I could've brushed not being 'completely heterosexual' under the rug and hid that from them as well. Sadly, I decided it was too big of a deal to not say something. Most people that try to suppress their sexuality would've said, 'oh, no biggie. I still like girls, so it's fine. I'll just marry a woman in the end and I'll never have to tell my family I'm slightly gay.' But me? Nonono. I couldn't do that; so simply and nonchalantly; because I was fed-up. I know I had been suppressing it for years, so now that I actually had some sort of proof to myself that I was right when I was fifteen and had never liked a guy before, it pushed me over the line. Phil made me realize something and bring back memories that I never wanted to remember. They were always buried so deep with all the drugs in my system the majority of the time and the way I lived my life that I didn't think I would have to acknowledge they ever happened.

I both love him and resent him for coming into my life. I love the way he makes me feel when I'm with him, I hate the emotions his existence brings out in me when I'm not. I love what he says to me, I hate that I have to respond.

He doesn't bring out the worst in me, he brings out the best in me which later messes with my head and brings out the worst of my feelings.

Drugs are my panacea. They let me escape from all problems except the problem of doing drugs. I'm surprised I haven't done more than usual since I've met Phil, but instead less. I know an argument would be that I care too much about him and want to be presentable for him so I'm smart enough to not have (hard) drugs in my system when I'm with him. But the way my brain works, I feel like I should be doing two times more than regular. I should be popping ecstasy two times a day instead of one. I should be snorting cocaine (which I rarely ever do), and shooting heroin into my veins too, because that would give me more time to not pay attention to how limerent I am over him. I have never felt limerence until I met him and I think that of all emotions, including anger and sadness and fear, intense love is the worst one. It can drag along every other feeling with it at one time. If you receive the love in return, you may have fear of losing that person eventually. If you aren't loved back, it's like an empty void or space has taken over a chunk of your heart, and it's hard to breathe or concentrate on anything other than trying to be happy because the person you're infatuated with is the only image in your mind. They're plastered behind your eyes and everything reminds you of them because even when you breathe you know they are too.