Broken Rules - Phan

Part 17

"No!" She yelled, her voice low but authrotive. "You... You can't!"
"Dottie I can do whatever I like,"
"Fucking heart breaker! Player! Boy lover!" No matter how many insults she threw at me I was sure I wasn't going to break. "You and Phil are perfect together," I stopped. My body stone cold. "You're both murderers." I swung. Before I could register and filter my thoughts I'd smashed my fist into her cheekbone.

It felt good. The way my knuckles stung and the blood that spurted from her nose gave me relief. I took a long breath, drawing in and out calmly.
"Stay out of my way you utter piece of shit," I shook my fist and heard a small crack in the knuckle. I played it off well.

I got close to her face and my eyes spat at her,
"If you ever talk about Phil like that again," I drew in a breath and heard her shake, "you'll wish you fucking hadn't." She walked away, her hand planted on her face like she'd accidentally glued it there out of stupidity.

"Dude," Chris looked at me, his eyes sympathetic and his smile soft and sincere, "are you sure?" I softly smiled at him, my composure confident and clear,
"Yeah," he asked me with his eyes, but why, "I have lived my entire life in the shadows... Kinda... Yknow metaphorically. And I need to see him. One last time. Before I follow my dreams... Or try to at least,"
"I've never even read anything you've written," he sighed, his hands on my knees eagerly,
"Because you'd make fun of me for it," I smiled at the ground, knowing his exact reaction.
"Yeah... I guess so," he calmly responded.

He quickly pulled me into a hug and buried his face in my shoulder,
"I'm gonna miss you buddy," he stopped and I wrapped my arms around him to give him a quick squeeze, "you have family in Switzerland right?"
"Of course," I told him, making him laugh,
"I really am going to miss you," I squeezed him again. He pulled back quickly, gave an aggressive sniff and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, "not in a gay way or anything."
"No homo," I laughed at him and poked him in the shoulder,
"It works better with you," he smiled,
"What do you mean?" And he gestured to the clouds, as if imagining a large neon sign,
"No homo Howell."

I didn't know how PJ would react. I guessed only time would tell.
"I'm leaving," I told him in the canteen,
"I know," he said, as if in a trance, "to become an author in Switzerland," he smiled at me gently, as if understanding it all without a single syllable needing to be uttered, "I could always see it in you. That creative flow," he put his hand on my shoulder, "I will miss you though." He placed a long line of daisies which had been swirled into a circle into my Palm. He whispered to me, "I'd anticipated it for a while now." He went to walk away, leaving me shell shocked and with a pile of threaded daisies in my hand, "enjoy Switzerland bud," he waved as he walked away.

So that was it. It was all planned. The plane would arrive tomorrow, whisk me away to a crisp country filled with mystery and I could fulfil my dream of writing. Deep down I knew I could never be a priest or own a job connected to the church; I could never run that school. My head had always told me I needed a steady job, one of a sturdy accord. But my heart wanted so much more. Flowing from my mouth, words came to me at ease. I could spin a complex and original web of stories from my hand, all I had needed was a muse.

I know it all seems so cliche, so planned. If you think about it hard, this whole story has probably been told a thousand times. The same brown haired white boy, confused by his sexuality and riddled with self loathing. That same boy falling for another white, black haired boy. Faster than he probably should.

If I wanted to seal the story, cement it, I had to get closure. Say goodbye. I had to look at his patented blue eyes once more and tell him I was with him. That even when he left prison, he would be able to have me, move in with me, love me, if he wanted to.

In fact, this whole situation, felt like my own little soap. Like I was a little puppet or voodoo doll being made to play out a story for somebodies amusement. Sometimes it still feels like it wasn't real, like it wasn't my story. But it was.

And, as Shakespeare once wrote, 'all the world is a stage, and all the men and women merely players' and my play, my masterpiece, my web had just begun.

~~~~~~~

Long time no see
This is not as long as I wanted
But I'm not writing all of it again cos I'll just fucking lose it
Hope you like breaking the fourth wall lol