the broken

Chapter 35

JUNE, 2009

Dan

Pj's hands settle on my shoulders.

Close.

We are way too close.

I can feel his breath whispering across my face and it makes my chest feel tight.

Uncomfortable.

I am about to step back, to say something, but at that moment, he captured my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine. My breath freezes in my lungs.

There are lips on my lips and hands on my face. They are not Phil's and I do not want them there, but my hands are frozen and my head has started swooping, surprise hindering my ability to react. Until it doesn't, and I step back, pushing him off of me, not so gently. Panic surges through my head, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep from shaking.

"Why would you... why did you do that?" I choke out.

His face crumples up in confusion.

"Because... because I like you?"

I shake my head, slowly at first, and then violently, feeling utterly disgusting. How could I ever let that happen?

I grip my fingers deeper into my arms, trying to get a grip.

"No, no, no, Peej, you can't. I'm... You... Phil, I'm with Phil," I manage to choke out. Pj's face turns from confused to sad, a bitter look of disappointment settling into his eyes, lips trembling as if he might cry. He opens his mouth to respond, when all of a sudden, he turns his head, looking terrified. I turn as well, and feel my heart crawl up into my throat when I catch sight of Phil, standing on the edge of the street with wide eyes. The expression on his face makes me want to vomit.

I take a stumbling step forward, but he shakes his head and spins on his heels, running away. A desperate noise claws it's way out of my throat and I stumble into a run after him. He is so fast, too fast, and I am too weak, but still, I run, feeling dizzy as I sprint after him, calling out his name. He's so fast, and he pulls ahead, out of my sight, sending fresh panic coursing through me. My head spins wildly, bruised ribs jolting with every step, but I can't even bring myself to care. I run and run, until I reach our flat, until my lungs explode.

I fling open the front door, breathing too hard and leaning heavily on the wall as the floor threatens to drag me down, and I make my way to Phil's room, shaking as I see his closed door. I try the knob, but it sticks, obviously locked. I knock on the door desperately, until my knuckles are bruised. I have to make it better. This is all my fault.

"Phil, p...please, it's n..not what it looked l...like," I stammer through gritted teeth, leaning my forehead against the wood of the door and trying to get a grip. I can feel myself shaking uncontrollably, and part of me realizes that I'm panicking, but the other part of me refuses to care, to notice.

"Oh, really Dan? It's not what it looked like? I didn't just see you kiss Pj? Do you really think I'm that blind?"

His voice is angry and hollow and I open my mouth, stammering, before closing it back up again, because he's right. I can't deny it, pretend like he was wrong. Pj had kissed me, and that was my fault.

"I... please, Phil..."

"Get the fuck away from me. I don't want to see your face ever again," Phil hisses, voice muffled through the door, venomous and shaky, and I stagger back, a shrill ringing pounding against my ears. At this point, I can hardly see, hardly breathe, hardly stand, so I turn around and stumble my way to my own room, finally collapsing into a pile on my floor. I curl in on myself, chest heaving as I try to suck in air. I'm a monster. A despicable piece of shit. This is all my fault. I shrink into myself, shaking uncontrollably and breathing in jagged, shuddering breaths.

It's almost a relief when the nauseating swooping feeling that pounded at the back of my skull knocked me out, pulling me under into the rain clouds and dark, dark soil of unconsciousness.

It takes several hours and a restless tapping noise to pull me back up out of unconsciousness, and I push myself into a shaky sitting position. My head is pounds and my ribs are on fire, but I push that to the back of my mind as images of this afternoon roll through my head in short, choppy bits, a black and white movie that I don't want to watch. I am still shaking, and I run my hands through my hair. I am the worst kind of person. I hurt Phil, and I have never hated myself more. I should have told Pj, should have somehow known. A horrible thumping sound interrupts my thoughts, and I turn my head groggily, staring at the wall that the sound had come from.

I sit, silently, head tipped, listening, all too aware of the cold, cold air whispering through the dark room. The thump sounds again, along with a sickening crack-like noise, and then again. And again. I bite my lip and wring my shaking hands as I realize that it must be Phil. I did this. This is my fault. Finally, the pounding stops, and I can hear soft sobs drifting through the wall. I shakily push myself up off the floor, swaying slightly, before tiptoeing out of my room and to the bathroom, rummaging around until I find the bandages tucked away on the top shelf. I make my way to Phil's room, resting my tired head on the door briefly before jostling with the still locked doorknob.

Living with Gabe had meant many nights locked in the closet, days without light, days without air, and I'd gotten good at picking locks. With a couple of twists of the tip of a pen found in my pocket, the door clicks open softly, and I push it open. Phil is curled up in a ball in the corner, clutching at his arms, with messy hair and tear stained cheeks and this look in his eyes, like there was nothing inside him, like he'd flown away and left behind his bones. It takes all the strength in my body to keep myself from crying, to keep my expression blank. I step forward with as steady of steps as I can manage, and kneel down in front of him, forcing myself to avoid his face. I pick up his hands and hold them in mine, cradling his damaged fingers gently, biting my lip. He stays silent as I assess the damage, as I begin to wrap up his arms and hands, pretending not to notice how his hands shake.

How his body shrinks away from me.

My throat is swollen up, and I can hardly move, hardly breathe, but I keep my face impassive as I wrap, tight and careful. I will not cry. I wont. I finish, and Phil's voice crackles out at me.

"Get away from me."

His words are angry, but his voice is cracked, sounding more terrified than anything.

I can feel my throat constricting even more, hands wrapping around it, squeezing. I slowly stand up and stumble out of the room, listen to the door clicking back into place with a soft creak. I want to push it back open, to sit on the floor and hold his face in my hands and tell him everything will be alright, but I can't. He doesn't want to see me, doesn't want me here. I don't blame him. I am disgusting. I did this. I float back to my room, watching my own door click into place before crawling into bed, shivering violently, and it is only then that the tears finally fall, sobs wracking my chest as I clutch my pillow to my chest, muffling my cries. God, what have I done.

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