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phil was loosing hope.

it had been five days inside this small, torturously cold, and insanely bright room. the stench was horrible, enough to make a normal person pinch their nose and do anything to get out, but that was just it.

neither was phil anywhere near normal, nor he could get out. his stomach was churning, every second, every minute, a sharp pain shooting through his body. he couldn't eat, and even if he tried, everything went upside down, and he ended up vomiting or dry heaving into the open commode fixed in the corner.

it was disgusting, the way his stomach was sucked in and his bones felt weak and his hair stuck to his forehead and his lips were chapped. his eyes were burning, deep dark circles growing under his eyes and his skin had lost all colour.

every second that passed was harder than the previous one, and the pain was almost unbearable, polluting every sense of optimism in phil. he did not think that trapped in a tiny room could sway your thoughts to the point where you wanted to be done with living.

it wasn't anything horrible in particular, but there was absolutely nothing to do. the thoughts and anxiety were at full power, hitting phil one after other in a relentless wave of emotions and it was hard for him to cope.

maybe this is the reason why being held captive is horrible. the paranoia eats you away, gnawing at your brain like a beaver, and it was frightening sometimes what thoughts can make a person do and to what extent they could harm them.

he wasn't even sure if he wanted this anymore.

was being with dan worth the pain that it came along with?

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