In Your Dreams // phan

t h i r t y

I would have laughed at that. I would have laughed and told Phil that he was being cheesy. And Phil would have made some comment about not liking cheese. And then we both would have laughed. And I would have told him I was fine and he'd believe me. And then we'd kiss and walk back to our table hand in hand.

But that's not what happened, because life wasn't that kind to me. I was in no mood to laugh. I was in no mood to joke around. And I certainly wasn't fine.

I didn't want to tell him what was wrong. On some level I knew that if I did tell him, it would be largely beneficial to me. I knew that Phil would support me, help me study even. I knew that he wouldn't judge me or think any less of me. But I wasn't one to listen to the rational, most logical part of my brain.

I always listened to the part that jumped to the worst conclusions. The part that told me that if I shared my problems with Phil he would mock me. Phil would never mock anyone and I knew that, but it didn't stop fear from clutching at my heart.

The two parts of my brain battled it out, fighting over who would gain control over my mouth. To tell or not to tell. But my body, which really didn't give a shit about my thoughts, decided to act on its own accord.

No words passed through my lips. Instead they pressed against Phil's, roughly and without permission. I pulled my hands free of Phil's grasp and gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him urgently closer to me.

Phil let out a gasp of surprise but went along with it. He rested his hands gently on my waist and kissed me back softly. But I didn't want soft and gentle. I wanted wild and intense. And I told him that's what I wanted by sliding my hands into his hair and nibbling on his bottom lip.

I was confident with my actions, as I so rarely was in my everyday life. There was no doubting, no second guessing. I just did what came instinctively. I was frustrated and upset and desperate and this was how those emotions chose to manifest themselves.

"Dan," Phil breathed out as I moved from his mouth to his neck. I moaned in response, kissing and biting and sucking at the tender skin, probably hard enough to leave marks.

"Dan," Phil said a bit louder, with more authority in his voice. I realised that it wasn't merely an expression of pleasure, but an attempt to get my attention. He was going to tell me to stop. But I desperately didn't want to do that, because to stop was to think.

Phil took a small step back so that our bodies were no longer pressed together, and I whimpered slightly at the loss of contact. He cupped his hands either side of my face to force me to look at him, his thumbs running softly over my cheeks.

The desire in his eyes was quickly evaporating as concern took its place. "Dan, what's going on?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. I realised that Phil hadn't seen one of my breakdowns in person before. He'd seen them in dreams, and he'd seen me on the brink a few times. But never properly had he been witness to a full blown attack.

What a treat he was in for.

"No," I breathed out harshly, my teeth gritted together.

I wasn't looking so I didn't catch his expression, but I don't think I was imagining the hurt in his voice when he said, "Please. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"No!" I cried out, the word torn viciously from my throat, straining my vocal cords. I shook my head violently to break free from Phil and slid to the floor in a pathetic ball. My hands gripped my hair so tightly that my scalp starting stinging. I bit my lip so deeply that I tasted the metallic tang of blood on my tongue.

I was only vaguely aware of my surroundings but I gathered that someone tried to walk into the bathroom. It was lunch time after all. The bathroom was open to anybody and everybody. But Phil wasn't having any of it.

"Out!" He didn't shout necessarily, but with the demanding tone in his voice he may was well have. "Get out!" I guess they left because Phil said nothing more.

I hated that anyone could walk in at any moment. I hated that they could see me like this. I didn't want anyone to see me like this. I wished I was in my room, locked away from prying eyes and left alone to dissolve into pieces. But I had to stay. I couldn't miss out on anymore school.

"I want to go home," I sobbed. Phil knelt down in front of me and tried to gently pry my hands away from my hair but I screamed and he immediately gave up on the attempt.

"I- I'll take you home. We'll do whatever you want," Phil said calmly, though he sounded on the verge of tears himself. He cautiously placed his hand on my shoulder and when I didn't scream he progressed to drawing comforting circles across my back. "Please, let me help you."

I relaxed very slightly under his touch and even loosened the grip on my hair a little. That was all the permission Phil needed to be more physical in his attempt at consolidation. With more strength than I knew he possessed and with just as much care that I did know he possessed, he pulled me out of my fetal position and onto his lap.

Instead of sobbing into my own hands I cried into his shoulder. And instead of the cold of the bathroom tiles beneath me I felt only the warmth of Phil's body. He continued to trail his fingers along my spine and whisper soothing words into my ear.

I felt guilty that I liked it. Phil didn't deserve this. He deserved to be out there with his friends, chatting and laughing and gushing about a beautiful dream that he'd had the night before. But no. This is what he gets.

I told him to leave several times, my words muffled against his neck, but he always told me no. And he asked if he could take me home several times and I also responded with no. I sensed that we were both confused with each other's answers.

Though I was grateful, I couldn't wrap my head around why Phil would rather stay with me than be out there with his friends. And he, in turn, couldn't understand why I insisted on staying at school when I so clearly didn't want to be there.

But I didn't pester him and he didn't pester me. So we sat in silence for the most part, where the only sounds exchanged between us were whispered I love you's and I love you too's.