im here // phan

eighteen

Trigger warning.

The doctor had dragged Phil away for the scan. They let me see the machine and assured Phil and I it was completely safe and it wouldn't hurt him, but I was still a little dazed by the technology. So, the doctor lead me to another waiting room closer to the scary tech room. It was nice to be a little closer to Phil, but they would not let me sit outside the door. The doctor was pretty pissed when he found me sitting outside the door after the surgery. I was kind of worried about Phil, well, a lot worried. I tried to distract myself by pulling out my phone and playing some games, but Phil always slipped back into my mind.

I was twiddling my fingers, and then I was disturbed by two large eye-sores. The Lesters had the guts to come back. "Well, if it isn't the homophobes." I snarled. Honestly the last thing I wanted was for them to show up again.

"Well, of course. They called us and told us he was getting a scan. We had to come back. I really hope you know he is our son." Ms. Lester asserted, her arms crossed across her chest, stood like a tree.

"Well, you could like avoid me or something! The last thing I want is you all near me. It makes me sick to think that Phil - my Phil - has parents like you all. You make me slip back into my depression." I sneered, and Mr. Lester winced.

"Son, that face is disgusting. Please, never do it again." He suggested. I rolled my eyes into the back of my head.

"A couple things here. One, don't call me son. I have zero respect for you. Second, I will make faces all I want. Phil tells me I can pull pretty funny faces. This one is his favorite." I said, then I contorted my face into Phil's favorite; head squished into my neck which made a bunch of chins, my tongue stuck out, my nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed.

"You look stupid." Ms. Lester looked at her husband, then at me. She began to tap her foot rhythmically on the floor.

"Thank you, wow! I feel so much better about myself now. My spirits are lifted and my life is complete." I spoke with enough sarcasm to kill a thousand people and a million bugs.

"Oh, pfft." The Lesters spat in unison, and then walked across the room and sat down. They whispered to each other, their eyes piercing into the back of my head.

"Swear to God, I am going to murder them and then murder myself." I mumbled. I pulled my cell back in, and went into my contacts app with a tap. I clicked the plus sign, and typed Dad into the name box. I plugged in the number he gave to me. I could feel my heart rise into my throat. My neck was pulsing, but I couldn't cry. Not with the Lesters here, not with Phil waiting for me and needing me to be strong for him. My fingers shook as I tried to click the last few numbers, and I finally got it. I sighed, laying back into the chair. I clicked the green call button, and put the phone up to my ear. I listened to it ring over and over, and then I heard his voice.

"Hey, it's, uh, hey stop laughing at me! Shit, ah, this is Howell Senior, if you need me, call again, and again, and again until I pick up. Because I'm always here. I can't leave. I'm dying. I might be asleep. Or they may have taken the phone away. But try again, or leave a message. I like listening to them. It's funny, almost like breaking the phone barrier. Oh, time's almost up, talk to y..." the message cut of. I was now in tears, swiping them off my face as they came one by one. His voice was so pure, not raspy or scratchy, no. It didn't sound like he was dying at all. He sounded so healthy. He didn't deserve to have cancer. Not at all. I sniffled quietly, trying to draw no attention.

Suddenly, I had an urge to leave. I got up, and ran down the endless hallway. I barged into the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a complete mess. A wave of depression ran over me, and I collapsed to the floor, sobbing my eyes dry. I probably was heard around the world.

I wanted to hurt myself. I needed something sharp. Something, anything! There was a sweet setup with a flower in a vase to my left. I threw the flower to the floor, and smashed the vase on the floor. I picked up the smallest and sharpest shard, and slid the pointed edge across my wrist. The deep, red blood came dripping out instantly. I sliced my wrist again, and more blood came out. It was dripping all over the floor, and I didn't even care. I just wanted to die. I was tempted to shove the piece of vase straight into my chest. It would be lovely to join my dad...

No. I had plenty left to do in my life. I had Phil to live for. I put the sharp vase piece down on the floor, and looked at my sliced wrists. The blood was oozing out of my like a waterfall, and it wasn't stopping. I didn't care. I crumbled to the floor again, laying in my own blood. It was disturbing to some, but it never bothered me. Blood was very pretty. The deep red shade of it was very soothing to me, and when I cut myself open, it was so calming almost. I wanted to do it more. I picked up the piece of vase again, and scraped my other wrist. Again, again and again. The blood came instantly again, and I watched it come out of my wrists. My tears falling from my eyes mixed with the blood, making it swirl almost. That was pretty. So pretty, I wanted more. More blood. More tears. I was yelling in agonizing pain, though. It's not like slicing myself with a sharp object was not painful. But the pain was the beauty. The yelling was singing. The blood was the beautiful river water, flowing fast. Pain was simply a metaphor for, well, beauty.

The door to the bathroom was thrown open, and a paler-than-pale face peeked in. His blue eyes were shining again, and I wished I had never sliced myself open.

"Dan? DAN!"