Dreaming Of More Than Just A White Christmas {Phan} (Book Four)

🎄Five🎄

Things were actually getting better.

While I thought that Phil would only cut down his bar visits to four times a week at the very least, he surprised me by not visiting the bar ever since he got out of the hospital. Even though that doing that came with a price (that price being heavy withdrawal symptoms in the form of throwing up and throbbing headaches), he's been powering through, and I can't properly express into words how nice it's been having him home for an extended amount of time.

Thinking about Phil made me instinctively roll over and reach my arm out so that I could have the reassurance that he was actually right next to me. This was something that I did every single night since I had gotten so used to sleeping alone every single night and having Phil next to me was absolutely amazing.
When I reached over, however, my heart skipped a beat when, instead of feeling Phil's back, I felt the bed sheet instead.

Upon realizing that Phil wasn't there, I quickly sat up, threw the covers off of myself, and began running all over the house while screaming his name at the top of my lungs. While it may have seemed like I was overreacting, the fact that Phil was still struggling with alcohol abuse made my fears and worries about him increase. Ever since his addiction started, my worst fear has been that I would one day find him dead because his body couldn't take it anymore and had just given up on him.
"Phil, this isn't funny!" I called out, running down the stairs so fast that I almost tripped and fell down them. Thankfully, I managed to save myself at the last possible second and managed to make it completely down the stairs without falling on my face. "Tell me where you are! You're scaring the shit out of me!"

*****

After searching the house completely at least three times over, I picked up my phone from the bedside table and shakily tapped on Phil's name in my call history list. I started shaking even more as I sat down on the bed and held my phone up to my ear.
"Come on, pick up the fucking phone!" I whispered to myself as the ringing went on for seemingly forever.

It genuinely felt like a million years had gone by before he finally answered my call.
"Dan!" He cried out as he let out a nervous laugh. "Is everything okay? It's a little bit late to be calling, don't you think?"
I ignored his question and instead asked, "Phil, where the hell are you? I've been looking all around the house for you."
"Well, you see..." He stammered and trailed off.
"No..." My face and tone quickly turned angry as he realized where he was. "Don't you dare tell me that you're out at the bar."
"Okay, I'm not at the bar." His lighthearted tone only made my anger grow.
"You are at the bar!" I snapped as I started clenching my fist. "What the hell, Phil? You told me that you weren't going to go to the bar anymore! You told me that you were going to cut your alcohol consumption in half! You told me that getting cirrhosis has pushed you to stop drinking! I can't believe you fucking lied to me!"
"I-"
"No, I don't want to hear it!" I yelled into the phone, not allowing him to finish what he was going to say. "I don't want to hear any more of your stupid lies out of your stupid mouth, and I definitely don't want to see your stupid face for quite a while, so don't even think about coming home."
Before even giving him a chance to say a single word, I ended the call and angrily threw my phone down on the floor. I then laid back down in bed and stared up at the ceiling with my fists clenched and my entire body trembling. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, but I held them back despite the fact that I was completely and utterly alone, just like I always was these days.
There comes a point where you're accustomed to the feeling of loneliness.

Almost as soon as that thought popped into my mind, the tears that had formed in my eyes spilled out. Then, in a matter of a couple of minutes, I was a sobbing mess, a hugging-your-pillow-to-your-chest-while-pretending-it-was-the-person-you-loved-oh-so-dearly-and-craved-next-to-you-more-than-anything kind of sobbing mess. At that moment, I felt so pathetic and so disgusted with myself. How could I just allow myself to let Phil sneak away and risk drinking himself to death yet again, especially since his liver had almost given up on him and was now at a much higher risk of dying from alcoholism because of it? I should've been able to sense when he was getting out of bed and sneaking off, and I should've stopped him from going.
That's what one part of me was saying, at least.