Cabin Fever (MeanPlan)

Day 29 - 22:16 PM

The house felt cold in the days that followed.

Another week came and went and by that point, Plan had come close to running out of food. The meats had turned, the vegetables were sprouting and the milk had curdled. He now survived entirely on snacks, and even that wasn't particularly by choice. He had little appetite.

Mean had not been back in touch.

This time it was to be expected, there something about the ending of their phone call that had felt exactly that. Plan still hoped to hear from him, of course, but was not surprised when he didn't, for whilst Mean had made no effort to prompt any further conversation between them, neither had he.

In many ways, he was relieved.

To pass the time, he lost more hours than he would care to admit scrolling through Twitter, Instagram, even Facebook when he became desperate. Social media was a black hole. It sucked him in, devoured him, unforgiving and ruthless. What began as a brief scan through his newsfeed every day soon became a compulsive analysis of every trending tag, those related to him and those not, until he felt sickened by the multitude of bad things going on in the world, all beyond his control.

He wanted to help each cause, research every protest and empathise with the latest victim of cancel culture, except by the time he was finished scrolling he felt lost as to where to start. So he did nothing, day after day, absorbing fear until his chest grew tight and his mind felt suffocated, until under the invisible weight of so much pressure, he helped absolutely no one at all.

Not even himself.

He'd caught sight of his reflection in the mirror that morning and hadn't completely recognised the man staring back at him. It was him. Sort of. His hair had grown out, dark strands licking the back of his neck. The discoloured rings around his eyes were prominent. He needed to shave. He'd stared for a while, wondering how his skin had become the same grey shade of his world before he'd returned to the sofa which he now preferred to his bed.

That same world was now quiet, and he liked it that way. Apart from the occasional phone call with his mother or sister, he didn't really talk to anyone anymore. Most of his friends had stopped trying, either caught up in their own isolation or simply because they couldn't be bothered, Plan did not know.

He also did not mind.

It was peaceful not having to pretend.

Today had been just like all of the others, written off as another twenty-four hours wasted when, entirely unannounced, a knock came at the door.

Plan froze stock still, eyes glued to the threshold and wondering whether he'd imagined it. He strained his ears, listening for another knock but was instead greeted by a faint voice.

A voice he knew too well.

A voice he hadn't been expecting to hear otherwise he might have dressed up.

"Phi? Are you awake? It's me."

Plan dropped his phone. He didn't have to think about it, up on his feet in an instant and fumbling with the chain that took four tries to unclasp. Despite knowing who was on the other side, it still shocked him to find Mean there. He seemed even taller, wearing a black mask that matched his hoodie and jeans. On instinct, Plan welcomed him with open arms.

"Woah, woah, woah," Mean stopped him, placing a hand against his chest, "don't get too close."

"Are you serious?" Plan asked, falling back on his heels.

"It's safer this way."

"I don't care," Plan shook his head stubbornly, "I haven't seen you for weeks."