Demonic // phan

Eighteen

Warning: if you're easily triggered by mentions of depression and/or anxiety, might wanna skip the first part of this chapter. It's not too bad, just an implication.

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Phil woke up crying. Deep, body trembling sobs that made him squeeze his eyes shut and pull his blankets tighter around himself. He had to stuff his face into the pillow so he didn't make any noise; his parents had come home last night, and hadn't yet left for work, and he definitely didn't need them bursting into his room.

He'd been doing that a lot lately. Crying. He didn't know what it was that caused it, except the fragile bits of his mind now starting to slowly deteriorate. He just knew that trying to hold it back only made it worse.

And this was how he'd spent the last three days. School was out of the question, it would probably just make him break down even further.

What was wrong with him? He was having such a hard time dealing with anything, and reality was starting to scare him. Because now he didn't even know the true definition of reality. With all that had happened to him, the past few days and ever since he'd met the godforsaken Dan Howell, he wasn't surprised that his grasp on the real world was slipping into nothing.

He'd thought of ways he could possibly dim the anxiety and crisis from his brain; drugs and alcohol were the most popular, it seemed, but he was afraid of becoming a junkie. Sleeping never lasted long enough. Reading, writing, the Internet, all of the things he had enjoyed before did nothing to get him through the day. There was no solid distraction for him. But he was starting to realize that just dealing with it was not enough.

They only lasted a few minutes, the random crying jags. The heavy feeling in his chest soon subsided and his body stopped shaking, and he could breathe properly again. He looked up at the bedside table where his phone usually sat, wanting to see what time it was, before remembering he'd thrown it across the room yesterday when it came to life at 7:30 in the morning. There was a 32% chance that it was broken, but he found he wouldn't be too miffed about that.

So he settled for staring up at his ceiling instead. It was early, judging from the weak blue light that slanted in through his closed blinds, and the sounds of his parents still downstairs. He would wait till they left before even attempting to get out of bed. He didn't even know how he looked and he didn't want them asking any questions.

His neck was aching terribly, and he shifted slightly to ease any pressure that could be the cause of it. That's what he got for falling asleep curled up in a circle, clutching his head tightly. He was in desperate need of a shower as well, and clean clothes. And maybe he would change his sheets as well, he'd read somewhere that that was a good way for clearing your head.

Another ten minutes of mentally compiling a list of things to do, and Phil heard the distinct sound of his parents leaving, the front door slamming and cars being started. He let out a breath of relief he hadn't even known he'd been holding. As much as he hated an empty house, he didn't find any joy in the idea of actually interacting with people, even his parents. He was too much of a mess right now.

He stood from the bed, almost falling back down again as dizziness overtook him. He closed his eyes and waited for it to pass, leaning against his wall. He was wearing only boxers, and was actually surprised at how warm it was outside of his blankets. It was still edging between fall and winter, and the usual weather was chilly with rain mixed in.

The sheets on his bed were stripped hastily, and he even grabbed a few stray clothes from his bedroom floor before stuffing it all in the wash downstairs and turning it on. And he almost smiled at the small sense of accomplishment he felt at doing this small thing.