Hypnotised (Magnets Book 2)

Chapter 17

Phil's POV

The days leading up to the surgery seemed to drag on forever. My headaches seemed to be steadily getting more and more agonizing; every morning I woke to a throbbing pain around the back of my head. They seemed to be less severe as the day wore on, however, which I was grateful for. Dan was already sick of my complaints. Well, he didn't say it, but I could tell he was. I always could.

He was there for me, and I supposed that's what mattered, really. So were our fans, our family and our friends. He didn't even complain when we decided to relocate back to Manchester when I was going through chemo, even though I knew it would be extremely difficult for him to see those places again and not be triggered by the lingering ghosts of the horrors he had been through.

Most of the time these days I just felt plain anxious. The cancer loomed above me, above both of us, like a dark shadow. It hung over our home, poisoning our hearts and injecting a still darkness into our souls. We both felt it; a desolate, cold, stressed feeling, shutting us off from each other.

I could see him falling back down that hole, and with every fibre of my being I wanted to help. But he wouldn't let me. He wanted to know if I was okay. How I was coping. But deep down, I knew he was struggling more than me.

I just knew.

Dan's POV

I'm sure if you asked Phil, he'd tell you he was most nervous the night before he had a hole cut out of his skull. I would probably say the same.

But that just wouldn't be the truth.

The worst night for me was right in the middle. Right between when the cancer had been confirmed and when the surgery was. It was probably because the relief if it being so far away contrasted so starkly against the ever-growing wave of panic within me, thus making everything so much more extreme.

It was kind of confusing.

Phil did not sleep the night before the big day. I knew this because I didn't either. We both stayed awake during the night as the moon sat high above in the sky. It was relatively calm outside our window, but inside I was a raging mess. I didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow and I sure as hell was not prepared. Phil looked like he was about to cry. We both just lay in bed, not looking at each other, not talking, just lying. Trying to forget about it all. Whatever 'it' was.

When the sun finally rose, I stood up, weary and mentally exhausted from a lack of sleep. It reminded me of the time I had pulled an all-nighter as a teen after my dad had threatened to pour ice on me whilst I slept. Not in a friendly way, either.

"Dan? You ready to go?" Phil said, snapping his fingers in front of my face to snap me out of my daze.

"Y-yeah. I'll, um- let's go," I stuttered nervously. Phil smiled weakly at me. Almost pityingly. I avoided his gaze and walked out the front door.

"Wait up!" He called after me. "Dan! What's wrong?"

Damnit. How did he know.

He's always known.

"What do you mean?" We were both in the elevator.

"You've been acting really strange- you barely speak, you barely eat, and I can tell when you smile it's not real. What's up?"

"What's up? What's up? Wouldn't you like to know," I replied dryly. I didn't know why I was in such a crappy mood. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was the two weeks' worth of pent up stress and energy.

"Dan, please," Phil said. "Stop acting like this."

"Stop acting like a fucking interrogator and maybe I will!" I yelled at him.

"Maybe I would if you didn't keep all these thing bottled up!" He replied.

I glared at him a few seconds, fuming, before crossing my arms and turning away.

"We can't fight," Phil said after a moment of tense silence. "We can't let this hurt us. We've come so far together."

His words struck a chord. "Sorry," I mumbled and buried my head in his chest. All my tears came out then, two weeks' worth, spilling onto his jumper. I breathed in his familiar scent and his arms wrapped their way around me. I'd missed that feeling. That comforting, warm, soothing feeling that made it feel like everything would be okay. Like reading a really good book. Like hearing your favourite song on the radio. Like the feeling of the piano keys yielding underneath my fingers. 

So I was basically fucked.

I held onto that feeling, though, as we walked into the hospital, hand in hand. As I hugged Phil goodbye as he went into the operation room.

"I love you so much," I had whispered in his ear.

"I love you too," he had replied.

My hands were shaking as I touched his face. Anxiety curled in my stomach, coiling into a tight ball, constricting my breathing. It crawled up into my throat as I was told to go back to the waiting room, choking me, halting any words that may have come. But, after that, there were none. There was nothing left to say or do except wait, drenched in a sickeningly agitated feeling. I felt a huge wave looming above me, threatening to crash down on everything that I had ever known and loved.

My whole body was trembling. My palms were sweaty and air whooshed in and out of my lungs like I had just resurfaced after having been underwater for an hour. I could not sit still. The surgery would take several hours, and even after that, Phil wouldn't be able to go home for another day. I couldn't face the flat alone.

I pulled out my phone and bought up Tumblr, trying to calm my nerves and pass the time. Big mistake. Long heartfelt message that were meant for Phil had flooded my dashboard. Messages for Phil, not me. Well, there were a couple wishing me support as well, but that only made me feel like crying.

Everything did in that moment. I just felt so goddamn emotionally fragile.

Be strong. For Phi.

________________

another cliffhanger hahawhat

phan is my oh the pea

I love gerard way

goodbye frands I must do homework for my psychopathic histo ARE YOU SERIOUS SPOTIFY ARE YOU SERIOUSLY PLAYING THE BLACK PARADE AGAIN