Alive (Phan)

SEVENTEEN

I had imagined the day I would finally get out of the hospital probably a thousand times, yet I never quite managed to imagine it exactly the way it happened.  

Term had already started (I'd been doing all my studies in the hospital room for three weeks and never thought I'd be more ready to be in the classroom) and I was released on a Thursday so Phil was in class at 14:03 when I walked out the door and climbed into the car next to my mum. We drove all the way home singing Dream On at the top of our lungs. We didn't even play it on cassette, we just sang it as loud as we could accompanied only by our fits of laughter as mum attempted to sing the guitar solo. When we got home, it took probably seven trips to carry everything inside after which, I went and took a long nap in my own bed—finally.

Around six o'clock, I woke up to find Phil perched on the edge of my bed, holding my hand.

"Phil," I couldn't keep the smile from my lips as his name escaped my mouth. He didn't say anything back, just looked at me with a small smile. I scooted over and lifted the blanket and he threw his legs up onto the bed and joined me. He scooted as close to me as possible and wrapped his arms around me, laying his head on my chest.

"I love you," I said, kissing the top of his head. Still, he didn't answer, just buried his face into me and sighed. "I missed you so much," I said. I didn't know why he wasn't answering, but I decided to stay quiet as it was obvious that he didn't want to speak. Instead I just laid there, staring at my ceiling, feeling Phil's chest rise and fall with each steady breath. We laid like for probably twenty minutes and I thought maybe he had fallen asleep when something happened I wasn't expecting.

"Phil are—are you crying?" I asked timidly, noticing his sniffles. He turned and looked up at me, revealing a red nose and bloodshot eyes. "Phil!" Quickly, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. He held on to me tighter than I thought possible.

"I'm—so sorry," he whispered in my ear. He was really crying now and it was the most heartbreaking thing I had ever witnessed in my entire life. Beautiful, perfect Phil Lester who couldn't bring himself to ever hurt or be mean to anyone, who had never done anything to deserve any pain ever, sat in my arms, bawling into the crook of my neck.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," I said, clutching the back of his shirt.

He mumbled something, but all I caught was, "...my fault..."

"No," all of a sudden I was angry and I couldn't quite explainn why, "No, no, no!"

"What?" he loosened his grip a little, but didn't let go of me.

"No!" I said firmly. I grabbed his arms and forced him off of me. I held him at an arm's length. "Phil," he didn't look me in the eye, "Phil, look at me!" I shouted despite myself and he looked up, although it was just because I startled him. "Phil, none of this was your fault."

He wiped his eyes and swallowed. "None of this would've happened if I--"

"Phil, no—"

"All my fault, Dan, it was all my—"

"not because of you—"

"—this would never have—"

"My dad was an abuser," I stated plainly. I didn't know why, but I was getting angry, "He was fucking abusive. He beat me and he- he fucking murdered my-" I shook my head angrily, "And no offense, Phil, but fuck you. Fuck you for blaming yourself for that shit. Fuck you for taking on a shred of the blame for the bullshit my dad put me through because none of that was your fault!" My mind started to catch up with my mouth, "just—" I couldn't read his expression. "Just—" I scooted away from him, embarrassed at my outburst. "I'm sorry."