Dear Sweet Love - Phan

Two.

Saturday, September 26th, 2015;
Tears finally stopped, then I felt it. The cold wind hitting my shaking body. If I stayed there too long, I would get sick.
I got up and carefully placed my phone in one of the pocket of my jeans.
"You need to go somewhere.", I said to myself. "Somewhere to rest. Warm enough to think about something else than your safety."
I walked slowly out of the park, then streets to streets, without finding anything. The cold was haunting me more and more, every minute passing making it even worse.
Then I saw the little apartment. It seemed lonely and calm compared to the other houses. Covered with yellow bricks and some graffitis, dark and older than the other buildings. I didn't think they would mind me going inside, just waiting in the stairs. If it had some.
I walked faster, happy to find somewhere to stay for a little while. I looked for the adress, then my eyes fell on the wooden number. 173.
Then I looked for the street's name. I started walking to the closest street corner. There was a ginger cat, licking casually one of his legs' fur, staring at me. I could see his little eyes in the dark, like some weak floating lights. Like the kind of thing that would creep out Dan.
My head rised again, my eyes searching for the words written on the sign.
I didn't have my glasses. I had forgot all my thing at my mom's. I couldn't show up there; I didn't want to face her.
Not again.
I got closer, then I saw it more clearly.
I pulled my phone out and typed;
"Hey.  The adress: 173, Ancroft street."
I didn't text more, knowing he didn't like replying questions while driving, for his safety and his laziness.
I put my phone back in its original place and turned in the direction of the yellow apartment. I walked faster, the cold now feeling like knives on my skin. Even with my shiny black "astronaut" coat, I could feel it against me, irritating me very badly. My feet were cold too, only protected by my fake converse shoes. I couldn't imagine the people in the North living like this as a everyday. I was whining already when the temperature was close to zero Celsius. I guess, I was raised and I spent most of my life here and became this hypocrite, snob, that didn't think about the others first, like her. Just like her, but better.
I crossed the street, then was now in front of the little apartment. When I reached the door, my hand was shaky and red, the blood hyperactively running through it, like it was going to magically become warm again. I touched the metal handle, but gelid, I put my hand in my sleeve and carefully pushed the door. A weird smell filled my nose when I entered, but it was worth it, the heat warming my freezing body. There were stairs, as I planned. I sat on the second one, my feet on the white hard floor. My shoes had made some faint brown marks on it, but it wasn't more dirty than it was before,  dust and old leaves covering the ground. I sighed, out of tiredness and out of fear. The fear that I get in trouble with my family, that I don't talk to mom again. The fear to become a monster, like the others. Actually, no, not like the others. I knew what the truth was, what the others didn't say or knew. I did and do know that most of us don't think of the people starving, the people dying of cold or the homeless persons that we often see in the streets of London. I knew about the pain of the others, and I actually cared. I knew about how meaningless we are to the Universe, but how ourselves are important to our eyes. I knew, the others didn't, and that is why I'm different. I can become an hero, an unforgettable being, or could fall in the dark, become a fool blindfolded by my needs and unimportant problems.
The others, they are blind because of the medias, blinded by the money and blinded by the illusion called "love".  Blinded by dreams, blinded by what the other blinds wants you to do.  Blinded by the feelings, blinded by nothing than nature.
But I'm not blind, I know what are the limits between the lies and truths. The limits that most of us don't care about, or just didn't learned, by themselves or helped by some of my kind.
But I understand them, if I had a choice too.
The choice between the happiness of the innocence and the responsibilities of the truth.

My phone vibrated, announcing that someone contacted me. I placed it in my now pale hand. On the screen was shown a green square icon with a bubble, and a paragraph that one of my contact wrote. I put my index on the surface of the cellular and swiped it, then entered my password easily.
It was him.
"okay thanks. my mom texted me and apparently your mom is freaked out she wants to know if ur okay"
For a second, I was scared that she told them. But she wouldn't, it would make her miserable, pitiful and a liar. A damned liar.
I cringed briefly at the thought. Mom was one hell of a liar.
I typed, nervous and angry. She was asking if I was okay, what did she think? That I was "okay" with the fact that she lied to me, for decades?
"Just tell your mom that I'm not over it yet. Be safe though!"
I sent the message after checking it rapidly. I closed the application with one tap on the middle circular button. I had fifty-nine notifications only on the Tweeter app. My fans were hyperactive, and I had time to check all that out. Two hours of checking fanarts, comments and creepy stalking messages, that was fun. I couldn't replied to them all, but it was satisfying, the fact that I made some my fans days. I had checked Tumblr, Facebook, Instagram and Tweeter, but didn't have time to looked at it all, just swiping until something catched my eye.
Then I saw the dark silver car, motionless on the street. The yellow lights of the front were still on, and I could see the dark figure of my friend opening the door. I got up and pushed my iPhone in the inside pocket of my coat, and opened the door, the cold air filling my lungs again. I faked a smile, but knowing he would recognize it, my lips untensed and my smirk disappeared. His head rised in my direction and his brown eyes met mine, then with a painful smile exposed on his face, he said, with an over exaggerated British accent;
"Hi Phil, it's been a long time since I didn't see you mate!"
I laughed, while his smile became wider.
"I saw you this morning!", I replied, walking to the passenger side of PJ's car.
He chuckled loudly, like he usually does, then got himself in the vehicule again. He said, with the same smile in his face that seemed to never go away;
"Let's get going, then!"
I nodded, then sat on the dark seat.
"PJ's okay with you borrowing his car?", I asked him, my eyes on my dirty shoes.
I caught his weird smile make a reappearance, and he sighed, like he did something wrong. I was getting a little nervous, moving noisily in my seat.
"Well, hum, that's akward. I may not have told him...", he didn't have to finish his sentence, I was already yelling at him.
"Dan!" My face was now showing fear and disapproval, knowing our friend wouldn't be happy about it. "He's going to think somebody stole it!"
His eyebrows were lower than usual and he looked ashamed, but he still replied;
"I left a message on his table.."
I opened my mouth but not a sound came out, only a light whimper that I only heard. I mumbled something and almost facepalmed myself. I murmured, not daring looking at him again;
"Go. Just, just go."
He chuckled, his laughter being a mixture of stress and sarcasm.
He started the car and then asked;
"You are hungry? If you are not, I don't care, because I am."
I laughed, then asked;
"Is that even a question? Yeah, I'm kind of hungry."
He smiled and said, in a high broken voice;
"To McDonald's, we go."
This time, I actually slapped myself.
"Was that supposed to be Yoda?!"
He laughed loudly and replied;
"Actually, I think that was!"
I smiled dumbly and slapped myself again, making Daniel laugh even more loudly.
Why do I live with this asshole again?