Hypnotised (Magnets Book 2)

Chapter 35

Dan's POV

I saw him, I saw it all. I saw the colour from his cheeks fade, I saw the strength seep from him like water down a drain. I saw his limbs getting skinnier and skinner. I watched his eyes get duller, I saw him deteriorate.

And I watched and watched.

Because, even whilst dying, Phil was still beautiful. Like a dying rose, slightly curled at the edges, a bit withered, but still one of nature's finest specimens. I hated to say that—hated to romanticise such a horrible thing, when in reality, it was the polar opposite.

His hair grew back, wild and curly and brown. He died it black again the first chance he got, despite my many reassurances that it looked fine the way it was.

The doctors had prescribed drugs for the seizures—Carbamazepine, which had a long list of side effects which included hallucination and trouble breathing. It seemed kind of redundant—the fact that something that could do so much good could also be so harmful.

No more chemo. No more head surgery. That all seemed like years ago, when it was actually only several months.

Slowly, Phil became more and more reclusive. He would spend hours sitting on the couch, staring out the window. During these times it was hard to communicate with him. Even Chris and Peej couldn't get a word out of him, so I didn't take it personally. He would nod or shake his head, occasionally murmuring a one word answer on good days. I wondered what he was thinking about.

The cancer was supposed to bring us closer, not drive us apart, which was what it felt like it was doing to us. Okay, maybe that would be romanticizing it a little. A lot. But I could help that little pang I felt when he dismissed me so easily, or ignored me outright. I clung to the hope that it was the cancer speaking, not Phil.

The worst thing was that I couldn't do anything. He wouldn't let me help, and I sure as hell was not equipped to heal cancer. Chirs and PJ attempted to help him out, and he seemed to accept their help a lot more often than he accepted mine. Which was never. I felt helpless and useless, a waste of space. I knew Phil was trying to ease the increasing pressure on me by saying that he didn't need the help, but I couldn't help but feel as though he was trying to push me away...perhaps I was imagining it, but it didn't feel like I was.

Chris and Peej eventually left, and tearfully so. After exchanging long hugs, and okay, crying a little, they were back in the taxi, heading back down south. Phil had this sorrowful look in his eyes that made my chest feel tight when I saw it. It was the first glimpse of an emotion I would come to see a lot—and even wear myself.

Because it was painfully clear that Phil was losing the fight. Without the chemo hindering it, the growth of his tumour was wearing him down. Constant headaches, he admitted on one of the rare nights he seemed to be himself. I can't remember some things, he'd added. Then he'd shut down again.

The doctors had warned us it would spread. Leukaemia, lung cancer, bowel cancer—really, anywhere. Phil was getting MRI and CT scans every now and then to see, but there had been no signs of spreading in the cancer, for which we were glad. I'd never been a religious person, but perhaps Rose was rubbing off on me, because one night as I was staring out the window at the stars, I found myself thanking whoever was up there. For not spreading the cancer, for keeping him alive thus far.

I didn't get a response, which didn't surprise me.

'Last good day'. A term that had been thrown around, that I'd heard numerous times before. The thing about it was that you didn't know what the last good day was until the subject was six feet under. Morbid, I know. I didn't think it applied to us yet, as Phil hadn't had a really bad day yet. Not like the upcoming days that we'd been warned of. Change in personality, emotional instability, the doctors had forewarned. I thanked the seemingly non-existent man in the stars for that, as well.