Ninety Nine Days - Phan (Boyxboy)

Chapter 13

Dan's POV

I walked down the dark streets, tears streaming down my face and low sobs erupting from inside. I didn't care how long it would take me to get home. If anything, I was trying to avoid it. I turned down a busier street, one that lit up from several loud nightclubs with strange names, colourful lights and booming music.

Everyone was in couples or groups, and I was on my own. I walk this lonely road, along the boulevard of broken dreams.

"Dan! C'mere!" Phil? I turned around quickly to see a drunken couple staggering across the road. Oh. It was for someone else.

The voice who had called my name was feminine and high pitched; nothing like Phil's. But my mind was so full of thoughts, anyone could have been Phil. It seemed like it had been months, years, since I'd heard Phil's voice; since I saw him smile.

I sighed. I just wanted him back.

I carried on walking and stopped; froze in front of one bar in particular. I felt my heart skip a beat; my blood run cold. The Shadow Lounge. Where Phil and I went on our first date. I let out an even bigger sigh and stared back at the road ahead, picking up my pace slightly. I just wanted to go home.

Home. The sanctuary Phil and I had created and locked the rest of the world out of. It was no one else's; just ours. A place we could return to after a long day and relax. A place where we could be ourselves. A place we could call our own. Our little haven.

What would it be like without Phil? I started to wonder how long I'd have to live on my own while he stayed in the hospital. How long we'd sleep on our own, without each others' comforting touch during the night, the safety of each others' arms.

What was it going to be like knowing Phil wouldn't be there to kiss me goodnight and cuddle me to sleep? To wrap his arms around me and tell me it was only a dream? To wake and greet me with his perfect pearly white smile in the morning?

I stumbled through the door and climbed up Everest, finally reaching our door to our home. I opened the door and stood in the entrance, feeling a rush of cold air leave the apartment and flying past me in all directions.

I shuddered as the cool air hugged me and I silently cursed myself for leaving the window open. It was a habit. Phil closed the windows before we went out. I stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind me. The apartment was the epitome of death - silent, cold and lonely.

I was bored; anxious; worried. I was scared to do anything, but decided I had to keep busy in some way.

I stared at the fridge, trying to resist temptation. I didn't usually drink; Phil didn't like it at all - I didn't either. But now, it seemed like an escape, a haven, a sanctuary where I could just have something to take my mind off everything, somewhere I could go for a while.

I wished for the whiskey and beer to take my troubles away, because I just couldn't seem to do it on my own. I stood in front of the fridge, watching, waiting, testing how far I could go into the deeper waters. Seeing just how long I could cope without almost ripping the door off its hinges and drinking everything I could find.

I didn't have a problem, but I was desperate. Desperate for some relief, a break from the pain. I knew I couldn't deal with it. Not for much longer.

I challenged myself; tried to fight the desperate urge that was rising through my body. But it became too much. Like a shark that found a droplet of blood in the vast ocean, I sprung to the fridge and threw the door open; grabbing the various brands of beer that was stored at the back.

I snatched the Jack Daniels whiskey from the cabinet on my way to the living room - along with the tiny shot glass that went with it.

Placing everything that was bundled up in my arms onto the glass coffee table, I sat on the couch with an open beer bottle in hand; eagerly gulping down the contents as a man trapped in the desert for months would. A warmth spread throughout my body as the alcohol passed into my blood, making my mind giddy and hazy.

I continued to drink, emptying the glass beer bottles at an alarmingly quick rate. I needed to feel relief; to feel numb; to feel nothing at all. The alcohol was helping me with that.

The glass coffee table was littered with various branded bottles - some emptied; some waiting to be consumed by my greedy mind and physical state. The alcohol was like a medicine to my broken mind - slowly working its way through my system and trying to piece all of the broken pieces back together.

I held my head in my hands, trying to tame the solemn thoughts that flew into my mind and the current need to drink. I guzzled down another beer from the amassed pile on the table.

God Dammit! Why can't this nightmare end? I just want Phil! I want this pain to end! I... I need whiskey...

I needed to forget everything.

I found the bottle of whiskey standing among the bottles of beer, but the shot glass had magically disappeared. The little glass had disappeared! I knew that Phil wouldn't like what I was about to do, but I was desperate. Oh so desperate.

I unscrewed the lid of the bottle and stared at the liquid it contained. The earthy smell rose to my nose, enticing me to try the drink.

Screw it.

I grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels by the neck and began to eagerly drink from the bottle. The whiskey left a burning feeling in my throat but I didn't mind at the time; it gave me another thing to focus on; to take my mind off the situation that I was in.

A coughing fit erupted from my core due to the sudden intake of alcohol.
Woah... Easy there...
I tried to stand up, but my vision was warping in and out of reality. My head hurt, and all I wanted to do was to drink more.

I slid down the couch and sat on the floor; with my back resting against it. I clutched onto the Jack Daniels as if my life depended on it; as if it was my lifeline. I began to drink from the bottle again, briefly stopping to look at the picture of myself and Phil.

"Life's dealt us a bad hand, don't you think?"