Just Breathe (IN EDITING)

Spinning

A/N I know Phil's thoughts don't make much sense in this chapter but neither does mental illness 

Phils P.O.V

He looks so peaceful.

The air is cold, bitter almost. The darkness had come a few hours earlier. We had sat in the silence, neither of us daring to speak. Speaking doesn't seem quite appropriate in times like these. The air is looming with misery and regret. It weighs down on us the way only death can. Only loss can be so heavy that it feels as if you even tried to move you would fall apart. We are falling apart.

He is sleeping now. The moonlight streams in through the windows and reflects off of his skin. It shines brightly, and it reminds me of him. Evan always loved the moonlight. He loved to run through empty playgrounds and tangle his fingers into the swings. He loved to lie on park benches with his gaze fixed on the stars. He would riddle off how they connected. He would describe the way he would paint them with deep blues and blacks. I will never forget the stars and moon sparkling in his cloudy eyes. The light brought life to the twisted greens. His eyes stopped sparkling though, they are just dull now. The only thing that sparkles anymore is the moonlight when it reflects off of his still damp cheeks.

His soft breathes fill the void in the room, fill the void in my lungs. I've done enough screaming. I miss him so very much. I miss the way his laughter sounds. I miss the flowery scent twisted with mint cologne of this dorm room. Now it only smells of peroxide and tears. I miss laying in his bed until the colors of the sunrise bled into the open window. Now it is not the colors that bleed. I miss Evan, and everything he is supposed to be. He is supposed to be funny and confident and loyal. He is supposed to be loved. He is not supposed to be a drug addict with dead eyes and broken skin.

My legs tangle underneath me on the uncomfortable desk chair. It used to be comfortable. The world used to be comfortable. My gaze firmly remains on Evan. I fear if I were to look at the wall for one more second I may vomit. The emptiness has burned into my skull. They are ruined by old cigarette smoke and tape marks. The walls used to be covered in paintings, but we replaced those with unhappy memories. So instead of looking at the white brick turned grey, I look at Evan. I notice the way the duvet rises up and down with each of his breaths. It is reassuring to see the movement, the air is so thick I was afraid he would not be able to breathe.

I lift myself from where my body is cemented. My feet drag roughly against the carpet. The weight of my desperation pulling them harder and harder beneath me. I feel as though I need to be near him. My fingers need to touch his skin. I need to feel his beating heart. I need to know he is alive, I need to know he isn't slipping away from me. I can feel him slipping away from me. 

My body rests softly against the small bed, the disturbance going unnoticed. My breath evens upon being closer to him, feeling his presence. I can see him more clearly now that he is silently sleeping next to me. I reach shaky fingers to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks. They graze over his delicate skin and sweep into his hair. Gentle ripples converging into waves that crash violently against the shore. His hair used to be soft, as if the color was dusted on with a light brown powder. It curled around his neck and framed his small ears and sharp jaw. I can't help but notice that it looks out of place now though. The quiet curls having transformed into a heap of tangles which have had shaking fingers run through them one too many times. My hands continue to comb through his disheveled hair. 

There is an overwhelming sense of emotion clawing away at my chest. I do not believe I have the energy to deny what it has the potential to be. I am too incredibly exhausted to pretend that there isn't a lump in my throat and tears pricking my eyes every time I look at him. Every time I think of the way he shook the night he watched her jump. I am too in need to repair myself to deny the overwhelming churning feeling in my stomach and the tightening of my lungs. I no longer have the life or the will within me. I can't try anymore. I can't treat him like a best friend, and I can't avoid the claws digging into my throat. I can't avoid who I am any longer. All I can really do is love him. All I can really do is take whats left of my torn apart soul and pour every ounce of it into loving him. Because when you care about someone, you let them take everything. You give them everything you have because that's what loving someone is. Using parts of yourself to build them back up. There is nothing that would ever stop me from building him back up.