Just Breathe (IN EDITING)

Counting

Present Day

*phils p.o.v"

"And why would you say you reacted in that manner" I role my eyes, having answered this question at least ten times now.

"Because my best friend just died." I state curtly as if the answer was far too obvious for the question to be asked in the first place.

"Phil you know that we won't make any progress unless you cooperate with me." I look away from him, slightly embarrassed at my behavior. Then again I'm not sure I have the energy to care.

"Now to be more specific, what drove you to have a break down at your best friends funeral?" I know the reason. I know it's because he wasn't my best friend. He was my soul mate, and he left me. He abandoned me here.

"Because they dressed him in black, we already talked about this." I am growing weary of the situation and want nothing more than to return to my room. Although kind I can't help but resent this man.

"I know this Phillip but I would like to discuss it again. Why was it bad that they had dressed him in black?" I don't feel the need to explain it to him. I don't feel the need to explain the way Evan lit up a room just with his presence. I don't particularly want to have a conversation about his vivid clothing because all Evan cared about was making everyone else happy.

"I'd rather not discuss this right now sir." I hope he takes my blatant denial as an answer and ends the session. I am utterly exhausted at this point and want nothing more than to lay in bed until I am forced to get up. He sighs heavily, clearly agitated with my current behavior. I understand that I am being rude, and that it's unlinke me, but what's the point? What's the point of being kind to others when all you ever get in return is your best friends dying? What kind of world is that?

"Phil you've made excellent progress here in the last week but -" I don't allow him to finish before I am speaking, being overwhelmed by excitement at the prospect of leaving. The prospect of once again being in control of my life.

"Does that mean I can go home?" The excitement in the statement is only half hearted, for I know that it doesnt matter where I am. I will never escape him. I will never escape his sadness and his destruction and his death. He is haunting me.

"Well technically you can go home whenever you'd like, as you're a legal adult. But I wouldn't feel comftorable releasing you until those nightmares end." I go rigid at the statement, not comftorable with the mention of my night terrors. I can't escape him, even in my sleep.

"How did you know about those?" I ask suspiciously. Slightly afraid I'm being given less privacy than I originally thought.

"To put it in the most proffesional way possible Phil, your nightly screaming doesn't exactly go unnoticed." I can not stop myself from blushing madly at this. Sinking back into the chair attempting to hide. All of the other patients here must hate me. Dr. Klybourne speaks again before I have a chance to respond.

"In addition to this, when you were first admitted you were weighed in, and we found that you are nearly seven kilograms underweight. Upon further research we found you were admitted here at the age of seventeen where you were diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. Due to these two factors we would also like to keep you here until you once again reach a healthy weight." The mention of my eating disorder makes me immensely uncomftorable. That is something I haven't struggled with in years, ever since Evan helped me recover. But now he's gone, because I was apparently not good enough for him to stay. I gave him everything and he couldn't even bother trying.

I look down at my arms and notice the way the fat expands when they are pressed against the chair. The longer I look the more the abundance of fat on my thighs begins to irk me. Before I know it I can't look away. Evan always said he loved me regardless of how fat or thin I was. I guess he was lying. Despite me not losing the weight on purpose I can't help but dread having to put it back on.