Inflicted // Phan (on hold)

o n e ➳ phil

SONG — Forest Fires by Lauren Aquilina

//

TW (Trigger Warning)

phil

The wind howled outside of Phil's window, blowing leaves wherever it headed. Phil was staring at the ceiling, arms crossed over his body, fiddling with his fingers restlessly.

I hate having insomnia.

Phil let out a soft sigh. He couldn't sleep for shit. He turned his head to look at his clock, which beamed '5:57 am'.

I might as well get up, Phil thought. There's not much else I can do.

He had probably only gotten about two hours of sleep that night, much like almost every night. He'd get four if he was lucky. Today wasn't one of those days.

Phil heaved himself up, turning and dangling his legs off of the side of the bed. It took a lot of energy to boost himself off of the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, trying not to make a sound. He turned on the bathroom light and shut the door, locking it.

Phil raised his ocean blue eyes to the mirror, eyes locking in contact with his disgusting body. All thoughts of eating breakfast were long gone.

You're so fat, you disgusting piece of shit.

No one likes you? Haha, I'm not surprised.

Just starve yourself you worthless fat dog.

Phil bended his head and sucked in a deep breath of oxygen. The voices were terrible. They lowered Phil's self-esteem more, if that was even possible. Every. single. day.

He sighed and brushed his black hair, avoiding looking at his body at all. Then, his eye caught sight of something particularly shiny. He took a step forward and grabbed the razor out of the open drawer. Phil inspected it carefully. He thought about it. I could do this . . . right here and right now.

No.

Phil shook his head and put the razor up. Not now. I'm too big of a wuss to inflict pain upon myself.

He exited the bathroom and put on his school uniform--jeans and a shirt the color of your choice, but the shirt had to be a solid color. That was okay. He wore gray today, with blue jeans that were slightly ripped but hardly noticeable. He put on a gray jacket, the weather outside pretty cold. Even if it was cold Phil still enjoyed cloud — cover. Clouds calmed him and he loved rain. Sounds depressing, but he seriously loved rain.

When he looked at his clock it was 6:43. Damn it. School doesn't start until 8:45. He sighed. What am I going to do until then?

Unlike most other kids, he didn't have any friends to talk to, and was too scared to talk to people on the internet that he couldn't see and interact in person with.

"Guess I might as well go to school," he mumbled under his breath. Phil exited his room, getting out his phone and earbuds. He put his earbuds in and left the house, walking on the sidewalk as it sprinkled rain.

He turned on Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd. He loved classic rock so much, it was really the only kind of music he felt that he could relate to.

'So, so you think you can tell,
heaven from hell,
blue skies from pain,
can you tell a green field
from a cold steel rail,
a smile from avail,
do you think you can tell--'