my freudian slip - phan

xxii.

"Sure makes things easier, huh?" Phil asks, finaling closing his geography book.

"What?"

"Pop psychology."

"Oh that shit," Dan sighs. "I mean yeah, they don't want to actually deal with our problems."

Phil grows quiet. "I hadn't really thought about it like that."

"It's just some stupid way for normal people to make themselves feel better because it obviously only takes from point a to b to get better."

"I think people try."

"I think people fail."

"Oh."

The air seems to stick to them with a reverent intensity, clinging onto any words that are made. Neither want to break or intrude on its reign, the quiet in control.

Dan pokes at the bedspread. Slowly, the calm starts to dissipate. "I should go," he says at last without looking up, "they'll get angry."

Phil doesn't think his heart could hurt more.

"You should stop doing this, I mean you can tell someone, the police will help."

"I can't."

"What's stopping you?"

"I just can't." Dan moves off the bed, pulling his shoes back on.

"I'll help you."

"It's not that easy."

"Tell me what I can do."

Standing near the door, Dan wants to cry. It's stuck in his throat and something inside him laughs– this isn't me. Well then God, what am I?

"You can let me leave."

Phil's face falls. "Just– be safe," He says in a small voice. "Think of me."

Dan shakes his head. "What makes you think that'll make it easier?"