Sighs and Fire (Phan AU) (INCOMPLETE)

(1.22)

A/N: sorry this is a bit late! I've been really sick the last week. I haven't ran this through Word yet so there might be a few typos but I just wanted to get this up. I quite like this one and I hope you do too :)

I spoke too soon.

I've taken off my blazer at home and unpinned the flower from the pocket and it's laying there in my palm. I don't know what it is, but looking at it and seeing that it's wilted since the morning triggers a gun in my emotions and the bullet lands in my heart, making it stop and drop into my stomach. For a second I think it made a sound when it crashed because out of the corner of my eye I see Phil turn around, looking at me, to the flower then back to me again. I can tell he's trying to read my expression so I do my best to keep a poker face, setting the flower aside and continuing to get undressed. Right now I'm beginning to wish I could control my mind as much as I could with my face since my head is beginning to spin and a million thoughts are rushing into my head when just a minute ago I had been enjoying the silence which had been the first I had since I received the first call on New Year's Day.

That was 10 days ago. He died 8 days ago. Strange that it feels like yesterday yet an eternity all at once.

I let all my clothes drop to the floor while I try to work out whether I'm feeling every emotion at once or if I've just turned numb. I kick my heap of clothes wanting to turn back time to when my biggest problem was not being sure if my outfits matched. Funny how death makes everything else seem so trivial. Nevertheless, Phil lets out a tiny sigh I don't think he meant for me to hear and picks up my discarded clothes and I bite my tongue so I don't start screaming at him. I can feel it building though - the grief and the guilt and the regret - inside of my chest it feels like I'm going to explode if I don't get them out soon, but I can't seem to cry and I didn't have the energy to exercise the emotions out through sweat.

I go to the window and open it despite seeing Phil shiver a little. It's January, after all, but I couldn't care less when I'm praying to God that the fresh air will take away all my sadness, all my pain, all my fear. Even just a little bit of it. I realise I'm watching the rest of world carry on like nothing has happened when my life has fallen apart and I feel almost offended when I am now left alone to grieve over something I would never get back. I hear Phil leave the room and I look towards the door and the small bolt I had put on myself when I wanted to get high alone.

When I hear Phil lock the bathroom door, I quietly go over the bedroom door and slowly pull the bolt across. Feeling some relief, I go to the corner that held too many lonely memories and sit with my back against the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest.

I hear a car drive by. The running water from the sink in the bathroom. My phone buzzes and for the first time I don't care to look and see what it is that's trying to get my attention. I grab a cushion from underneath the bed that I had taken from Joseph's room and stashed there not long after he died, burying my face in it. I can smell my old favourite deodorant and even though I start laughing at Joseph stealing my stuff - something I would've moaned at him before - a lump grows in my throat and my eyes start to burn and my vision starts to blur. I'm crying, ever so silently but soon enough my breathing rate picks up and then before I know it, I'm sobbing, my body shaking with the inconsistent breaths.

"Dan?" It's Phil, knocking on the door. He sounds worried but I've been craving this time alone for so long and my guilt was eating me alive as it is without feeling bad about locking Phil out.

Please leave me alone, Phil. Just for 5 minutes, please leave me alone, I want to tell him but there's no way any words are leaving my throat. So I scream into the cushion instead. Screaming, screaming, screaming, until it's the only thing I can hear and they turn back to sobs and my chest aches. I listen to Phil banging on the door and think about how I deserved to be alone. I get up and reach for my phone, curling up on my side on the bed and go onto Joseph's Facebook profile, flicking through pictures of him first even though over the last week I had looked at them a million times over. I scroll down his profile after, scanning all the mourners who had written that they missed him and hoped he would rest in peace. How many of these people knew what he was doing?