confined ;; phan

chapt. sixteen

PLAYLIST
set in stone by guy sebastian
train wreck by james arthur

the sun.

warning; mentions of suicide/death, anxiety & alcoholism.

"lester?"

"yes, officer?" his voice shakes.

"warden wants to see you."

"right sir."

the officer doesn't cuff phil to escort him down to the wardens office. and when phil arrives, he doesn't stay; just shuts the door and walks back down the hall. it makes phil uneasy.

"you wanted to see me, ma'am?" phil says quietly, standing with his arms at his sides.

the warden nods firmly. "i did, yes."

phil remains standing.

"take a seat, inmate."

"oh, okay. i mean, y-yes, ma'am," phil stumbles, fumbling with the wicker chair across from the warden.

her face softens. "biscuit?"

she holds out a tray of chocolate cookies. phil is starving. the biscuits smile.

"i, uh," phil hesitates. "no, thank you, ma'am."

his stomach growls. his hands shake.

the warden pauses, inspects phil before placing the lid back on the tray. the biscuits are hidden in her desk forever.

"are you okay?"

the words catch phil off guard. being okay isn't something he's really thought of over the past week. being okay feels unsettling and foreign.

maybe he's not okay;

perhaps content?

"why wouldn't i be?" phil smiles.

it hurts a little, he'll admit- pretending everything is normal; fine; okay;

content.

who was dan howell anyway? phil sure as hell doesn't know.

the warden pauses again. "we want to organise you an appointment with a psychiatrist, phil."

her voice is so gentle it almost distracts phil from her suggestion.

"i don't need a shrink, ma'am," phil argues, chest tight with anxiety.

he's seen shrinks before. three, actually. they just get inside your head and give you false hope with bullshit coping exercises and fake pills. it happened when his brother, martin, died. phil won't let it happen with...

him.

the warden nods quickly. "right. that's fine."

phil can tell that it's not fine. she's worried about him and nobody has ever seen the warden so vulnerable and caring, especially with an inmate.

"phil, when i was twenty four, my girlfriend overdosed. she was never really happy, you know? her parents were very abusive after she came out. but i believed that i was making her happy again. i suppose i was, for a while. but it wasn't enough. she needed help but maybe she was too scared of being weak. it doesn't make you weak, phil. if anything, it makes you-"

"strong," phil interrupts. "i know the speech. dead brother. recovering alcoholic- you get the gist."

it supposed to be some sort of comic relief, but the room is dead silent except for the remnants of his words bouncing off the empty walls.

"well," she coughs awkwardly. "that'll be all from me. any questions, phi- uh- inmate?"

phil is about to say no, but he thinks about the biscuits and then he starts to think about his mom. and his dad. and his dead fish, gary.

"have you called-" phil physically can't say his name. it's impossible. it's stuck in his chest. it leaves phil breathless and hopeless, looking at the warden in a panic. "uh, have you called d-d-"

phil bites his bottom lip- hard. he thinks it bleeds but he can't be sure.

the warden waits patiently.

"his parents, f-family." he gasps out the words, lungs screaming. "and stuff."

she stares at phil with tearful eyes and empathy. "no, we haven't. we were under the impression that he was no longer in contact with his family."

"oh," phil whispers.

it feels wrong. would they ever know? would they live out the rest of their lives oblivious to the fact that their son is literally dead? no funeral, no final goodbyes. maybe one day they would visit dan, as a surprise, and there would be no answer of the phone or trace of life in his taped off flat. perhaps when his mother or father died, they would send him an invite to the funeral and he would never go. his entire family would think he just didn't care.

"would you like us to contact someone?"

phil ponders this. "no, actually."

the warden frowns.

"do you think you can get someone here? so i can tell them? not his entire family, maybe just his, his mom, or, or something."

"phil, that will be extremely difficult to organise-"

"please. just try, m-maybe."

she sighs. "i'll do my best."

a/n
i actual fucking bawled my eyes out writing this. it hit really close to home and ah, sorry if this upset you.