Misfit (Phan AU)

Chapter Forty-One

warnings: general spookiness/demon-inflicted injuries at the start and Phil is understandably panicked

*Phil's POV*

I trembled, my gaze flickering to the corner of the room without my permission, landing on one of the many spirits scattered around aimlessly. I hurriedly turned away, trying and failing to focus on the man in front of me, asking me a series of questions to determine my current mental state. It seemed a bit laughable that he was asking about my feelings when there was a dead person standing in the room, but I figured he wouldn't appreciate the full irony of the situation and I wasn't about to bring it up.

Despite the way my heart was racing and the fact I was only half-present in the conversation, I tried my best to do what Dan had asked of me and lie about the severity of what I was going through. To be blunt, I was terrified. At this point I had no idea who to trust anymore, after seeing Dan in the car and the uncanny amount of understanding he had toward whatever I was going through, I wasn't sure if it was safe to assume his advice was credible. He clearly had something to do with whatever was happening to me, but his intentions seemed pure enough.

Still, I couldn't help but dwell on how passionate he'd been about me not getting the doctors involved or taking any medication for the problem. That wasn't really healthy, was it? Though, he could see them too, so all signs pointed to them not being hallucinations.

So what were they then? Real?

I dug my nails into my thighs harsher, hoping the psychiatrist staring me down didn't notice my obviously unsettled behavior. None of this made any sense! If Dan knew what was happening, if he'd known about it all along, then why hadn't he said anything before now? I wanted so badly to trust him, but it was hard when he'd chosen to leave me in the dark about my own problems. I needed answers, concrete ones that didn't leave me feeling so alone.

"Mr. Lester? Are you alright?" The man across from me asked, quirking an eyebrow at me. I opened my mouth to reply, but found myself hesitating when he started to jot something down on the clipboard he was holding. Just how much information had I unintentionally given away about myself? This was nothing like the comforting atmosphere my actual therapist set up when I went to visit them.

"Uh, yeah." I blurted out, kicking myself for how unconvincing it sounded in my own ears. That wouldn't be fooling anyone, much less someone with a degree in mental health and reading people's emotional well-being. I cursed myself silently, toying with the hideous hospital gown I was wearing, scrunching my nose up in distaste at the itch of the uncomfortable fabric. "I'm fine."

He stared blankly back at me, his gaze unwavering in the way it scrutinized me for another answer. When I didn't offer any, he got to his feet and took his clipboard with him. He looked around the room they'd settled me in, a rather bland mixture of boring colors and overly safety-proofed furniture. I could tell their intentions were good, that they really thought they were doing the best thing for me, I just wasn't sure how to tell if they were right about what I needed.

"I'm going to go check in with your family, would you like me to send a nurse in to keep you company or would you prefer they wait outside?" He asked, making it clear that a nurse would be watching over me either way, whether it be from a distance or not. I huffed petulantly, kicking at the floor with my bare feet where they hung over the edge of the bed.

"Outside." I decided aloud, the idea of privacy appealing to me the more I thought about just how little time I'd had to myself since all of this happened. I needed time to think rationally, without the influence of other people's voices in my ears telling me how I should feel and who I should trust.