Selfish Souls (Phan)

Good Enough for Me: 7

Phil's parents don't get home for another hour which I glad of. I wouldn't want their first impression of me being some kid who just got the crap beat out of him; which I did, even though I could have stopped it.

I could have stopped everything but that too risky, too dangerous. I could break Bruce's bones without touching him, but I don't. I could make it look like a building collapsed on him without lifting a finger, but I don't. (violent much?)

And knowing that I could stop it just makes the pain worse, makes the bruises realer and cuts deeper.

I had stopped walking because of my thoughts and ended up looking at a wall in his house seeming traumatised. "Dan, hello?" Phil asks, waving a hand in front of my face. I snap out of it. "Hm? What?" I ask, blinking out of my haze. He laughs, and motions for me to follow him upstairs. His house isn't as big as mine, but I'd much rather live here than the prison box mine resembles.

Every corner is filled with life, happy photographs on the fireplace mantle, toys litter the living room floor, jackets strewed about on the furniture. To some it may seem messy, to me, it looks like a well loved home. A place where people laugh and the parents come home and the meals cooked from scratch. Something I've never known but still dream about.

"Dan, what's wrong? You keep spacing out," Phil asks, looking sad. "Nothing, just thinking," I say wanting him to smile again. "Whatever it is that bothering you, you can tell me whenever you want," he says before dropping it.

I follow him upstairs, and he leads me to a small bathroom. "My room's the next one over; you can go sit while I grab the first aid kit," he says, opening the medicine cabinet.

I walk up to a door that has the name 'Philip' on it in wooden, crooked letters; I smile at the sight. Although it looks childish, it suits him perfectly, and I silently appreciate the colorfulness of it. I open the door, and the inside matches the outside. His comforter and blue and green and almost matches the pattern on mine. A stuffed lion sits on the pillow. Band and anime posters are hung randomly on his walls. And a TV with a couple of beanbags facing it sit in the corner of the room. A bookshelf full of video games sits next to it. Now that I see it, I can't imagine his room looking any different. I sit on the edge of the bed not wanting to ruin the sheets.

Phil walks in a minute later carrying gauze, rags, and rubbing alcohol. He sits next to me, dropping the stuff on the bed, picking up a rag and pour some rubbing alcohol on it. "Close your eyes," he says, pressing it to my eyebrow. Slowly but steadily he cleans my wounds including the extended cut on my ribs (which is the worst part of all of it) and the smaller ones on my back. He puts butterfly bandages on some of them and gauze on others.

When he's done, he goes downstairs to grab me a bag of ice. Before he leaves, he says I can lay down. If I want, which I do before he even gets to exit the room. He laughs, the sound following him down the stairs. The sheets smell like him, and they're probably the softest thing I've ever felt. I start to close my eyes, and before he gets back, I'm already gone.

:::

"Phil, why is there a random guy laying on your bed?" A female voice calls out. I hear footsteps. "Um," I hear Phil say back. I roll over, wincing as I do so. "Wait, Dan stop," Phil says. I hear more footsteps and feel the bed dip beside me and Phil hold my head up and place another pillow under it. Making it more comfortable without me having to move. "Thanks," I mumble still half asleep.

"Phil?" The female says again. I open my eyes tiredly. A ginger woman stands in the doorway a look of complete confusion on her face. Phil sits on the bed next to me. "Let me explain, but in the kitchen, he needs to sleep," he says. I feel the bed shift as he stands up. I see them leave, Phil shutting the door behind him.

I gingerly stretch, lifting my hands above my head. I yawn and rub my eyes. I get out of bed, grabbing the shirt of Phil's I was wearing earlier and put it on. It hurts, but I doubt his family would be too happy about some guy walking around their house half naked. I slowly walk downstairs.

"Why does he look like that? How did that happen?" The same female voice which I'm figuring is Phil's mum says. "I couldn't get him to tell me, but I still had to take care of him. I wasn't just going to let him suffer and go home like that," Phil says. "Why didn't you take him to the hospital?" "He won't let me." "Why not?" "I don't know; he won't tell me that either." "Well, what did he say to you?" She asks, sounding exasperated.

Their voices were slightly getting raised. "That he was willing to let me help him and that's good enough for me!" He whispers yells.

I step down from the stairs and into the kitchen before they can start fighting. Phil's back is to me, but his mother's isn't. She gives me a surprised look. Phil spins around. "Hey, sorry if I woke you," he says walking over to me. "It's fine, I was already up," I say, waving him off. I look over to his mother who now has a small smile on her face.

"Hi I'm Catherine," she says, holding out a hand. I carefully shake her hand careful not to injure my own further. She notices and doesn't put much pressure when she shakes it. "Hi, I'm Daniel, it's nice to meet you. I say, smiling at her. "Likewise," she says. She's looking to Phil, eyebrow raised. I'm not sure what that means or if it's right or wrong, but when he laughs, I feel the tension in the room lift.

"Mummy, Tabitha took my car!" I hear a high pitched voice yell, followed by small but angerly footstep. A little boy who's not older the five storms into the kitchen, arms crossed and pouting. A girl who looks slightly older follows, a red toy car in hand. "It's mine, dad got it for me last Christmas," she protests. "No, it had my name on the gift wrap," he protests. "Stop lying, James. Mum, he's lying again," she says.

I laugh at the encounter, and both of them suddenly look up at me. "Who's that?" James asks. "He's Phil's friend," their mother says, smiling apologetically at me. "Can he play with us? Phil always takes Tabitha's side," James says. "It does not," Phil says defensively. "Yes you do," James argues. "No, he doesn't, you just suck at winning," Tabitha says. Both walk out quarreling, the red toy forgotten on the floor.

Phil and I laugh as his mum shakes her head sighing. "How about you stay for dinner, Daniel. It'd be nice to get to know one of Phil's friends," she says. "Of course, thank you," I say politely even though, internally, my stomach is doing flips. I mean what could go wrong?