truth or dare // phan au

seventy-eight

it's 3:48 am.
pj hasn't called me or answered any of my texts.
i open my messages for the billionth time in the last minute, anxiously checking to see if he's responded yet.
12:51 - dan: hey
12:52 - dan: how's the party? chris trying to get in ur pants? lmao jk
1:05: - dan: hello?
1:17 - dan: are you mad at me?
1:38 - dan: can we talk?
2:10 - dan: i'm sorry.
2:12 - pj read 2:12 am
it has been about an hour and a half since he read my messages...
i try calling him, even though he'll probably just let it ring or decline, i have hope. i press the little "call" button.
ring,
ring,
ring,
i sit there, with the phone close to me, desperately hoping he'll pick up.
but, he doesn't. he doesn't answer.
he's ignoring me.
he hates me.
of course he does, everyone does. even i hate me. why am i surprised?
i drop my phone onto my bed, and get up to go down to the kitchen. i'm craving something to eat or drink before i cry again or some other shit like that.
i throw my door open, not worrying if i wake my parents. they're used to their worthless, homosexual, depressed, disappointment of a son, up and about in the early hours of the morning.
i try not to trip down the stairs, and then i waltz my fucking way to the kitchen.
ugh, i really should have put socks on, the freezing tile beneath my cold bare feet makes me feel like i'll get frostbite and they'll break off. at least i'm wearing my dead boyfriends sweatshirt to keep me warm. hm... that's a totally comforting and not at all creepy thought.
after searching for something to eat, i give up. most of the good snacks are stale and or past their expiration dates. now i'm moving onto drinks, let's see... water, lemonade, milk, dad's beer, mom's vodka... hmmm, which one will i choose?!
i grab the vodka and take a swig, because, hey, i just graduated, i've been through some shit. i deserve this.
i drag myself back up into my bedroom with the alcoholic drink in my grasp, taking sips as i march up the seemingly steepening steps. (try saying that three times fast. seemingly steepening steps, seepin- ah fuck.)
i toss myself and my new best friend (the vodka, if you didn't get that,) onto my bed and basically chug a third of the bottle.
still no goddamn notifications from my boyfriend- the alive one, not the dead one.- if you haven't noticed, i kinda really wish the dead one wasn't dead. odd, right?
i'd do anything to be with phil right now. i want to see the way his eyes get all crinkly when he smiles, the way his tongue sometimes pokes out as he laughs. i want to hug him, to pull his body close to me. i want to kiss him, to feel the way his lips feel against mine.
i'm completely serious when i say i'd do anything.
i'd die to see phil again...
i turn to my bedside table and pick up my anxiety meds.
huh.
maybe... that isn't such a terrible idea.