The Doorknob

The Floor

I wake up more uncomfortable than I think I've ever been, and my head is aching, but at least I don't feel dizzy any longer. I push myself up slightly, then into a seated position. When the veil of blackness doesn't drop over my eyes, I take it as a good sign, then take a few deep breaths for good measure.

I expend a bit of effort to scoot myself over to the wall, wishing I had Phil here to hold onto as I try to stand up, but he's probably disappeared or he would've tried to help me.

When my breaths are normal again, I start to push myself up the wall, pausing when I'm fully standing. It's at this point I notice Phil, slightly translucent, sitting on the countertop in the kitchen. Just watching.

"You could've said something, jeez," I try to joke, but my voice is hoarse and it ends up sounding accusatory. He looks sadly at me before disappearing and reappearing closer to me. "Can you help me get to bed?" I phrase it as a question, but his lack of solidity is answer enough - though he shakes his head when I ask.

"I'm so sorry," he says, eyes downcast.

"No, it's fine, it's not your fault-" I start, assuming he's apologizing for not being able to help, but he cuts me off.

"It's not, I should've told you," he says, and I am suddenly very confused. My face must show it, because he takes a step toward me, reaching out his hand and then dropping it. "I should've told you, I do know why I can touch you sometimes - not always, and I don't know exactly how it works, but I should've said something, I'm so sorry, I didn't think you'd get hurt," he's rambling now, and staring at his feet, and I wish he'd look up because now my mind is whirring again, and I slump back to the floor.

"Dan, are you alright?" Phil trains his eyes on me for a moment, still bright and intense despite his translucent form, and I nod. Then shake my head.

"Just tell me what's going on, Phil," I say, both weary and wary at this point. He sighs, and I wait for an explanation.

"When I'm here - the white place, that's real, and I can't always control when I'm there and when I can stay here - but when I'm here, I can mostly decide how...solid I am," he says, and I nod - this isn't new information, so I wait for him to go on. "What I didn't explain is how that happens," and I look up to find him still watching me. "It's you, Dan."

I furrow my brows at him - what does he mean, it's me? And then pieces start to come together, but his voice beats my brain to drawing the full picture.

"To be physically here, to be able to touch things, to touch you, I need some kind of energy. And I've been stealing yours," he drops his gaze, as if waiting for my backlash. But honestly, I'm just too tired. I can't process this, I can't even think straight. I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall.

"I didn't know it would hurt you," Phil's still talking, and I can hear him, but it's almost background noise now, I can't stay awake. "I didn't expect...I didn't know how much I'd want to...to touch you," I hear the words, and I can feel a warmth blossom in my heart, but I can't respond and I let the blackness envelop me.

-------------------------------------------------------

I'm woken by a soft hand on my shoulder, and - without opening my eyes - I can tell it's Phil.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers in my ear, and I think my lips tug up in a small smile, though I'm too far gone to say for sure. "I need to go now, I need you to be okay."

My heart flutters when he kisses my cheek, so gently, but something feels wrong - he needs to go? "I'm so glad I got to know you," he says quietly, and I'm suddenly very awake.

"Phil!" I shout, eyes flying open, but an empty lounge greets me. My heart is racing in my chest, and I stand too quickly, but I can't be bothered to care as I push against the blackness and stumble my way from the wall to the countertop, searching for the familiar blue eyes and bright smile.

I make my way haltingly through lounge to my bedroom, relying on the wall for support. I check every corner: under the bed, inside the wardrobe, I even pull aside the shower curtain in the bathroom, but I can't find him.

"Phil, I swear on my life, get back here right fucking now!" I yell, trying desperately to hold onto the anger instead of the utter despair I feel coiling in my chest. "Phil, I'm not fucking around!" I slam a fist against the wall, simultaneously pissed at the pain and grateful that I didn't do any damage.

The pain in my hand brings a spark of clarity to my surroundings, but it's shortly replaced by a dull throb that echos the ache in my chest. I mutter string after string of expletives, but they devolve into a stream of nonsense and, eventually, sobs, as I fall onto my bed and curl into a ball. He left me.