phan oneshots

A.M. (excerpt)

(a/n: this is NOT a phan oneshot! it's just a little thing I wrote a few years back and I needed to put it somewhere so here it is I guess.)

summary: the main character's best friend commits suicide.

tw// suicide

I miss them. They were such a mysterious human, secretive and distant with every other living being. However, they trusted me. They told me everything, which was both a blessing and a curse because they weren't afraid of using their words. They were beautiful, too— it was rare to see them smile but when they did, I desired to stop time just to stare a little longer. They were funny, they had this laugh that made you laugh too. They were constantly tossing jokes and comical expressions left and right, relishing in the chuckles of their peers that followed. They always had stories tell, these bizarre tales effortlessly spilling from their lips that an author would jump at the opportunity of writing about it. Everybody seemed to stop and listen when they spoke, as if we all shared the same favorite song. They were also my favorite person, one of the greatest and irreplaceable types. I used to think they were an angel that fell from the sky and lost their place, like someone upstairs had known how lonely I was and wanted to grant me with the luckiness of meeting this person. I loved them. God, I loved them with every beat of my heart.

And at 2:37am, theirs was pronounced to have stopped. At 2:37am on a Saturday night, they were gone forever.

2:37am, Sunday
It has officially been 24 hours since the man upstairs decided they had to be an angel again. It has officially been 1,440 minutes since I heard the heart monitor buzzing continuously, like a broken record stuck on replay. It has officially been 86,400 seconds since they took their last breath, reminisced their last story, choked out their last laugh and smiled one last time. And I really, really miss them.

2:37am, Monday
I have school very soon. I do not want to go, but they would scold me and explain that I have to learn, and I dont want them upset upstairs. I don't want to disappoint them. I cannot sleep, I am afraid to- because every time I close my eyes, all I see is them. Because my brain knows that's exactly what I want. I just want to see them last time. I want to hear their last crazy story, listen to their odd laugh, admire their smile and feel their sweatshirt against my skin when we hug- just one last time. Everybody knew how close we were, like two peas in a pod- unbreakable and unbendable. I don't want to hear the pity in people's voices. I don't want to be asked how it happened. But we don't always get what we want.

2:37am, Tuesday
I found their sweatshirt. They left it on my desk. They must've known they would end their life. They had it all planned out when I could've prevented it. I could've saved them. They didn't let me protect them. I just want them back. Everything hurts. Everything feels so empty. Empty like their desk in the classes we shared. Empty like their seat they claimed at lunch. Empty like the bottle of pills that lay next to them when I found them.

Right now I am holding their jacket in my hands, pretending it's them, but it's not them. It's late and I remember how much they loved to cuddle, romantically or not. So I cuddle this jacket and hope they're content watching me. It smells like them and that seems like the closest I'll get to a reappearance of their presence. It's not the same. So hey, if you're listening: please come back home.

2:37am, Wednesday
Their funeral was last night. I didn't cry. They would've yelled at me for crying, for feeling sad. I broke that loyalty, though, when I began to sob in the closed-off vicinity of my bedroom. Closed like the casket I stood in front of that locked away my favorite person. Closed like the door of the hearse that led to their burial. And so when I got home, I cried, and cried and cried— I convinced myself that maybe if I screamed loud enough, maybe if I shook bad enough or shed enough tears then all the pain would disappear. Maybe all the hurting would stop. Maybe, just maybe, I'd wake up from this nightmare and they would be in my arms again. But this is not a dream. This is reality, and that is scarier than any nightmare I've ever witnessed.

2:37am, Thursday
I want to know the last thoughts that crossed their mind before it shut down. I want to know what kept their heart beating  in the first place before it slowed to a stop. I want to know why they did it, when they decided they would, why they felt like that was the only option. I want to know everything about them that I failed to understand before. They were a timed puzzle and the clock beat me before I could solve it all. I just hope I'll see them again one day and get all the answers I crave to have.

I am going to wait for when our paths cross again, because I know they want me to live. I know they want me to live like they couldn't, to try and be happy. I should've noticed. I should've said something. I should've done something. But now it's too late. Now, the arms of the dirt cradle them in the way I failed to.

2:37am, Friday
Why couldn't they have survived just one more Friday? Why couldn't I have had more time? Another weekend? Another moment, even if just for a little, to stop them from preventing any hopes of getting better? Everything feels so lost without them. I have no one to talk to. I am more alone than I felt before. I am sad, and it is not the healthy kind of sad. I am becoming afraid of myself. Please don't leave me yet. Please just tell me you're okay. I won't get mad at you for lying. I just miss you.

2:37am, Saturday
A week. A whole week and it's felt like years since they died. I wish I had the intelligence to build a time machine, and I'd waste every travel to spend the span with them. I'd be okay with getting stuck to the past I traveled to, because I'd have more time to talk to them. I'd have more time to save them.

I remember everything that night, from the goodbye text they had sent me at midnight to the way I pounded my fists on their front door until my fists bled. I remember the worried expression that appeared when their mother let me in. I remember not being able to form words, only capable of incoherent mumbling between my cries as I dragged their mother to their room. I remember their door being locked and their father having to break it down. I remember seeing the light of my life on the floor, so dull and weak, an unconscious grin on their lips as they lay unmoving. I remember dropping to my knees next to their body and holding them, not knowing it'd be the last time. I remember waiting in the room next to my favorite person, listening to the shocks that attempted and failed to revive them. And lastly, I remember hearing that they'd be sleeping for eternity and I can't wake them up this time. This time, I can't save them. "You tried to help." "You meant so much to them." "I'm sorry for your loss." But every sentence sounded as if it was underwater. All I could focus on was the continuous ringing of their heart monitor in the hospital room near me. I never hated a noise more. I never wanted so badly to cover my ears and begin screaming just to drown it out.

So, if you're listening, I still miss you.

At that same moment, I swear I felt them. Felt them missing me too, like their soul still longed for mine.

And suddenly, I didn't feel so alone.