amity // phan

twenty-one.

-damien-

From the moment I first met Dan– and even in the moments before then– I hated how easy he had things.

He was the kid who had his shit together, the kid who got top marks without trying, the kid who was in half of my classes even though I was two years older than him.

He was the kid who caught Phil's eye, he was the kid who– according to Phil– picked flowers instead of arguments, he was the kid who didn't make mistakes. Maybe that was why I resented him so much . . . Even in the days before the two of them met, Phil spoke about Dan like he put the fucking stars in the sky.

It wasn't until the minutes after Dan kissed me, when he sat motionless in the grass, terrified of what he'd done, that I saw how close to breaking he was.

He was, after all, just a kid.

He'd kissed me because I reminded him so much of Phil, probably– but also because I was there. He'd kissed me because he was unraveling at the seams, and because he had nothing left to lose.

"So, Dan," I said, awkwardly. "Are you ready to go back yet?"

Dan just shook his head, and rested his chin on his knees, which were drawn up to his chest. The night was starting to get cold, and even though the wind was making Dan shiver, he didn't seem to notice.

"Amelia said that Phil's done this before," Dan mumbled, mostly to himself.

I shook my head. "Not really. I mean, he usually ends up at my place."

Dan stared at the sky for a moment, his eyes empty and dull. "What happens if he doesn't come back this time?" he asked, frantically. He turned away from me, his hands shaking, his breathing shallow. "What if he's just gone and that's it?"

I opened my mouth to reply, and was surprised to find that I didn't have an answer.

All night, even after I dropped Dan off at his place, I couldn't get that stupid sentence out of my head:

What if he's just gone and that's it?

I wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't come back. Hell, I wasn't sure if the earth would keep spinning, if the stars would keep shining, without him.

-

The next morning, on my way to school, I found myself driving the wrong way.

I was heading out of the nice subdivisions, towards to shittier parts of town, to where the houses were all jumbled and shoved together, crowding for space. When I found myself staring at Phil's house, found myself walking up to the door, I felt very close to crying.

After I knocked, the door was opened by a woman who I didn't recognize. She was tall and skinny, her too-blonde hair streaked with grey, and her too-bright sundress looking wrinkled.

"Hello," she said, her voice sickly sweet.

"Hey," I said, and then I paused. There was something in her face– something behind her eyes– that was suddenly familiar to me. "Are you . . . Are you Phil's mom, by chance?"

She gave a tight nod, her lips pursed. "Can I help you with something?"

"I was looking for Phil, actually."

"He isn't living here right now."

"Have you heard from him, at least?"

"I stopped by about a week ago, to help out with Phil's dad," she said, her attitude suddenly professional. "From what I understand, Phil didn't want anything to do with me. He was gone by the time I arrived."