amity // phan

twenty-four.

-phil-

I stayed in the hostel for another two weeks before I ran out of money.

It was raining the day I left. Rain that smelled of spring– the first whisper of warmer weather.

Maybe, if I was a braver person, I might have tried living in my car before going back. And maybe, if I wasn't so damn tired, I might have found a way to keep running from everyone. I might have found a way to keep my chin up, my eyes open.

As I slipped into my car, I felt a familiar burn in the back of my throat. It was a thick, heavy feeling, seeping up from the ache in my chest.

And maybe, if I was older, I might have cried less.

I drove through the city, right into the bad part of town; my part of town. I could feel all of the fire– all of the strength I'd pretended to have– slipping out of me, spilling out the car window as I drove towards my house. The cracked bricks and the overgrown lawns were waiting for me when I got there.

A few pathetic stars swam in the murky black above me.

Then I knocked on the door, and rested my hand on the peeling paint. It felt strange, standing on my doorstep again. When I'd left, I hadn't been planning on coming home.

The door opened up a crack.

"Phil?" she asked, looking just as faded as the damn sky.

Blonde hair, blue eyes like mine. She wasn't smiling, wasn't even trying to. Her hand was shaking where it rested on the door frame, like she was scared of something.

"Mom."

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" she asked me, just like she'd ask a stranger.

"Sure," I said softly, my voice catching.

-

Late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, as the two of us sat together in the kitchen. We were crammed around the tiny table, each of us holding a mug of tea. For a minute, it felt exactly like before she left.

The two of us were close back then. She used to call me her prince, she used to look at me like I was some kind of miracle– her miracle– instead of a mess to be cleaned up.

Even when I was little, I knew that my mom was going to leave my dad eventually.

But I always thought she'd bring me with her when she did.

"How is he?" I asked finally.

"Fine," she said. "Better."

And I kind of hated how relieved I was. How grateful I was that nothing happened, that she showed up when I couldn't, that he was going to be okay for another few months.

"How are you?" she prodded, like she used to.

I shrugged.

She started to say something, then stopped, then reached her hand across the table towards mine, then pulled it away again. "I still care about you, you know."

I blew out a breath, and scratched the back of my neck. "How long until you leave?" I asked quietly.

"Another week," she said. "Maybe two. You're free to move back–"

I shook my head. "You've made it clear that you don't want me in your life."

Mom looked away, and for a second I thought I might have actually hurt her feelings. Her tired eyes brushed across mine. "I couldn't take you with me, Phil," she said.

"I know."

"I wanted to take you." Again, she reached her hand out, and this time her fingers brushed across the corner of my sleeve. "I really wanted to take you."

"No, you didn't," I said, and I pulled my arm away.

"It wasn't easy, Phil," she replied, and I heard something crack in her voice.

I looked at her closely, watched her lip tremble. And god, I wanted to ask her all of those stupid questions that kept me up late at night. I wanted to ask her if leaving was worth it. I wanted to ask her if I ever actually did anything wrong, or if being his son was enough of a reason.

Instead, I asked, "What do you want from me?"

"I want better things for you," she said softly, glancing around the room. "I want you to do better than . . . than all this."

I stood up, I poured the rest of my tea down the sink.

"Are you leaving?" she asked quietly.

"I can't stay here. Not with you around."

"Phil."

"I'm not mad. You made your choice and that's fine, but I can't be around you anymore."

She knitted her eyebrows together. "So you're leaving, then?"

"Just for a little." I paused for a second, then looked at her again. "I'll come back when you're gone– when he needs me again."

She nodded, and for a second she looked like she was going to hug me or something. In the end, she just brushed her hand against my shoulder.

And it was enough.

-

It was past midnight when I got to Dan's house and knocked on his door. I'd been rehearsing what I wanted to say to him countless times, but when he opened the door, the words got caught in my throat.

Because Dan was standing there, unmoving, and it felt like the first time I'd met him all over again. It was a burst of adrenaline, one that came with not wanting to be a lost cause anymore.

It was a brilliant tug in my chest.

And, more than anything, it was the sudden belief that there really was magic in the world, after all.

- - -

an////

Did i ever get around to say thank you guys for 10k reads on this story? Because holy shit we got to 10k reads on this story.

Anyways, what did you think?

The next chapter is coming as soon as I can write it, hopefully next weekend. It'll be the last real chapter before the epilogue, but it will also be long like the early chapters. You're gonna love it.

Ily.

ps, jenna, ily most