Alternate (Phan)

47*Loudest cry

Phil

I want Dan to leave me, but I'm too selfish to tell him to do so. Maybe it's that, or maybe it's that I know he won't leave. He thinks he can fix me, but a few hugs and a bottle full of pills won't do that. What happens when the pills run out and I'm agile enough to walk away from his arms?

There's too many triggers for evil Phil. Everything from a foot tap at the wrong time for me mentally to someone shouting. It seems to be that anything slightly agitating switches me. I hate to admit that it's being caused by something as simple as my ankle, since I should be able to cope with that. I'm a grown man, why can't I cope?

But it's because I can't that I'm laying on a pair of mats in a tent with Dan in my arms as we both cry.

And I made him cry.

I've also made the scattering of bruises across his body. I'm not going to try and disguise the fact that just because I've switched and I'm not mentally in the same position as I am when I'm okay, that it doesn't hide the fact that it is still me. I am still the one that hits Dan. And at what point will it change? When will the Phil Dan and I both know as my sane version become the switch, and 'evil Phil' is the norm?

'Stop thinking.' Dan spoke.

I felt his hair brush against under my chin, telling me he was looking upwards. I turned to face his eyes, staring deep into the windows as his lips remained parted.

Neither of us knew what to say, so we let the empty space between us fill with our shallow breaths. My silence was loud with thoughts of yelling at him that I was sorry and nothing was okay. His remained behind curtains. I pulled my hand up, holding his face as I stroked his cheek with my thumb, running it along his cheekbone. He started pushing closer to me as I pulled him forward. And suddenly, it felt like our first kiss all over again; as if we were back at the start.

I held his leg from under his thigh as he pulled it over my body, straddling my left leg. Our lips kept parting, instantly rejoining the other's as we gently grazed our kiss. I opened my eyes, seeing his flicker open to do the same. We watched each other, smiling.

It could almost feel wrong, as if I was using him if it wasn't for the fact he was leading us, pulling our shirts over our heads. It was as if the growing distance between us mattered no longer, as my fingers brushed the bare skin on his back, his hands harshly gripping into my shoulders. He kept pulling me forwards, readjusting his hands to under my armpits as he struggled to hold me against him.

I wasn't aware he'd taken his jeans off until he started at my belt buckle, causing me to open my eyes in interest. He lifted my head back up by my chin with his forefinger, disgruntled by the separation of our lips. He heavily pressed us together again, slithering my trousers down the mats.

Lust can be described as a negative, wanting only the other person for your own desires. But, describing Dan as lustful wasn't something to shame in this instance. We were two husbands, being pulled apart by the force of despair, finding a moment in the haze of destruction to just be us; to love each other. Our worries weren't forgotten because some don't dissolve in an instance. That cliché moment where all sins are forgiven, illnesses are forgotten and depression is broken through; it wasn't there. Not because the sun stopped shining, but because some problems are too great to be pushed away without a resolution, so much so even the brightest star can't drain its darkness out. But, that doesn't mean you shouldn't try to lighten it for a moment, even if you only brighten an inch of the worry's surface. Because sometimes, that only can seem like a universe in comparison. And that's what it felt like for us.

No matter how close we got in our moment of love, he kept trying to pull me closer; farther in. It was as if he was trying to distract us from the fact his body was littered with bruises by making us the same person. But the fact is, I already felt the pain I was causing as if I was him. I felt each one of those...regrets as if it was written into my body. I knew the stories of those scars, but the one that I didn't know was the one that stood out the most.

Still, I knew better than to speak of it. Maybe I should have been talking about it during that moment because we were both okay. That could have been better than if I were to bring it up in anger when I was switched.

Yet, I did not. I kept my mouth shut and allowed Dan to hold my waist in his legs as he pulled me closer with his hands gripping onto my shoulder blades. He suddenly threw his hands beside his body, groaning as he did so. I moved my hands over his, pulling them next to his head as I intertwined our fingers. I felt his smile against my lips. I felt my body in his. I felt his pain inside my chest.

Some noises can't be muffled with groaning. Hurt is the loudest cry.

Our heavy breathing brushed against the other's ears, listening as our hurried breaths slowed to gentle breezes. I shuffled my body to the side of his, holding myself up on my forearm as I held my gaze with his eyes. He smiled back, holding my hand that laid pressed against the mat. I used my other to apply light pressure against his chest, feeling his breathing in my muscles.

They say the strongest muscle in the body is the heart. Then why does mine feel so weak?