BURN ; phan

o n e

The bruise was red and blue, the hues mixing like the extra paint on his brushes which he discarded in a water cup. The colors swirled around the glass like grey wind, almost the same color as the mark that was left on his thigh. He pressed his finger to the hard skin, the blood vessels rising to the top. It was uncomfortable, but he did it again just to tell himself he could still feel.

His mother called his name from downstairs for the third time, her voice getting lost through the empty hallways of his mind. Shooting his head up, his bedroom door opened and there stood his older brother, one earbud in his ear as he glared at Phil.

"If you don't go downstairs, I'm going to kick you out myself. I am tired of hearing mom yell every 15 seconds."

Phil only nodded, his brother stared at him for a moment before walking off, not bothering to close the door at all. Phil stood on his feet, slowly creeping down the stairs to find his mom holding his new step-sister. The baby didn't arrive until after his mother married Johnathan, his new step-dad of the year. Phil and his brother didn't even bat an eye when she announced she was getting married again, after the death of their father their mom re-married someone almost every 5 years. The baby had come with Johnathan from his ex-wife, who hadn't known she was pregnant until after they had divorced.

"Take her, please." His mom said, brushing past her youngest son and dumping the girl in his arms.

He stared down at her, mouth agape as she was wailing and crying. Pudgy arms flew in the air, flailing everywhere for a mother that was not hers. Phil felt her cries, he desperately ached for a father that was not his own. He bounced her slightly in his arms, bringing her head towards his chest. He didn't like her all that much, new siblings came and gone, it was easier to not get attached, but she did always smell good. He brushed his nose across her baby hairs, the flat spot on her head smelled of bananas and baby powder. He whispered soft nothings in her ear until she quieted, he looked up at his mother who was leaning across the kitchen island, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"She loves you, I can't get her to quiet for a minute with me."

Phil hummed in response, his mother was used to his silence by now.

"Mrs. Howell is coming over for dinner, she used to babysit you when you and Martyn were little, do you remember?" Phil nodded, she always had that large fireplace that would heat up the bricks around it, Phil used to rest his back against them and feel was warmth run down his spine. "She's bringing over her son, Daniel, he's around your age. Please put on something nice."

Phil nodded again, always nodding, never refusing.

Selectively mute, is what Martyn had said in the car all those years ago, weeks after their fathers funeral when Phil hadn't spoken in nearly a month.

"They were so close, Phil and him, is he okay? How's he holding up?"

"He doesn't speak anymore. Not a word since September."

"Are you going to talk tonight?" She asked, looking him dead in the eyes. She was always desperate to hear his voice again, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

She only nodded before slamming her hand down on the table in frustration. The baby started fussing in his arms, he patted her butt to silence her, she quickly fell against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

"Please, Phil." She's looking away from him, voice cracking. She stopped crying around her kids a while ago. When she looked at him, the glossy eyes were gone and her voice was stern once more, an illusion of sorrows. "It's been years."

Phil only looks down at his feet, carrying the baby up the stairs and into the nursery, laying her down gently in the crib. Her head rolls to the side, baby hand immediately falling to her mouth.