Hello all - I am publishing this story on this website on behalf of my friend Josie, who does not have an account :3
We drove, and drove, and drove, until I was sure we couldn't drive anymore because surely,surely we would just drive clean off the road in Brighton into the English Channel if we kept going. Then, while I watched the blurring shapes speed past, I almost willed the car to keep going, to drive until it hit the cold water and trap us all in this metal shell that was my best-friend's family car.
I had been staying with her – my best friend, Sarah, that is – and her family for the last couple of days, and today, exactly five days since it had happened, Sarah and her parents where driving me to London to drop me off at my new house.
"It'll be good for you," they had said. "Refreshing."
"They'll make you happy," they told me.
"Your parents would want this for you," they would repeat time and time again.
But they were wrong, despite their best intent to make me feel better. In fact, all it did was make me feel worse. How would they know if this would be good for me? I failed to see how being away from Sarah and my friends would be good for me. I didn't understand how, just because I was away from the burnt out carcass that was my parents' house, they expect me to forget about what had happened, to move on effortlessly. Little did they know that the black remains which held my childhood memories had been burnt into my brain, and the bright flames danced tauntingly at the darkness of dreams, so it was near impossible to even close my eyes, let alone get a good night of sleep.
This wasn't what my parents would want for me – what they would want would be for us to be sitting on the couches and armchairs by the TV in the lounge, safe and cuddled up, watching a movie we had rented because the weather was too cold or too wet – which ever excuse my dad would find.
Instead, I was driving miles away from Manchester watching the grey skies crack open and release their cold, continuous water drops. Instead, my father was in hospital with third degree burns, broken bones and head injuries, putting him into a coma which he may never awake from. Instead, my mother was in a polished, mahogany box in the ground with nothing but an over-expensive slab of stone to promise that she was actually there.
I curl into myself more, in the space of the backseat - bringing my knees even closer to my chest and tucking my arms in closer to my body. I shove my headphones forcefully deeper into my ears, not caring about possible future deaf-ness or how I'm plainly ignoring everything else in the car, including Sarah who is sat on the back seat with me. I have the hood of my way-to-big-to-not-make-you-look-like-a-potato hoodie pulled securely over my mass of curly black hair, so all I can see is what is outside my window.
The drive, however endless it had felt, eventually came to a stop and we pulled into the driveway of the home. I didn't bother to take in the street name, or flat number, or even what the house looked like. I pulled my iPod out of my pocket and turned it off – "You simply can't arrive listening to that thing," Sarah's mother had said. "You should be a bit more social." – before exiting the warmth of the car with a sigh.
I was glad for my extra-big jersey, because it kept me warm in the English weather. Sarah walked around the car and stood beside me. After a moment of both of us just blankly staring up at the house, she turned to me and pulled my hood off of my head before saying, "You'll be alright, kiddo."
And with that we were walking up the path, and we were at the door, and we had rung the bell and we stood waiting for a good half-minute before it swung open.
I remember when I was younger and my parents had some friends over for dinner and they bought over their fourteen year old son. I was only five at the time, but I remembered that I had sat with him in our second lounge, and we had watched Pokémon. I had begged and begged him to let me paint his nails, and in the end, after much debating I had won and forced him to sit still while I made his nails look as fabulous as any five-year-old could. That was the one and only time I had met my god-father. Now would be the second.
The door opened to reveal a man – though his boyish features threatened that title – in his early twenties. He looked confused for a moment, and reached up to move his hair from his doe-eyed face. He smiled politely after a moment and rested on the frame of the front door.
He was tall, and some people would even go as far as saying he was lanky. With messy brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, I would be lying completely if I were to say that I failed to notice how handsome he was.
"Good …" the man looked behind him into his house, before turning back and saying, "afternoon. How can I help you?"
"Hello, I'm Will, and this is my wife Susanne," Sarah's father said. "We spoke to you on the phone?"
"Oh, you must be looking for Phil," he said. "Just a second."
He disappeared into the house, and there came yells of names and thuds of someone going up stairs. The four of us stood around awkwardly together, not knowing what to say or do. Eventually, Susanne broke the silence.
"Well, he seems lovely – you'll feel at home in no time."
I gave a disgruntled laugh in my head, because I knew that I'd never feel at home and I'd never feel like I truly belonged because this wasn't where I belong – in a house with my godfather and his house-mate who were both in their twenties. I didn't belong in big old London with its millions of people and tourists who wanted to see the Big Ben or the London Eye. I did not belong and that was simple and clear and it would never change.
"Straighten yourself up a bit," Sarah's mother continued. "You don't want to make the wrong impression."
I glared at her – I had never gotten along with Sarah's parents, and the only reason I had agreed to stay at her place the past couple of days was because I had literally nowhere else to stay and I had been staying at her house the night it had happened – meaning what little possessions I had left had been the things I had taken to her house, anyway.
There was the sound of feet descending the steps this time and I turned towards the door – not sure what to expect appearance whys from my godfather since the last time I had seen Phil he had been a gawky fourteen year old boy.
A black-haired man, who must've been shorter than the previous guy, appeared with a large, goofy smile on his face. His blue eyes sparkled in what little light got through the grey clouds and he gave off a more childish vibe, though he must've been nearly twenty-six by now.
"Hello, I'm Phil," he said enthusiastically. "You must be Phoebe."
I stared in mute confusion until he chuckled in an adorable way and explained that he remembered me by my hair. I couldn't help but smile at him, if only a small smile, and I instantly felt a pang of guilt – my dad was in hospital and my mum was dead, I did not deserve to be happy when I should've been in either of their places.
Phil shook hands with Sarah's parents and told us we should get my stuff and come inside. Her parents went inside with Phil and Sarah and I went to the boot of the car to retrieve what little belongings I had.
"You're going to be more than fine here, what with those two around all the time," Sarah said, nudging me playfully.
Before I could reply, Phil's flatmate was beside us, smiling happily – which caused Sarah to blush because there was no way that he hadn't heard what she'd just said.
"Do you ladies need some help?" He asked.
"I don't have much stuff, so there's no need to bother," I said. It was true; I only had a duffle bag with a few items of clothing in it, my laptop bag and, I'm embarrassed to say, a jumbo pillow pet which one of my friends had given me for my birthday and hadn't left my side since.
Even though I told him not to bother, the brunette picked up the duffle bag and slung it across his shoulder.
"I'm Dan, by the way," he said, holding out his hand for me to shake.
"Phoebe," I said, meeting his hand in the middle.
"Sarah," she said, wanting to be involved – always, always wanting to be involved.
We all stood awkwardly for a second before Dan told us to follow him and we headed to the flat. Up the stairs and down the hall, (we placed my things in the hallway to be moved when Sarah and her parents had left), into a living area where Phil had taken Will and Susanne. They were already sat on the couch with a cup of what-ever-hot-beverage-they-had-wanted and Phil was just sitting down in a chair he had taken from the dining table.
"Take a seat," Dan said, gesturing to the couch while pulling out another dining chair himself – even though there was a bean bag lying by the TV, which either of them could've sat on.
Sarah and I moved over to the long bit of the corner couch, seeing as Will and Susanne were sitting on the main section. Sarah carefully patted down her dress before sitting down politely, while I plopped down in a not-so-lady-like fashion.
While they all talked about me and the money I would get from insurance and inheritance (since the future wasn't looking bright for my dad), I looked around the room, taking in my surroundings. To the left of the couch was a fireplace, around which hung what looked like Domo lights, and to the right was the dining table, from where Phil and Dan had gotten the chairs they were sitting on. There was the red bean bag by the TV, which I had seen just before, and everything seemed much too clean, as if they had cleaned the day Susanne had called and hadn't moved from one spot since then.
"Phoebe? Phoebs?"
Someone was calling my name, and I looked up wide eyed. I heard Phil and Dan chuckle, and turned to them confused.
"What?" I said to no one in particular.
"You've been looking at the same spot on the wall for the past ten minutes, dear," Sarah's mum said in sickeningly false kindness. "We were starting to get a bit worried."
"Oh," I said simply.
"We were just saying how we have to get going," Will said, his hand on his wife's knee. "Let you get settled in, and such."
"But if you want us to stay for a bit more we'd be happy to stay," Sarah said, her expression eager and her eyes only leaving Phil and Dan for a moment to look at me.
"Oh, no, no," I said far too quickly. "I'm sure you guys have places to be."
"Are you sure, I mean, I could stay the night to help you settle in?" Sarah said. I knew she just wanted to stay around to ogle the guys more, and I really couldn't deal with her much more.
Don't get me wrong, I loved Sarah, but over the past couple of days, she'd really gotten on my nerves. She had definitely gone down on my list of favourite people after some remarks which I could probably slap her for. At some points, I really just didn't know why I was friends with her anymore.
"That's alright," I smiled softly at her. "I really just want to unpack and sleep, so there's no point sticking around."
Sarah looked disappointed but agreed. Soon enough, they had stood up and walked down the stairs and were out of the apartment door and I'd hugged my friend goodbye. We promised each other we'd catch up soon and then they were in their car and driving away.
As soon as the door was closed again, Dan let out a sigh.
"Thank god they're gone. Jesus, they're posh," he said, running his hand through his hair and turning to me. "Phil made me be on my best behaviour, because apparently I'm not 'socially acceptable'."
I chuckled despite myself, and followed them both upstairs. Phil explained to me that they had cleaned out the spare room, which was now my room, and we moved my things out of the hallway.
"You can unpack your stuff, and tomorrow we'll go on an extreme shopping adventure!" He said, lifting his fists up in an adorable way.
"Sounds grand!" I chimed.
"Hey, Phil!" I heard Dan call from somewhere in the apartment.
"Yeah?" Phil called back out of the door of my new room.
"I'm making milkshakes, do either of you want one?"
"FUCK YES MILKSHAKES!" I yelled, thrusting my fist into the air in a victorious way. I trailed after Phil to the kitchen, where we found Dan pouring the milkshake into three glasses. I rushed forward, scooping up one of the glasses in both my hands.
I took a sip and let my eyes widen.
"This is literally the mother of all milkshakes, fo' serious," I said, before taking another, longer gulp of the drink. "It's like a super explosion of chocolate-y goodness."
Dan thanked me, and the three of us headed towards the living area. I managed to convince them both that Dan made the best milkshakes ever, thought Phil argued that I hadn't tasted his creations yet – I agreed to let him make me a milkshake tomorrow to see who would be crowned King of the Milkshakes.
"So," I said once we were all sitting comfortably – me sitting on the floor by the fire (which crackled and popped in its warm console) and Phil and Dan sitting on the couch, "what do you guys do for jobs and such?"
There was an awkward sort of silence, as if neither of them knew how to word their reply, rather than them not wanting to reply. While I took another sip of my drink, they exchanged a quick glance with each other.
"We make videos on the internet," Dan said finally and I raised my eyebrows.
"On youtube," Phil clarified. "We make vlogs and stuff."
"I never said it was anything other than that," I smirked. "You must be pretty popular if you could afford a house like this then."
"We do alright," Dan said.
"Don't be so modest," Phil said, "Dan here nearly has a million subscribers."
I silently wondered how many of them were just subscribed to him for his face, rather than his actually content, and I pushed the thought to the side, knowing that the odds wouldn't be even.
"Oh shut up, you deserve to have them more than I do," Dan said.
The conversation moved on quickly from that point, and I began to grow tired from the travel and unable to uphold a conversation, so I excused myself and went to my room, collapsing on my new bed, drained.
I closed my eyes in hopes of possibly getting some rest and recuperating myself. Before I drifted off into sleep, a thought passed through my head.
Maybe Sarah's parents were right, and maybe I would be okay here, and maybe Phil and Dan will make me happy, and maybe this is what my parents would want for me.
But maybe, just maybe, I was crazy for thinking any of those things at all.