Many thanks to Bella and Jen for reviewing and making my day :) And, uh, this isn't a happy chapter, sorry...
chapter 2: weak enough
Phil stays in the garden for the whole morning and half of the afternoon.
At first, he doesn't move because he doesn't want to run into anyone who uses punches as a greeting, but, as the sun starts to climb up the sky, he finds he doesn't actually have enough energy to venture anywhere else. Nobody comes to look for him either. He doesn't expect them to, not anymore, but he wishes someone would let him know what's happening.
As it is, he has no idea what's happening at any point in time, simply drawing and using fallen leaves to create a mosaic instead. At one point, he has to restart because his mosaic looks suspiciously like a certain potential thief and he doesn't want to be reminded of him.
He practically squeaks when the dilapidated wooden fence at the back of the garden creaks.
Initially, nothing happens. Then, slowly, a hand appears in between two cracked panels of wood, followed by the rest of an arm, a shoulder, and a familiar face: Dan.
His hair is messy, his eyebrows are furrowed in exasperation and his tongue is sticking out almost accusingly but Phil can't help thinking he's never seen anyone so comforting in his life.
Then, not understanding why anyone who deceives people to steal plants would come back, Phil huffs and goes back to his mosaic, ignoring the yelp as Dan steps in the nettles, ignoring the greenhouse door opening, and ignoring Dan when he sits down opposite Phil again.
"Phil?"
It scares him. It shouldn't, Dan's voice is softer than a feather. He jumps anyway, his startled exhale scattering the petals he'd arranged and ruining his attempt at art.
"Phil? Are you okay?"
He shrugs. "I'm fine."
"Do you sleep in here or what?" Dan laughs.
Phil smiles but nods. "Yeah, I- I do, actually."
"Oh," Dan breathes, his laughter fading into a quiet sympathy. Phil can almost hear his pity.
"It's fine, I like it here," he says quickly, not wanting to be made fun of again but not knowing how to impress Dan.
Dan stays lost in his thoughts for so long, Phil almost looks at him but then chooses not to because he doesn't want to be pitied by a thief.
Eventually, Dan must decide to move on because there's a shuffling after which he asks, "Are you hurt?"
Phil shakes his head, even though he is. He's not physically hurt but he's hurt in the sense that the first true friend he'd thought he could make had turned out to be deceptive and had used him to get his own way. He did briefly wonder if there was another explanation but of course, there can't be because, as he never stops being reminded, he's not friend material and nobody would want him.
"Then why aren't you looking up?" Dan asks, sounding almost hurt.
He shrugs again. "It's safer this way."
He hears Dan make an odd noise and then the other boy is gone, on his feet, slamming the greenhouse door shut and climbing over the fence before Phil can regret saying anything. Not that he doesn't regret it... He does. He wishes he hadn't said that, he doesn't even know why he'd said that, he usually doesn't say anything at all to anybody.
"I'm sorry," Phil quietly offers to the space where Dan had been sat.
He can't figure out exactly why Dan had left but he knows it's definitely his fault. Dan must have been more offended than Phil thought he would be and, just like everyone else, he must have decided that Phil is more trouble than he's worth.
As if the universe feels bad for him and wants to give him a distraction, Jade suddenly appears in his peripheral vision, waving her hand in the air, clearly asking him to get back to the house. He stumbles to his feet, tripping over his laces, but gets to the house just as Jade turns and walks back inside so he follows her, slightly confused.
"We're having dinner with the officer," she tells him as they walk into the dining room.
That makes more sense. There's no reason for any of them to eat together unless it's to act like a perfect group. It's been so long since they've used the dining table that he doesn't even know where to sit, ending up next to Eric.
He stays quiet, ignoring the officer and focusing on his pasta because it's the first thing he's eaten all day and his hunger had been triggered as soon as he'd smelt the food. He doesn't even mind Eric's constant kicks or nudges, literally blanking out everything except the things that can satiate his stomach.
"Nice flower crown, kid."
Phil takes a minute to realise the officer had said something to him. He wants to argue that he's a teenager, not a kid, but he has a piece of pasta in his mouth and the attention of too many people for his liking so he just smiles gratefully and hopes for the best.
"He's only saying that because he pities how pathetic you are," Eric mutters to him once the attention is back on the older of the group, the ones who are old enough to file an official complaint.
They're all equally as uncomfortable by the time the officer finally decides he's made his judgement and leaves, promising to return sometime during the next week to update them on what's going to happen.
Phil slips back outside before anyone else can find him, retreating to the comfort of his garden, the closest thing he has to a home.
Not that it works.
He's falling asleep when they come. Eric and his four minions who Phil can't remember the names of because they're akin to a hive mind, doing exactly what Eric tells them to do.
"What, you think you can hide?" Eric scoffs, opening the greenhouse door and waking Phil up. "You're nothing."
He stirs groggily, blinking as someone kicks his shoulder and gritting his teeth when strong, stiff hands pull him up to his feet. Naturally, he wobbles and almost falls on whoever it is to the left of him.
"Ew, get off me!" they exclaim immediately as if Phil is a contagious disease.
Phil's barely paying attention to them, watching as Eric looks around, becoming increasingly more amused. Eventually, he picks out one of the younger roses, grinning as Phil winces when the stem snaps.
"I bet you're one of those losers who play that stupid petal game, right?" Eric asks, then picks a petal. "Let's change the rules, shall we?"
Phil dares to shake his head but the minion standing to his right scoffs, "What, you think that because one dumb officer complimented you, you're now some great person? Think again, weirdo."
"Yes, I kill your precious weeds and no, I just lock you in here again." Eric twirls the rose around his finger until the stem splits down the middle as he says that, making sure his intention is clear.
Phil's eyes widen in shock and he violently shakes his head but the two who are holding him back strengthen their grip, definitely enough to leave bruises once they let go.
He flinches every time Eric picks a petal and hands it to one of the two standing next to him, who rip it apart and throw it at Phil as if it's confetti.
"Please don't," Phil whispers when there's only a handful of petals left.
Eric laughs. "What's that? Please hurry up? With pleasure..."
He picks to at a time and Phil's heart drops. If he hadn't, the last petal would have been a 'no' but he's cheated and Phil knows what's going to happen.
"Please, stop, please-"
"And I guess it's a 'yes' then," Eric interrupts, dropping the last petal himself and completely ignoring Phil's crestfallen look.
There's a moment of silence before Eric laughs and picks up the whole pot of roses, winking at Phil before throwing it at his feet. As the pot shatters and the roses spill out of the soil and around his shoes, Phil gasps, straining to pick them up.
One of Eric's minions - the one obsessed with bodybuilding - steps on the roses, crushing them beyond salvation and then wrapping his arms around Phil's middle from behind, keeping Phil trapped as the two on either side of him let go and the four of them pick up different pots or the makeshift containers Phil has used.
He recoils as one of them rips apart every leaf from the succulents - the ones with sharp leaves that can pierce his skin - and throws each one at Phil's face, the sound of ceramic being broken ringing in his ears no matter how hard he tries to block it out.
He hates it, he hates that he's standing in the eye of the human hurricane that's destroying the only place he can call home. He wants it to stop because he doesn't know how much more he can see before he starts crying and he really doesn't want to cry in front of anyone else, especially not Eric.
"Stop, please," he all but begs, not even caring if they laugh at him for the desperation in his voice.
Again, he tries to get free, but the minion behind him isn't going to let go, much better built than Phil and determined to see him upset for some reason. The grip around his middle tightens in response to his meek attempts of getting free and he gasps, struggling to inhale properly.
When Eric picks up the sunflower Phil's only just managed to coax into blooming, he trashes again, wanting to save it, needing to save it. "No!"
Eric's grin reminds him of an alligator ready to snap its jaws and destroy whatever happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He slowly but surely picks the sunflower, essentially killing both it and Phil's heart. Instead of snapping the petals off individually, he crushes the whole thing in his hands until it's barely recognisable, then sprinkles it over Phil's head.
Phil shuts his eyes, trying his best not to cry as he feels the remnants of his hard work settle in his hair. He barely even notices when one of the other minions takes the flower crown from his head and tears it apart, letting it fall into the mess of compost and leaves that's now the floor.
He does, however, notice when someone punches him in the stomach because it hurts, making him gasp. As he gasps, something is shoved into his mouth and, too late, he realises it's a rose - the last of the roses - immediately spluttering and coughing at the taste of broken nature.
"Don't you ever start to think you're worth even being looked at, you hear me?" Eric hisses.
The muscular minion throws him forwards as he removes his arms and there's another, final punch to his arm that sends him crashing into the wall before he hears the five of them laugh smugly, victoriously. Soil falls like rain when they throw handfuls of it over him as they stamp on any flowers they'd missed the first time around. Finally, they leave, locking the door from the outside as they go so Phil's trapped in the battlefield of his destroyed oasis.
Phil whimpers and lets himself fall to his knees, coughing to get rid of the fragmented rose petals in his mouth. He feels useless, helpless, entirely pointless. He'd just stood there and watched his garden be torn apart in front of him; he really is weak enough to be hated.
He wants to say he's not crying but his vision is blurry and his cheeks are wet and his breath is coming in small gasps. It makes him feel weaker, weak enough to deserve this, but he can't stop himself no matter how hard he tries.
He can't breathe because this was all he had and now it's gone and it's all his fault, it's because he was too bold, and now he's suffering for his own stupidity. He can't open his eyes because then he can see the mess of his external heart all around him and he can't bear it. He can't even move because there's not even an inch of clean space where he's not reminded of what's just happened.
So he just curls around himself, his head falling onto his knees as he hunches forwards, and sobs quietly, knowing nobody cares enough to hear him, nobody wants to see someone as weak as him.
He thinks Dan must have left as he'd sensed how worthless Phil truly is and the theory is like a knife to his heart because he'd thought he could have an ally in this world but the ruined garden around him is evidence that he clearly can't ever have anything, never mind someone to call his friend.
It's darker than black outside by the time he stops shaking and calms his breathing down enough to stop sobbing so hard. He's still crying, he can feel the tears rolling over his dirt-smudged skin, but he can't help that because his heart is weeping. It starts to rain again and Phil hates it because, this time, it's not a reminder that the sky cares for and wants to hydrate the earth, but a reminder that anything he manages to get will be washed away and he'll always be left alone in the end.
Squeezing his eyes shut as he breathes deeply to try and avoid starting to son once more, he shifts so he's lying on the floor, as far back as he can possibly go, his head resting on the soil that once made him happy, gave him purpose, let him feel less than weak enough to fall asleep crying.
Focusing on the rain smashing into the glass above him just as the flower pots had been smashed onto the floor earlier, he sighs in defeat and gives in to the welcoming pull of slumber.
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