Phillip sits straight at the his desk, adjacent to Barnum's currently vacant one. It had only been two weeks since he was let out of the hospital, and one week since the circus debuted their first show in a tent. Now, he was looking over purchase records, trying to find out what to buy while trying not to aggravate the large burns in his back.
"Hey, Phil." Says a warm, rich voice. The young man looks up, annoyance in his usually hard eyes.
"PT. I'm just going over some records." And he looks back down at the papers, the end of his fountain pen touching his lip before he quickly scribbles out another note. He can just feel Barnum's gaze in him from his position in the doorway.
"Are you alright?" Says the older man, finally. He was concerned about his 'junior assistant'. The younger had been looking more tense of lately, and still kept to wearing a full outfit, even in late summer, unlike the other men who rolled up their sleeve's in the exhausting heat.
"Yes, I'm fine." Says Phillip without even looking up, not missing a beat as he turns the page.
"How's your back?" Says PT as casually as he can. He can see it hits something as Phillip's hand suddenly tenses. It was unspoken to talk about the fire, especially with Phillip, but he had seemed off as of late, becoming less jovial and interactive. Phillip bites his lip and looks up at Barnum.
"Honestly? Not too good." His heart sighs with relief that Phillip hadn't gotten angry or anything, but now he was concerned. He walks towards him and frowns.
"The doctor's said it should be healed by now." Phillip shrugs.
"Its not that bad. It just hurts a bit sometimes. Mostly when I'm stretching over bending over for a long period."
"Do you want me to take a look at it?" Says PT, and suddenly he see's a change. Phil's eyes widen, fear showing in the commonly icy blue-grey orbs.
"No." He say's, voice shaky.
"Are you sure?" Says PT. "There is nothing to be scared of, I win't do anything, just take a look." Phillip quickly shakes his head, rapidly blinking before taking taking a deep breath and exhaling. He looks at PT, now obviously forcing calmness.
"Thank you for you offer, Barnum" he says, "but I will be alright. Now, if you excuse me, I must get back to these papers and you must continue rehearsing." Barnum hesitates before nodding and leaving. Phillip, waiting a few moments after Barnum leaves, gets up and walks to his small tent where he slept.
The very small area was filled only by boxes where he had his clothes sorted in, a small bag filled with stationary equipment, a suitcase of necessities,
a makeshift cot made of worn and old sheets and quilts, a lantern, and a full length mirror. He takes one look at himself in the mirror, his own piercing eyes meeting his reflections before tearing off his shirt, turning around to see his back.
Honestly, he should get someone to check it out.
The burn was fading, but it still hurt. It ran from between his shoulders blades to his lower back, and was crossed by the scars that ran over his back. Some were almost gone, those from his childhood, but some were dark, the ones from before the circus.
Maybe he'll go back into town and see a local doctor. He frowns. No, everyone knew about him, Phillip Carlyle, the once perfect but now mislead son of Margret and Arthur Carlyle. It would cause riots in the papers, how the circus made his back marred by a burn, and then faux stories of the scars, like a reckless childhood or abuse from the circus. He couldn't let any of that happen, so instead he chooses that he will just let the burn naturally heal, maybe getting some ointment...
He uses his foot to kick up his shirt, catching it in his hand before gently pulling it on, buttoning his shirt.
"Maybe I can tell Anne..." he shakes his head. He wasn't strong enough, not yet. Not string enough to tell anyone face to face. He twists his head and looks at an old, thick packet laying on top of a suitcase. His first play... he quickly puts it away before exiting his tent to watch the rehearsal,
He wasn't even strong enough for the memories.
