Phillip woke coughing and spluttering as he had ice cold water poured over him, Harvey stood over him with a bucket.
Phillip groaned, the usual roar in his head throbbing, "what happened?" He asked.
Harvey laughed, "you got super drunk and passed out in the flowerbed" he said, Phillip lifted his head off the ground to see that he had indeed passed out in the garden.
He was covered in dirt and his mouth felt like a wasp's nest, "oh shit, the charity gala, I didn't-",
"Do something stupid and screw up the whole thing? No you didn't, the stupid things came after you got into the carriage home, dad's really disappointed in you" he finished.
Phillip laid his head down again with a thud, "when isn't he" he replied bitterly, Harvey laughed again, "that is true".
He sighed, "as much as I do like to see you suffer, father sent me out to wake you up, he wants to see you, he's in the drawing room" Harvey offered his hand.
He hauled Phillip to his feet, "oh god" Phillip gagged, he turned around and threw up all over his mother's prize petunias.
Harvey patted Phillip's back, "you really are pathetic" he said thoughtfully, Phillip glared at him as he wiped his mouth, "don't remind me, trust me I know" he groaned.
Harvey grinned enjoying Phillip's pain, "come on, you've got a beating waiting for you" he lead Phillip inside.
Phillip found his father sat behind his desk in the drawing room, he sighed and stood when Phillip entered, "shut the door" he barked.
Phillip winced but did as he said, "father I-" Phillip began but his father rounded the desk his hand raised to silence Phillip, "what the hell happened last night?" He demanded.
Phillip rubbed his neck, "I just had a little too much to drink" he said, Phillip's father pinched the bridge of his nose, "Phillip you're 24 for gods sakes! When are you going to grow up and stop all this tomfoolery?" His father roared.
Phillip said nothing, his father charged forward grabbing Phillip the collar, "you're so pathetic! You're a disgrace to the Carlyle name!" He screamed, shaking Phillip violently.
Phillip finally looked at him, his face angry, he could feel hot tears bubbling behind his eyelids, "I know!" He screamed back.
His father released him, "I know" he croaked, he turned his face away from his father so he wouldn't see his tears.
He leaned heavily on his father's desk, "I know I'm pathetic okay? I know I'm a failure, I know I'm not good enough. I don't know how to change, I don't know how to become a better man. Help me" Phillip sobbed.
His father lay his hand on his shoulder, for a split-second Phillip thought he would comfort him but he swung Phillip around and punched him hard in the face.
Phillip fell to the floor cradling his face, "real men don't cry. Real men don't ask for help" his father spat at him.
Phillip sobbed on the floor at the feet of his father, "I want to be better, I do but I don't know how and my life just keeps getting worse and worse and it's like I'm stuck in a pit and I can't get out. I'm so deep in that I can't even see the light but I've been put on the show to the rest of the world. Everyone's laughing at me as they watch me struggle and I just want to give up" Phillip gasped.
His father glowered down at him, Phillip shoved his face into the floor, he didn't have to look at his father to feel the shame burning through his skin.
His father kicked him hard in the gut, "what the hell did I do to have such a waste of space son like you?" He asked.
Phillip heard his footsteps getting quieter as he stormed away from him.
He lay in a pathetic heap on the floor, hugging himself and crying like the worthless shrew of a man he was.
He wished the earth would just swallow him whole, kill him and put him out of his misery.
His existence was dreary and torturous, he contemplated just killing himself and ending it all there and then, he lay there for what must've been hours but eventually he had to pick himself off the floor, get up and shove the feelings down.
He had lost count of the amount of times he'd picked himself off the floor after breaking down or being beaten by his father or both.
He wished he could stay there forever but like always he had things to do, today he was supposed to go to the first showing of his play in New York and as much as he didn't want to go he couldn't miss it.
He shoved his hand in his pockets as he trudged to his room, he frowned when he felt a small piece of paper in his pocket.
He pulled his hand out to reveal a slip of paper with the details of the girl he had been introduced to last night written on it.
He decided he would dress for his opening night tonight then pay her a visit for a little stress relief before he would put on a happy suit and fit back into the role he had to play.
He found a classy tuxedo waiting for him, laid out on the bed, "good luck Phillip" a note read next to it. He immediately recognised the handwriting as his mother's.
It wasn't much but it did cause him to smile a little before he balled up the paper and tossed it across the room, aimed for nowhere in particular.
He showered himself and changed into the suit quickly, he took a second look at the address, it wasn't far from the theatre his play was showing in.
It only took a short carriage ride to get there, then Phillip was stood outside a grand manor's gates, it might've been even bigger than Phillip's.
He whistled lowly impressed by it's stature, there was a servant stood on guard outside the gates, Phillip walked over to him, "who might you be Sir?" The servant asked turning to him.
He spoke with a British accent, how come Phillip didn't have British servants? He'd have to get on that…
Phillip showed him the piece of paper with her name and address written on it along with the message "you are always welcome to visit" with a heart next to it, "Phillip Carlyle, I'm here to see Miss Wendell" he said.
The guard tipped his head, "ah Mr Carlyle, my mistake, I should've recognised me, right this way" he nodded.
He lead Phillip into the manor and up a grand staircase, they paused outside a large double door, "this is Miss Wendell's living quarter, I presume you can handle the situation from here?" He asked.
Phillip nodded, "I can, thank you" he said, the servant bowed and disappeared down the staircase they had jut ascended.
Phillip knocked thrice and waited, the door swung open to reveal a confused Isabella, "Phillip?" She asked.
Phillip kissed her hand then her wrist, "hello Isabella" he said huskily, she blushed "oh my" she gasped.
Phillip kissed up her arm slightly, before pausing and giving her his classic charming smoulder, "may I come in?" He asked.
The flustered girl stepped aside and nodded, "please do" she breathed.
Two hours later Phillip emerged from the room buckling his slacks, "I'll write to you" he called over his shoulder.
He wouldn't nor did he have any intention of doing so.
He walked the rest of the way to the theatre, it wasn't far and he could use a walk to clear his head.
The casual affair had relieved some of Phillip's stress but it had only added to the burdening weight of Phillip's emotional turmoil and pain inside.
He kicked at the floor as he walked, he needed to stop. His father had been right.
He was a disgraceful excuse of a man, he needed to stop. All of it; the drinking, the drugs, the meaningless sex.
Nothing filled the empty hole within Phillip, he didn't know what would but he knew that what he was doing now, this reckless lifestyle was only worsening his pain.
It was like throwing gasoline on a fire in an attempt to douse out the flames, the flame inside Phillip only roared wilder and hotter. It did nothing to melt his icy heart, it just burnt and charred it instead.
He arrived outside of the theatre, he looked up and sighed. He really didn't want to watch it again, he had seen it far too many times now and the truth was it wasn't his best work.
He felt his flask in his pocket, "screw it" he muttered, he turned and stumbled away from the theatre.
He took out his flask and sipped at it as he walked, he had no clue where he was walking but he didn't have any intention of going into the theatre to see the monstrosity of his own play.
He settled on a low wall on the steps outside of the theatre where he proceeded to drink all evening, at least that way people might assume he had turned up for the event on their way out.
A few hours later he was approached by an older gentleman in a suit,
He jogged up the stairs towards Phillip, "Mr Carlyle, you produce this play?" He asked, Phillip didn't acknowledge the man fully when he spoke, "yes I did, indeed. Refunds are available at the front box office" he replied, slipping his flask back into his pocket.
The man chuckled and held out his hand, "P.T Barnum" he introduced himself. Only then did Phillip actually raise his head to look at him.
He was a handsome man dressed in a cheap but smart looking suit, he had a top hat and a silk green scarf. He had brown hair that was longer than Phillip's hidden under his hat and on his face he had an intriguing sparkle in his eyes, his mouth twisted into a smile with a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
"From the circus?" Phillip asked in surprise, "yes, you- you've been?" P.T asked, his hand still outstretched to Phillip, Phillip laughed as he shook it, "god no" he laughed.
He dropped his smile and gave the man a curious look, "but I have seen the crowds" he added.
P.T's smile widened at this, "people leave your shows a great deal happier than when they came in, which is more than I can say for my play" Phillip joked with a smile but his statement was true, they both knew that.
"Yet you have no trouble selling tickets" he quipped cocking his head as he talked, Phillip shifted his weight. There was something odd about this man, something different, "that's because I'm selling virtue" Phillip answered honestly.
P.T licked the roof of his mouth, he looked towards the bar and back at Phillip, "can I buy you a drink?" He asked.
Phillip eyed P.T up, he intrigued him, he felt the want to talk to him more and the promise of alcohol called to Phillip, "alright" Phillip decided.