It wasn't until Anne was back on the ground, laughing at something her brother had said, that P.T. and Charity looked round and realised Phillip was no longer standing beside them. "Shit." P.T. hissed, running back down the stairs and in the direction of Phillip's office. Empty. He ran back around to his own office, which was also empty. He did a quick circuit of the tent to check, just in case, but he already knew in his heart Phillip had gone.
He grabbed his phone off his desk as Charity watched him anxiously and tried to call his friend. He groaned in frustration as it went straight to voicemail.
"Go." Charity ordered as her husband hesitated halfway through putting his coat on. "I can hold the fort here for a couple of hours. You can be back again before the show starts."
P.T. shrugged his coat on and kissed her quickly on the way to the door. "Just try and keep Anne busy?"
"On it." Charity called after him as he took off.
Phillip was out of breath by the time he'd reached his apparently having run the whole way back from the circus. He felt sick to his stomach and couldn't work out if it was the sickness of the night before coming back or the realisation of what he'd done. He fumbled around on the top of the door frame, reaching for the spare key he kept up there and Anne always told him off about. Letting himself in he quickly bolted the door behind himself and put the chain on so no one would let themselves in.
He stood there for a minute, his back leant against the door catching his breath. That was when he saw it.
In the middle of his coffee table, a bottle of his favourite whiskey- back when he'd actually cared about what it tasted like rather than how quickly it would get him drunk- with a note propped up against it.
He knew who it was from, there was only one person in his life who would've done this to him. He didn't even want to think about how he'd got into his apartment, but he found himself drawn towards it.
For when you decide to become the Phillip Carlyle I know again.
His hands trembled as he read it. Who had he been kidding? People like him, they didn't get to change and live happily ever after. He screwed the paper up and threw it across the room then picked up the bottle. He walked into the kitchen with every intention of pouring it down the sink. He needed to get rid of it because he knew full well if he was left alone in the apartment with it long enough he'd give into temptation.
Then as he unscrewed the cap his willpower just dissolved completely. Just one he told himself. Just one to help him sleep.
"Phillip!" His father yelled, his angry voice echoing around the house. "Get in here now!"
He contemplated not going for a moment, but it was only going to wind his father up more and he was always a bit worried his Mom might find herself caught in the middle if he pushed it too far. So instead he wandered down the stairs and into his father's study.
"What?" He sighed as he walked in. His father was sat behind his desk, staring intently at something on his computer screen. His face had flushed bright red as it so often did when he was either drunk or angry. Phillip was never entirely sure if the man was about to have a heart attack. Then again would it really be the worst thing?
"When were you going to tell me?" Mr Carlyle demanded angrily, slamming his hands down on the desk as he glared at his son. The glass of water beside him wobbled dangerously with the impact.
Phillip knew exactly what he was talking about. He'd been waiting for this moment since he'd come back from college. There was only so long he could keep avoiding his fathers questions about when he was going to start work. He wasn't quite ready for the fight that was inevitably about to happen though, so decided to play dumb.
"Tell you what?" He asked. He walked over to the side table where his father's decanter of whiskey sat and poured himself a large glass which he downed in one. He refilled it under the disapproving glare of his father
"Phillip it's not even lunchtime." Mr Carlyle scolded.
Phillip shrugged. He wasn't sure he'd even sobered up fully from the night before yet so a couple more drinks wasn't going to hurt. "You're one to talk."
"Don't you dare speak to me like that." His father snapped.
Phillip sighed and flopped down on the sofa. "Is it not the truth?" He sipped at his drink again. He hadn't eaten anything at it was going to his head, thankfully. The less he could remember about this whole ordeal the better.
"How about you tell me the truth about you studying English at college." His father glared at him. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out."
"No…" Phillip sighed. "But I figured it would be too late by the time you found out and it looks like I was right." He smirked.
His father got up and crossed the room angrily. "The trouble is with you Phillip, you're a spoiled little brat. You had it made- a great job lined up for when you got out of college, everything you could ever need and what? You just had to do what you always do didn't you- make some stupid rash decision and ruin it for everyone!"
"It wasn't a stupid rash decision." Phillip shot back. "I never wanted to do business. I told you so many times and you never listened to me. It's my life and I thought maybe for once I'd do something that I actually wanted to!"
"I'm sorry, did you pay for yourself to go to college without me noticing?" His father was pacing up and down the room angrily. Phillip realised he'd finished another glass of whiskey but he didn't dare get up to try and refill it for fear of coming to close to his father. "It wasn't your decision to make!"
"It's my life." Phillip protested. He put his glass down on the coffee table and got up, getting ready to leave. He was done with this conversation, although he suspected his father would spend the rest of his life yelling at him about it. Something to look forward to he thought sarcastically.
"Let me set something straight for you." His father grabbed him by the collar and shoved him up against the wall beside the door. The pain of the punch that followed was somewhat numbed by the amount of alcohol he'd consumed and he was thankful for it. "You are my son and as long as you continue to live in my house and be a part of this family then it isn't your decision to make. I will not have you embarrass me like this."
"I'll leave then." Phillip struggled trying to get free of his fathers grip unsuccessfully.
His father roared with laughter. "You're not going anywhere, you'd never do that to your mother. Besides- how do you think you're going to afford to live? What are you going to do for a living now- write?" He released his grip and Phillip sagged forward trying to catch his breath. "Get out." His father waved dismissively, walking over to pour himself a whiskey.
Phillip ran up the stairs and locked himself in the safety of his bedroom, wondering what he was supposed to do next.
He woke with a start at the sound of someone shouting his name. The door to his apartment shook as someone pounded on it repeatedly. He picked up the now half empty bottle of whiskey and moved silently through to his bedroom, closing the door behind him to try and quiet the sound of P.T. Barnum pleading with him to open the door. He was going to have to move house so at least they wouldn't know where to find him.