The alarm goes off abruptly and painfully loud to his ears. Slamming his fist on it and snoozing the annoying sound, he scrunches his eyes at the light poking at his eyelids. He wishes he didn't have those nightmares.

She's angry. At him. A stupid dog-

Running a hand through his black hair, he sighs heavily looking at the date on his phone.

It's the day. The day his whole life has been turned upside down.

Two years ago. It feels surreal. Like they fought only yesterday.

He checks for any text messages or emails but there's nothing. The alarm bites into his skull once again, reminding him to get up and Phil growls at it, putting his feet on the cold floor.

He turns off the alarm, rubbing at his blue, tired eyes. He makes his way into the bathroom to take a brisk refreshing shower. Letting out a long breath, he lets the water wash away any sleepiness he previously felt. It hits him again, that it's the day and he gulps heavily.

Jessie was so angry, she-

Leaving the bathroom quickly to stop his mind from drifting away completely, Phil dries his hair on his way to the kitchen. He can't get the memories out of his head though, no matter how many times he shakes it.

Staring blankly at his open fridge, he realises his throat is so tightened, he won't be able to eat anything.

The bar. He found her at the bar.

Slamming it shut, Phil grabs his keys and bag, snatching his books on his way out. He takes two steps at a time, putting his coat on. A lift would give him too much time for thinking and his mind could go in the dark places he would rather not like to recall.

He's finally on the ground floor. Although a little flushed from running nine floors, but at least his mind was occupied with something else. He passes by his neighbor, smiling slightly at the old lady and greeting her friendly,

"Good morning, Philip!"

"Good morning, m'am. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" he chats her up, opening his pillar box and glancing inside.

"Yes, it is!" the lady smiles at him but frowns. "Is something wrong, Philip? You look tired," she states, noticing the huge bags under his eyes.

Phil shakes his head, flashing her a weak, merely dead smile, "No, everything's alright! I had a tough study night, is all!"

The lady nods altough she wears an unconvinced expression on her face.

"Well, take care, Philip! Don't forget to sleep in between each sessions!"

Phil waves at her, stepping into the sunny outside. Hiding the letters into his bag, he jogs to get onto the tube faster.

He doesn't want to think about it.

She was drunk. She wouldn't listen. He knew it was going to be a bad idea.

The crowd feels like he's hitting a hard concrete wall. Each person he accidentally pokes, touches, makes him jump away instantly and apologise earnestly. The world seems to be spinning in its regular rhythm, yet it's hard for Phil to fit into it. He feels like a fish, taken away from their home-pond and thrown into a fake aquarium, with unknown waters and unfamiliar faces.

The night was dark, streets were slippery from the pouring rain.

Taking in deep breaths, he tries to calm down. Although everything inside him is frantically running in uneven circles. The thoughts bump into each other and he wants to rip his own head off, doubtful if even that could help the mess in his mind. He scrunches his eyes shut at the pain the memories bring. He wishes that day never happened, wishes the situation could end in a different way and with much less serious consequences. How much bad can a simple argument cause. Before the accident, Phil was sure the most awful scenario in his head would be breaking up, but he changed his mind when the fate chose a whole new answer to that question.

Phil feels he's being pulled away and he jerks at the firm grip on his coat. He wants to break free of the stranger's hands on him. A second later, a car passses by, speeding quickly. Stopping immediately, the blue eyed turns to face whoever wants his wallet. A man in his forties is standing before him, a firm grip on Phil's jacket. Phil jerks away to get the man's hands off of himself but the man only grasps more.

"Gotta be more careful, boy," the man explains, pointing to the stop lights for the pedestrians. Phil looks up at the red light. It's glistening an evil promise of being hurt if anyone dares not to listen to its advice.

Phil stares for a second before he stops trashing and trying to break free. Nodding, he smiles with gratitude to the stranger although a thought crosses his mind that if the man hasn't stopped him, Phil didn't have to live with the weighing guilt.

She didn't listen when he told her she shouldn't be driving.

The doors flip open with full force and everyone's eyes turn toward the black haired boy who crosses the door. He's panting, his hair is a mess but as he glances at the people staring back at him, literally freezed in their action, some stopped talking, he swallows and tries to fix his appearance right away.

Walking through the main hall, his eyes are fixed to the floor as the eerie silence hurts his ears more than the morning alarm did. Thank God one person coughs and that single sound is as close to hitting a 'repause' button as it could be.

The stopped babble starts again, people walk into their direction, flip through their books, start discussing with all their hearts different topics and problems. Phil sighs, correcting the strap on his bag and fixing his fringe. He's almost behind the corner when a loud,

"Phhhiiiiil!" erupts through the whole main hall.

Phil swears under his breath, turning around on his heels. PJ strides toward him, Chris following close behind. The boy is clinging to PJ as if he's holding for his dear life and PJ rolls his eyes which makes Phil chuckle.

The boys walk up to Phil, Chris dramatically hanging on PJ like he's his only lifeline. The comedian places a kiss on PJ's cheek and the other blushes furiously,

"Chris!" he hisses. Chris rolls his eyes but lets go at last. "Are you alright, Phil?" he eyes him carefully.

Phil nods, looking down, "Yeah, yeah, I'm just a little late for my lecture, I gotta go..."

PJ notices how his friend shirks an honest talk, but he's not pushing. He knows how hard the day will be for his friend. He only wishes Phil would like to reach out for help to him. He is more than willing to help him. But Phil doesn't want his help and PJ doesn't think a forced talk is something they both would want.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later, right?" he asks, eyeing him worriedly.

Phil's voice breaks slightly as he answers,

"Okay."

He has plenty of time before his lecture actually starts. He shuts himself in the bathroom, away from people. He doesn't want to face them, at all, but he knows he can't be hiding in here forever, he has to go on his classes eventually. For as long as he can though, he's going to hide in the bathroom.

And so that's how Phil spends his next forty minutes. Sitting on the toilet seat, reading through his notes. He nearly tosses the papers away in frustration as his mind doesn't let him focus on the neatly written words.

All he can think of is the day, that fucking day when everything went to hell.

A brown haired girl kept shouting at him as Phil held his hands up in a sign of surrender. He couldn't remember everything she said, her words faded-out but the pain they caused is the one he will never be able to forget.

He only wanted to help, not hurt her. She should know about it.

She didn't. And it was all his fault.

Walking out a minute before the bell will go off, he closes his eyes tightly as he stumbles upon someone. For once in this day he could just slip past unnoticed, couldn't he?!

It's Brandon. Merely enough and so much at the same time. He's a funny person and a good photographer, too. But all Phil wants is for no one to bother him today, is all he asks for.

"Oi, Phil!" the blond exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. "How is the not perfect idea going?" he asks as they stand by the wall, near their lecture room.

Phil laughs, hoping it sounds honest. Brandon doesn't know anything about his past, and it would be unfair if Phil took out his anger on him.

"Perfectly," he retorts and Brandon laughs at his answer.

"It's all it wasn't supposed to be, dude!" he pokes him in the side and Phil closes his eyes as the move triggers a memory tucked really deep to appear above the surface.

The sounds stopped at last when the car stopped rolling. Jessie didn't shout at him anymore. But she didn't respond, too.

"Oh, we're going in!" Brandon's voice pulls him out from his thoughts. Phil's head shoots up to Mr Takkyo opening the door of the lecture room. Students start filling the class, and Brandon turns to him, waving at Phil,

"Come on, mate!" Brandon says as he quickly slides inside just before the door closes.

Phil stays outside the room for just a little longer though. He tries taking in deep breaths. It has close to no effect on the jungle in his mind. No way he's able to go in there and act as if he's fine. It's impossible. But it's just not gonna happen for him to skip Mr Takkyo's lecture. He can't let down another person. And he can't let down his father even more than he already has with being absent. And so when he manages his breathing so that he doesn't look like a scared animal, he steps into the class room silently.

It feels like the lecture drags on for hours for Phil's distaste. He listens, he tries to listen carefully to Mr Takkyo. He takes notes, but as he looks at his ntoebook, he can't really understand what he just noted down. He even pinches his hand hard to focus on Mr Takkyo's voice but his mind is being haunted with so dark thoughts, no sun peaking through the blackness created in his head, that he nearly slams his head into the desk with exasperation.

Those aren't thoughts, he corrects himself, but memories. Which make it ten thousand times worse. Thoughts are, after all, creations of our own minds. Often, exaggerated and sometimes not even true. But memories... Memories are real and that's what gives them the power and dominance over our thoughts. With being real, not imagined by our creation. We're the ones who make both of them, though memories are carved into our souls. Thoughts stay merely in our minds.

His fist is clenched tightly and the pencil he has in his hand breaks in two. Everyone's eyes turn toward his desk and Phil knows he has to do something. React. Speak up. Explain himself. Anything.

But he knows what he needs to do.

He has to get out. Now.

The room feels hot, as if every pair of eyes warms his body temperature one Celsius more. His mouth dry, he croaks out, rising his hand so as to ask a question,

"C- can I go out, sir? I'm not feeling really well."

Mr Takkyo's slightly slanting eyes study him quetioningly and for a second Phil thinks he'll be made to stay in this too hot room, with too many sets of eyes on him, ready to find out what puts the perfect Phil off the edge.

The professor nods silently in the second Phil thinks he'll start wailing right and there from the intensity with which all the memories try to make their way through the wall he put in his mind. Phil doesn't need more encouragement from Mr Takkyo. He gathers his books quickly, hands shaking as he says his silent thanks to his professor. Phil nearly runs out of the lecture room, the intense gazes of at least twenty students still lingering in his mind as he crosses the road hastily, trying to get away. Get away from those memories.

Get away from himself.

He steps from one foot to the other as the lift takes him higher. Only two more floors. Staring at the red buttons, as if he could hurry them this way.

The very awaited ding causes him to jump from impatience. He doesn't like the lack of replies he keeps receiving instead of a message from his friend. He wouldn't think much of it. Any other day and he would simply blame it on Phil being too busy being nerd with another photographing project or feeling inspiration and painting like crazy, cut away from civilisation, as much as sitting in an empty apartment in front of an easel can be called 'cut away from civilisation'.

Any other day and it would be fine, normal. But not on this day.

PJ almost trips over his own legs as the lift stops. He sprints toward Phil's flat, calling Phil once again on the phone but the action only leads him to the voice message. PJ only hopes the black haired didn't do anything stupid.

"Phil?!" he yells, banging on the door which opens up slightly under his pressure. His throat tightens as he pushes the door open and slowly steps through the doorframe, inspecting the hallway. The only out of place thing he notices is the open door of the studio and he steps toward the room.

"Phil?" he calls out again, peeking into the room. There are the usual photography magazines laying on the coffee table. The laptop is opened up on an editing program, but looks abandoned as if Phil's work was interrupted abruptly.

Phil would never leave his work only half finished.

"Phil, you there?"

No one answers.

His breath catches in his throat as a terrifying thought pops into his mind. Taking the few steps that separates him from the bathroom, PJ lets out a relieved sigh that there's no one in the room.

PJ returns to the hall again, slowly coming closer to the lounge.

Everywhere is a mess. Phil's old paintings he has always been so proud of lay on the floor, frames broken, the glass shattered. It's not what Phil would do, PJ repeats in his mind, someone must have broken in, there's just no way Phil was the one to do this.

PJ's heart melts though and his mind goes blank when he clocks the balcony doors are opened, the translucent curtain moving along with the wind. Brandon's words come back to him, about Phil's odd behavior, his sudden abandonment on Uni that made lots of foreheads to wrinkle in wonder as to what was going on.

And PJ knew what it was, he knew what it was, yet he chose to let it go. Sweep it under a rug though he knew well the reason behind this.

"Phil..." he nearly hears himself whisper.

And just then, something stirs.

Peej looks over to the two black sofas and Phil's black fringe comes up from above the back rest, followed by his blue but so sad eyes.

"PJ, I-" he only says, looking down at his lap and PJ goes around the sofa quickly, kneeling by his friend's side instantly. Phil's eyes are red and he's hugging a brown pillow closely to his chest. His knuckles are bruised and PJ puts two and two together, glancing at the shattered frames.

"I'm sorry," Phil creaks out, avoiding any eye contact.

"It's fine, Phil," he assures him, glad his friend is all okay. Kinda.

After the blue eyed finally lets him look over his hands, PJ says nothing. He doesn't need any explanation, having experienced the process two times already, year after year, on the same day. In dfferent intensities, different places but all caused by the same reason, as if nothing really changed since that misfortunate car drive two years ago.

"I called her," Phil speaks at one moment and Peej stares at him, forehead wrinkled.

He knows what he's going to hear next, but it still brings a pang into his heart, seeing the hurt look reflecting his friend's state of soul,

"She hung up."

The curly-haired looks down, biting on his bottom lip. He hates that his friend feels this way, year after year. When nothing of this was his fault.

"It wasn't your fault, Phil."

"It was, believe me," he disagrees, giving him this stern look he receives. Year after year.

"No, it wasn't! You couldn't do anything about it. It was her decision."

Phil sighs, glancing down, "Then whose fault was it?" he mutters, more to himself as he observes his hands carefully, as though they could help him solve this Enigma. "I was the one who drove her to the state I found her in," he tells PJ, fixing eyes with the brunet.

Peej stares at Phil in silence. Knowing he's not able to change his friend's way of thinking, he stands up from his kneeling-in-front-of Phil position to disappear into the kitchen for a few minutes. He doesn't come back till he finds a towel, makes some hot tea and plasters a smile on his face.

"It's freezing cold in here. Drink," he hands Phil the steaming mug which the black haired holds close to himself.

"Thanks," Phil mumbles, looking down as PJ closes the balcony door and crosses the room to carefully pick up the shattered glass.

"You're welcome," he grins at Phil, hoping to see just a ghost of a smile, at least a slight rise of his mouth. Nothing happens.

Throwing away the biggest glass from the floor, the room falls into silence again. The shards in the bin, Phil speaks up, glancing in their direction with a thoughtful look on his face. PJ looks up at him, studying his face with attention. Something changes in his expression. His lips set into a thin line, a grimace passes over his features like he has just remembered the sour taste of a lemon,

"Two years and I still can't deal with it," he laughs bitterly, his words laced with mockery.

PJ knits his eyebrows. What happened with Jessica was horrible, most because all the fault was thrown onto Phil when in fact, he was the least to blame for the accident.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Phil. You tried to fix it, tried to stop her from driving."

"But I should have snatched her stupid keys!" Phil's tone raises, his grip on the mug tightens.

"You really couldn't do anything, Phil," he whispers, purposefully choosing not to shout, but stay calm. Phil flinches at the words. They must be the hard truth he doesn't want to let himself finally believe in.

"You shouldn't blame yourself."

"But I do." Phil replies quickly. Peej looks at him and the boy glances away, his eyes jumping around the room frantically, away from the curly-haired's.

"Why?" he asks.

The question looks to be like a water flooding a small village, no one expecting it in a summer season. Phil's face scrunches up in a grimace of pain and hurt. It's like watching all those poor people trying to scramble the highest they can on rooftops of their tiny homes, higher from ground but not high enough to avoid the wave.

They would scream in terror, the dark water rushing at them with a low growl of threat. They would know what was going to happen, they would all know the enormous momentum can't be stopped. Yet, they would still keep looking for somewhere higher, throwing looks full of hope toward the nearest tree.

As they would have noticed they don't stand a chance getting there safely before the wave, they would abandon their wishes. The oldest ones would smile at their loved ones, soothe the young ones, as if everyone was going to be okay. The people would all take in a breath in the same moment, united in the last second of being together before the water would come crashing into them with its full force.

Phil bits on his bottom lip hard, drawing in a panicked breath, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He closes his eyes tightly and PJ thinks it's almost the same if he were to watch those helpless people. Fighting against a flood. Not that of water, but a flood of tears and emotions, so often kept at bay that it was natural that one day the wall wouldn't be enough to hold them. It would start crumbling because the water became too much and the water just needed some way out.

The damage lays deep in Phil's mind, so deep that any other person wouldn't be able to see past through the facade, the act Phil puts on every day, his wall.

But Peej isn't other people, he knows Phil like the back of his hand. He can see right through his facade, he can tell which emotions are fake and which are true just by the slight shaking of his right hand ad the way his left eyelid trembles ever so slightly, barely visibly. He can tell that Phil's wall is crumbling and his flood is about to give out any moment.

"I- ever since the legal case, my father hadn't spoken a word to me," Phil confesses, quickly looking down at the mug in his hands. He takes a sip and glances to the side, breathing out deeply and shakily as if he was a balloon deprived of air. Slack and too small to defend itself from sharp spikes of roses around it.

"He never told me why. He just," he swallows hardly, eyeing PJ for a brief moment as if to make sure he's not bothering him too much with his problems, "he didn't call again. I- I know," he says with so much pressure but at the same time, so much despair in his voice that PJ wonders if he believes his own words or if he wants to believe in them, "I know I brought too much shame onto the family. I know I dishonoured their good name and reputation, and I understand why he wouldn't want to have anything in common with me. I wouldn't, if that was possible," he mumbles into the mug quietly and PJ opens his mouth to cut in and say something positive, explain to Phil on how many wrong levels his thinking is. How much he isn't responsible for that night's accident.

But Phil goes on, maybe not noticing or just no longer being able to listen to that,

"How am I even supposed to forgive myself, Peej, huh? When my own father doesn't want to speak to me?" he asks, staring at him with no expectation to hear an answer that would tell him precisely where he can look for a brush big enough to clean up the mess, but at the same time as though he craved for someone to just hand it to him or at least give him a hint.

Phil coughs a few times. Tears brim in his eyes and he looks down quickly, wiping them off with the back of his hand,

"It doesn't matter, after all," he states, laughing bitterly. "What happened, happened, and it's too late to change it. But if I could..." he trails off suddenly.

"Then what?" PJ asks, sparing worried glances in Phil's direction.

"She wouldn't be driving."

Hey, lovelies! Just two more proper chapters left! Plus, an epilogue!

Hold tight, dears, it's going to be a wild ride!

Thanks for all the comments, they make my day/night ^^