I sit like L from Death Note, covering my face with my hands.
"Dan, listen to me," mutters Phil. I stay still. "Dan," he repeats. "Shut... the fuck... up," I growl. There is a pause. "I-" "What did I just say, Phil?" I hiss. When I'm positive he's not looking at me, I glance at him. Phil's hooked up to more machines than ever and he's taking as many pills as legally possible. It's a horrible way to spend my Christmas morning, staring at my boyfriend in a hospital with seething hatred. I had to arrive late to my parents' house and turn back almost immediately. By the time I had arrived, Phil's family was already there. We stood and talked about the holidays and gifts and his heart failure. Ya know, fun stuff. At that time, Phil was still in surgery. He's been asleep for a while. In that long period of time, I started to realize how much this bothers me. My whole life- social and private- has been on hold. All because of a car crash. All because of fucking tea leaves. "I don't care if you're going to shut me up, I'm going to speak," says Phil.
I glance up at him again. His beautiful periwinkle eyes are soft with sorrow. "I can't help it, Dan," he murmurs, keeping his eyes low, "I can't help it that my body is reacting like this. If I could help it, I wouldn't have tubes connected to my wrists. I wouldn't have two broken legs. In fact, I wouldn't even be laying in a hospital bed!" He has a good point, I suppose. It's not like he chose to be in the hospital on Christmas. "But..." I start. Phil stares blankly at me, eyebrows raised. "I can't... fucking do this!" I screech. "I'm done with this bullshit! Money, life, you... I'm done!" Phil's eyes seem to pop out of their sockets. "Excuse me?" he asks, his voice burning with a certain fury I didn't know was within him. "You heard me, Phil Lester. I'm sick of having my heart shattered and picking up all the pieces alone! I'm sick of crying myself to sleep every night! I hate it!" I feel the tears slowly flowing over my cheekbones, but I don't care.
Phil lightly pulls me towards the bed and laces his fingers with mine. "Tell me what else you hate," he whispers. "I hate how I can't sleep and I hate how I'm so depressed. I hate the fact that I wasn't the one in the crash. I hate how you manage to smile even when you're half dead," I whisper. He drapes his broken arm over my neck. The plaster scratches against my hair. I know what he wants. Carefully and shakily, I climb over his body. I nuzzle my nose to his forehead, so my lips almost kiss his nose. "I hate how, instead of counting stars, I have to count your scratches. I hate how the house is so quiet now. I hate your perfect eyes and your dumb hair," I murmur. I move down slowly, so my lips graze his. I can smell his breath; minty like any other day. "But most of all, Phillip Michael Lester, the thing I hate most is how the beeping of the heart monitor completely ruins the mood," I utter.
AUTHOR NOTE: SHIT IS ABOUT TO GET SORT OF GROSS, SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
He chuckles lightly, but I kiss him before he can say anything else. Phil tends to be very shy when we kiss, so I normally take the lead. I press very gently on his chapped lips, but he's quicker. He's already opening his mouth, but no tongue. It's nice, feeling his warmth hit my body again. I slowly put my tongue and start circling slowly. He does the same. Despite it being messy, it's pretty nice. He stops for a moment to breathe. "You okay?" I whisper. He nods. "Break?" I ask quietly. He quickly shakes his head. If he wants more, I'll give him more. I take the lead this time, giving him my all. He soon follows. He loops his arms around my neck as I run my fingers through his hair. I miss this feeling, the way he makes my heart burn with passion and love. And my mouth. My mouth burns too. I bite my lip but I don't stop. Phil's fingers slowly slide down to my chest, rubbing softly against my collarbones. "We need to talk," he whispers.
I back away so I'm sitting on my knees. "Again?" I whine. Phil gives a tired smile. "Yes, because... I'm concerned," he says, smoothing his hair down. What is he, a middle-aged dad? "How are we going to pay for everything?" he asks. I raise my eyebrows. "I... uh..." I scratch the back of my hair. "I haven't really thought of that," I say. I look down at my thighs ashamedly. "Hey hey hey, don't be like that," Phil says, grabbing my hand, "I hadn't either until yesterday." I glance up. He's smiling brightly, but it's obvious that he has no light behind his eyes anymore. "I just have to find a way," I mutter. "There is no way, Dan," Phil says sadly. "Well, we do have some savings from TABINOF and TATINOF," I say, leaning back again. "And we do have our families..." Phil grunts in agreement. "I don't want to think about this right now," I mutter. "Then don't," Phil says, pulling me forward and kissing me again.