Page 21 of Someone Like You

“Uh?” Phil tore his gaze off his plate, replaying the words in his head because they didn’t compute the first time.

“Ah. Forever, basically.” He fidgeted with a chunk of egg white, soaking it up with sausage gravy.

“It was more frequent in my late teens and early twenties, then it got sporadic… Until I started attending public events. Xanax kept it under control, but then I had to drop it to get on Seroxat, which isn’t half as effective on my anxiety. ”

“Ye’ve been through some serious shite, eh?”

Phil shrugged.

“Does it hurt? A panic attack.”

“Yeah. It’s like… like my ribs are closing in on my lungs and someone’s pressing a pillow to my face.” Phil shuddered at the recollection. “Rationally, I know it’s all in my head, but physically it… it feels like dying.”

It was an honest answer, maybe even too honest, like it always was when it was Ian asking.

This man annihilated Phil’s pathological fear of appearing weak and pathetic.

It should have been the contrary, by logical comparison, but even now that Phil felt so pitiful and brittle, Ian was looking at him with nothing but respect.

“What if you’re alone when it happens?”

“I try to find something — an external stimulation to latch onto, like a repetitive sound, or holding something very hot or very cold, and grit my teeth until it passes. ”

Ian drank some milk, then started lowering the glass, but reconsidered and downed the rest of it. He seemed nervous.

“Did I do the right thing?” he asked, setting the glass down like it weighed a ton. “Trying to get you to talk?”

“Yes,” Phil reassured him. If someone had told him Ian could look this timid, he would have never believed them.

“Yes, that actually helped. A lot . Your voice and the… the scrape of your beard…” Phil swallowed, because he could still feel it, as vividly as if it’d been just seconds ago. “It was… very grounding.”

A sudden flash of blue irises cut right through him, and Phil couldn’t comprehend how a gaze could be so fierce and so tender at the same time.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

There was anger mixed with Ian’s worry. Maybe not real anger.

A sentiment close to it but tinged with blue rather than red.

Phil struggled to maintain eye contact. He couldn’t bear to look at him.

Every time he did, the something he felt for Ian grew larger and deeper and he didn’t know where to put all that feeling .

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. If he’d had a penny for every time he’d said that in the last two years, he could’ve paid for another bike.

Sorry .

All he could do was be sorry .

‘Sorry, I can’t get out of bed today.’

‘Sorry, I’ve lost all inspiration to write.’

‘Sorry, I don’t feel like eating.’

‘Sorry, leaving the house is overwhelming.’

‘Sorry, I can’t stand the sound of your voice today.’

He’d be bones and dust one day and that was all the world would remember of him: ‘Here lies P. J. Hanson. He was SORRY .’

“Don’t do that.” Now the blue emotion in Ian’s voice was flaring red. “Don’t apologise for being human. I just meant—”

“That you care ?” Phil broke into a small smile. “You think I didn’t know?”

“Can’t hurt to hear it, can it?”

Oh, it could .

It did .

Phil’s bleeding heart was all hurt . Beautiful things could be hurtful, too.

He’d been empty for too long and now he was suddenly so full he was afraid he couldn’t take it.

From feeling nothing to feeling too much, he hadn’t had the time to adjust. Every time he thought he’d figured out what he was feeling, a new shade or a new flavour showed up, rearranging the picture, and he had to start over again.

Ian, the rude stranger.

Ian, the rude, charming stranger.

Ian, the charming, witty stranger.

Ian, the friend.

Ian, the guy who’d torn apart all of Phil’s walls, ever so gently, and used the debris to build him a shelter.

A knot tied Phil’s stomach. He glanced up at Ian, terrified that he was thinking too loud, but Ian was just checking texts on his phone, unaware of the turmoil he was causing. There was a deep crease between his thick eyebrows.

“Everything okay?”

“Aye. Just a minor job I can’t put off any longer.” Ian set the phone down and glanced at Phil’s plate, still half full. “Don’t finish that if you don’t feel like it.”

Phil wanted to finish it. Ian had made it for him and it was actually really good, but his stomach was closed and the food had run cold by now.

“Do you think…” He trailed off, unsure whether it was impolite to ask. “Think you could pack it for me?”

All concern melted out of Ian’s features, morphing into a complacent grin. “Sure thing.”

He didn’t pack just Phil’s leftovers. He filled a large tupperware with all that was left in the pan as well, then placed it into a flowery fabric bag.

“Sandra sewed it for me,” he said, thrusting the bundle into Phil’s hand. “I want it back.”

“I will protect this bag with my own life. ”

Ian’s grin ticked up on one side. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home.”

“No, I…” There were glimpses of sunlight outside. Phil could use soaking up some. “I’ll go by bike. I need some fresh air.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Ian turned on his heel and disappeared without another word, returning from his bedroom minutes later with a fancy-looking helmet and a beanie hat.

He handed the helmet to Phil. “Your brains are no good splattered on the road.” There were a couple of scratches on the black surface, but, other than that, it was brand new. “Keep it, I’ve barely used it.”

“Thank you.” Phil promised himself he’d return it as soon as he got his own. It looked expensive.

Then Ian handed him the beanie.

“What about that?”

“You want to go out there with damp hair? At your age? ”

Phil snapped a surly glower at him, but still snatched the beanie.

Backpack on his shoulders, helmet in place, he fetched his bike from Ian’s pick-up and thanked him one more time for the hospitality, then set Google Maps on his watch and headed home.

He made sure to make the most of the three miles between Govan and Fairlie Drive Park, keeping a leisurely speed to be able to take in and get acquainted with the surroundings.

Acts as mundane as stopping at a traffic light or yielding to let people pass gave him an odd sense of fulfilment, as if that simple collection of actions made him more credible as a person.

It’d been a while since he’d last willingly spent some time outdoors on his own just because .

Glasgow had some beautiful views and plenty of greenery, its moderate chaos not even comparable to the madness of the streets in Chicago.

It was indeed an anxiety-friendly environment, one that felt a lot more in tune with Phil’s soul than any other place he’d visited.

There was that famous song that went ‘You take the man out of the city, not the city out of the man’, but Phil was starting to believe that maybe he truly needed the city taken out of him .

He stopped at a bakery to buy something sweet he could share with Abby when she got home and came out with half a dozen brownies and a couple of free apple pie pockets just because ‘his accent was lovely and he was so nice and handsome’ .

He tied the bag to the handlebar and stilled while securing the knot.

He was doing it.

He was existing .

Out in the open, in the real world. Like a legit functioning adult.

The elation subsided when he remembered why he was so overflowing with life. He wasn’t so eager to surprise Abby with the brownies now. Had he bought them because he unconsciously knew he had to make up for something?

What was left of the elation crumbled away altogether. He couldn’t go home and just tell Abby ‘Hey, I feel awesome because Ian just does that to me! Oh, by the way, he gave me a boner!’

Abby always tried so damn hard to make things good and easier for Phil, even when his behaviour didn’t make sense to her.

She’d be thrilled, no doubt, to know he was doing so much better, whatever the reason.

Phil was positive that if he’d told her he found joy in torturing people, she’d be willing to discuss options with him.

He didn’t have the courage to tell her that the reason he was feeling so good and vigorous out of the blue was someone else’s positive influence.

When he got home, his nerves were rattling.

He went for a run to try to blow off some steam, but it wasn’t enough, so he tackled the mountain of boxes stacked in the garage that still awaited unpacking next, and put everything away, leaving out only the things he knew Abby would want to take care of herself.

Around 4 PM, when he started getting hungry, he conceded himself a break and warmed up the leftovers Ian had given him.

They didn’t taste as good as they had in the morning, but he didn’t care.

He was in the middle of tidying up the kitchen when he heard the front door unlock.

“Phil? ”

His heart sank. It was later than he’d realised. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t stitched back together his morning mask yet and couldn’t look Abby straight in the eye without it. Especially today.

“Phil, are you home?”

“Kitchen!” he called out before Abby worried.

He had a handful of seconds, while she got rid of her shoes and coat, to gain some control over his hyperactivity spree. Standing still was difficult: it was like his bones were seething.

“Hey!” Abby padded in, radiant in a pink tailleur that accentuated the rosy blush in her tan complexion. “You look well!” Normally, she would’ve gone in for a kiss, but Phil didn’t move, so she simply smiled at him. “How was your sleepover?”

“Good,” said Phil absently. An electric ripple down his body reminded him just how good it had been.

Ian’s kindness and care. His strong arms, his patience.

Phil’s gratitude abruptly turning into arousal.

The foreign feeling of his cock hard and sensitive in his hand.

The flustering desire. The pleasure. The pleasure …

“Have you been cleaning?”

Phil released the breath he was holding, tuning back to the present.

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to discuss that, but Abby was already beaming proudly.

“Phil, that’s—”

“Abbs.” He stood back when she made to lift her hands to his chest, then cowardly stared at the ground. “I don’t really feel like talking right now.”.

“Oh.”

“Can we do this later?”

The mellowed down tone chipped away most of Abby’s disappointment.

It didn’t stop Phil from feeling awful. He had no right to be so testy — as if what was happening to him was her fault.

He sighed inwardly, acknowledging the effects of one of his many mood swings, and took Abby’s face between his hands, stroking her cheeks apologetically.

The pink bracelet on his wrist mocked him one more time .

‘U R my sunshine.’

Whatever the opposite of sunshine was, he felt like that.

A dark cloud.

Polluted rain.

“It’s one of those days when I can’t help being a dick for no reason. You don’t deserve this.” He hugged her, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Please, stay away from me.”

Abby nodded, her unconditional sympathy more gutting than any anger could be. “Just tell me if anything bad happened with Ian.”

“No.” Phil was sickened by his own blissful smile. “We had a really good time. He handled my panic attack like a champ. I just… need some alone time.”

“Okay.” Abby pliantly slipped out of his arms. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Before she could leave the room, Phil reached for the bakery bag he’d dropped in a corner. “I got you brownies, by the way.”

Abby’s dark eyes filled with child-like greed. “You did? Virtual kiss!” She dipped into the bag, pulled a brownie out, and took a small bite. “Oh, this is to die for! It’ll be gone by the time I get upstairs.”

As she sauntered towards the door, Phil called her back one last time.

“Abbs? You know I love you, right?”

“I’ll doubt my own name before I doubt that,” said Abby over a mouthful of brownie, and in that very moment Phil knew with chilling certainty that whatever was going on with him right now was doomed to either seal the thin fracture in their bond or break them apart for good.