Sixty-Two ☼ Phan

Ten

I did not know how to answer.

"What?"

Phil stared at me, his sad blue eyes emptier than ever. Maybe they weren't actually empty. Maybe he was just really good at hiding whatever was in them.

"Why do you burn things?" he repeated, propping his head up with a bent arm.

Why? Why do I burn things?

What do I say? The truth?

I put a smile on. "Because I like the colors."

No way.

Phil stared at me. I felt see-through, a damp, thin shirt hanging on a clothesline. Drying in the bright sunlight, held up for everybody to see as they pleased.

I don't know if he knew I was lying or not, but, if he did, he didn't show it. He mirrored my smile, then looked down at his food. Untouched and probably not even warm anymore.

"Okay. I was just wondering."

I stood up with my tray still full. I wasn't hungry.

"I think I need a nap." I turned away from Phil.

"See you later," was his reply.

"Yeah."

I threw away the food without a second thought as to how big of a waste it was. Then, with a flicker of dissatisfaction in my chest, I headed back to the cabin to follow through on my words.

There were a couple of reasons as to why I didn't tell Phil the truth. More than a couple, actually, but the extra ones I wasn't sure I could recite properly. My brain was like an alphabet soup of thoughts and excuses, sometimes they made sense and sometimes they didn't. Whatever I don't say is still there, at the bottom of the bowl like soggy pasta.

I didn't know where to start, first of all. Talking with Phil is always direct. Never really a ramble. We were straight to the point whenever we answered questions and discussed things. Well, maybe not all the time, but most of the time. When he asked me that question, I was so caught off guard I just couldn't work up an answer that fit the jumbled mess in my head.

If I said the truth, it might have came out wrong. And if I took too long to think about it, Phil might take it as if there's something more to it. Which there is. But I didn't want him to know that. Not yet, anyway. Everything about me was just attached, stringed together. Saying one thing too personal may accidentally spill out several other things.

I fell over on my bed, groaning loudly into the empty cabin. This whole camp was so bright during the day. Even inside. Even with the curtains closed. Sunlight just soaked everything, dripped into every crevice, in between every plank of wood.

There was a sudden thump.

"Ow."

I jumped up, off the mattress and stumbling backwards at the voice. It came from directly underneath me. A moment of silence passed, and then a head popped out from beneath my bed.

"Chris, what the fuck," I said, almost falling over.

"I'm hiding from Peej," he told me hushedly, despite there being no need to whisper.

"Can't you do it under your own bed? You nearly gave me an aneurism."

"My bed is too obvious."

I sighed. I just wanted to sleep.

"Okay. But, what if he considered that?" I played along, hoping to lure him out and away from here. From me, for now, at least.

Chris shifted, ducking back a little more. "What?"