𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 ✧ 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍 ✧ 𝐏𝐓. 𝐈𝐈

✰TWENTY-EIGHT✰

Thmp! Thmp! Crash!

The sound of hinges breaking mirrored the sound of fireworks in the night; Phil bursted through PJ's door, heart racing like a ticking grenade. His shoulder raw from repeatedly hitting the door in order to knock it down.

Dodie and PJ read Phil's mind as they all darted towards Peej's truck. Phil hurled himself into the drivers seat while Peej jumped into the bed of the truck, Dodie making her way into the passenger seat.

Swiftly, they drove off. Phil uncaring for his own safety, he weaved his way around traffic.

✰✰✰

They finally made it to Phil's house, hoping to god Dan was still in there sleeping soundly. With an unholy screech of the tires, Phil swung the truck around taking up 2 parking spots at the moment.

None of them were thinking clearly as they jolted inside ignoring the few people lounging around in the lobby as they crammed themselves into the lift. They all were breathing heavily, waiting to see their deciding fate.

Each second was unbearable.

1...2...3

There was a soft ding that came from the lift meaning they made it to Phil's floor, made everyone uneasy. Slowly, the doors parted away from each other like the moon and the sun during the rising day.

His vision blurred as his eyes scanned over the pool of blood surrounding Mark.

His heart raced, pulse quickened.

The sight shifted his mind back into a memory, a terrible memory.

The gunshots could be heard from miles and miles away. The image; Phil's father and mother laying lifeless, face down in their bed. He had a close relationship with his father, surprisingly. Mr. Lester taught his only son the ropes of the dangerous lifestyle they lived.

Little Phil breathed in deeply, his heart pacing back and forward in his chest. No, his father wouldn't him to cry, but those soft gentle tears rolled down his small red cheeks like waterfalls in the jungle. The simple smell of death was something he was used to inhaling, but the death from his parents was horrid. Growing up in an environment like that, caused him to feel triumph if they smelt the fragrance of euthanasia, but in that bedroom that cold lustrous night, defeat was all that was written in Phil's eyes and revenge in his tears.

Phil hastily blinked, his look blank until Dodie's cry for her seemingly lost friend made him shake. He is breathing but the air just won't go in, like his lungs were surrounded by metal bands. Next comes the rising panic, the dizzy feeling and the need to get low to the ground. Then finally, he forced back tears.

He sucked it up though, watching Dodie pace and biting the back of her gloved hand.

PJ ran and skinned his knees to the floor, dropping his body by Mark's side checking his pulse, with a stoic expression.

Phil scanned around the room, noticing nothing of his was stolen or damaged, just his colleague slouched against the floor. He didn't go check rooms for Dan, it was a given absolute no life was in the apartment before they entered.

A red colour collected around Phil's eyes, as he realized PJ was finding nothing. It was shocking, scary. There is a cruelty to taking our emotions as a type of rudeness. There is a cost in burying such pain in our bones rather than expressing it freely though.

Black haired man placed his hand to his mouth looking up at the ceiling. He shifted uncomfortably, than shook his head demandingly. "No. No no no!" He placed one hand on the wall, breathing heavily. Then swiftly punched it, whipping his head around. "I don't care, take him to a hospital, have them do whatever they can."

Salty trickles ran down Dodie's face as her and Peej both nodded.

Instantly, Phil ran over to the sofa ripping the blanket off, his shoes clicked into the wood as he lifted up Marks body, tying the fabric around his middle to stop the bleeding.

Suddenly, like lightning through the sky a dark groan in pain erupted from Mark making everyone jolt in hope. "F...Fel..."

"Shh, shh buddy, we're gonna get you out of here." Phil said tying knots into the blanket.

Dodie stepped away, noticing a sticky note on the elevator door. "Phil wait, look at this.."

Phil turned around and stood up from bracing himself to pick up his friend.

Before Dodie outstretched her hand to show the small note to her leader, he took note of the address.

Dear England's Anonymous,
We are truly sorry for not cleaning up the mess we made of Markie Moo. At 1:30 AM, at 39 Olive Street, Vincentown, I will personally send down a friend of ours to collect you and only you, Phil. Any funny business and I won't hesitate to put another bullet in your little boy's brain.
Mark my words.
- Felix.

Phil squinted his eyes, his brain taking in so much at a time. He placed a hand on his head, stealing a second to think as Peej and Dodie stared for directions. He shoved the note into his pocket, and turned to help Mark onto his feet with PJ.

"You guys take Mark to the hospital and demand a room," Phil said, hoisting the dangling man. "I'm going after Felix—"

Dodie then stepped forward. "Then I'm going with you—"

"No, you get Mark help. Keep him alive, we've got Jack resting on our shoulders." He took in a sharp, hurting breath, all his mind thinking about was how he let Dan easily slip through his fingers—he should've been better.

Dodie nodded in agreement easily cutting through his thoughts like fruit. She walked forward, taking Phil's place of holding up their wounded friend.

He examined his group in front of him, the unconditional love for his family was eternal in that gang. Phil tipped his head forward, readying himself to leave. But something lingered in the air, the knowing feeling of a last goodbye hung around like monkeys in trees. "If I—If I don't make it.." He paused. "Know you guys were my closest friends. Thank you."

He turned to leave but was stopped by a voice. PJ held out one hand, keeping the other braced on Mark. "Phil wait, I'm sorry," He sighed, darting his eyes away. "I'm sorry for being an asshole—"

Phil turned around and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, gaining all trust back. "I am the one who should be sorry." He whispered sincerely.

And when he turned to walk back through those elevator doors, it was the last time Phil saw them that night.

a.n.
Good morning loves, have a good day.