I Swear I’m Not Crazy (Part 2)
A/N: I really liked writing this; it was fun to develop! Thanks to Cathy for the prompt! (If I think this is good enough I might do a spin-off fic where Dan’s in the asylum).
Prompt: Phil is a ghost and Dan is the only one that can see him
I made my first video since Phil died. It has about half the views I got before my breakdown. Phil smiled though. He was happy I made a video. I think he wants me to make more. I wish he would say something. I think he might. Soon. Every time I talk to him he makes a motion with his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he disappears, but he usually comes back after an hour or so.
I don’t know what I’d do without Phil. Him being around so often is so nice. It’s like he’s still here. Still alive. He never left me. It’s because he loves me. He knows I don’t need anyone other than him.
Yesterday, we went to go get ice cream. I didn’t know what to get him, so I just got him a twist of chocolate and vanilla and got myself plain chocolate. I sat it on the bench so he could eat it but he wouldn’t. He just stood in front of me and frowned, refusing to sit. I began yelling and became rather angry with him. The people around me were staring, but I didn’t care. He wouldn’t listen. He disappeared until I got home. He was waiting for me. I don’t think he wanted ice cream. That’s okay. I forgave him.
When I was making dinner, Phil leaned against the counter and I heard his sigh. It startled me, because he hadn’t made a sound since I first saw him. I stopped what I was doing and looked over at him, curious. He immediately looked down at the floor, drooping his translucent head. I asked him what was wrong, and he didn’t reply. Instead, he just left.
I didn’t see him for a few days. It was devastating. I realized how much I need Phil. Without him, I’m not the same. I have no motivation. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t even want to live. But I can’t do to my family what he did to his. I just can’t. When Phil came back, depression turned to anger. I began yelling at him, accusing him of leaving me and threatening him in between sobs. He didn’t vanish.
Instead, he walked up to me and rested his hands on the sides of my arms, rubbing them, comforting me. He wiped the tears from my eyes and lifted my head up so he could look at me in the eyes. Phil whispered three simple, yet heavy words, “I love you.”And with the faintest smile, he left as quietly as he came.
I told my therapist all of this. As always, she just frowned and scribbled on her clipboard some more.
The next day, I got a call from my doctor. He told me to gather my most important belongings and put them in a suitcase. When I asked him why, he just told me I was being put in a place where I would get better.
They’re putting me in an insane asylum. With mad people. But I’m not mad. I’m not crazy. I’m not insane. I don’t belong there. I just need Phil.
I swear I’m not crazy.
I swear I’m not.