Eight: On The First Ring 

Warning: Sexual Coercion/Assault, Domestic Violence

Sara’s place had been scrubbed head-to-toe, the fridge had been restocked, the laundry folded, the dishes done, and Philo had felt incredibly exhausted by the end of it. He had also swung by the store on his way back from a repair job; the man had him fixing his stove. Philo had to read up on how to do it before he got there, but he managed alright. It was an electric one, and the top part of the stove wasn’t heating up properly. He got it to work by the time he left. 

Philo was sprawled out on the couch now, and Ian was sitting on the floor next to him, leaning his back onto the leg of the couch.  

It had been a few days since the job at Rocket’s house, and Philo hadn’t checked his phone since. He didn’t want to, because he knew he would have to actually read the texts from Rocket. He had felt his phone go off; he had felt the buzz in his pocket, and he just wasn’t ready to face it all yet. 

“Philo?” Philo snapped his head up. In the hallway, Sara was standing in a pair of revealing pajamas, pink, tight, and lacey. Philo felt a wave of nausea wash through him. She didn’t have work tonight, so he had no idea what that meant for him. She had been staying in her room as of late, leaving him alone for the most part, and avoiding his eyes when she could. 

Philo knew that he only had a certain amount of time before she “forgave” him and started talking to him again, asking him to uphold his part of the deal. He just didn’t think it would be so soon. 

“Yeah?” Philo asks, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Ian was giving him a tense stare from the floor now. 

“Want to come to bed?”  

Ian’s face crinkles with disgust, and Philo lets out an uncomfortable laugh.  

“I have a job in the morning. I have to be up early, Sara.” Philo gulps, messing with the rings on his fingers. “Not tonight, okay?”  

Sara lets out a loud groan.  

“You always make up excuses! Am I not pretty enough, or something?” She yells from where she stands, and Philo flinches. Pathetic. He was so pathetic to let her yell at him like that. 

“No.” Philo croaks, humiliated. “You’re... pretty, Sara.”  

Sara suddenly lets out a loud, enraged sob and charges for Philo. Philo tries to get up, but Sara lands on top of him, holding him down by his shoulders. She hiccups right in his face, and Philo can’t even look at her. Not when she was acting like this. He tries to push her off him, but she has him held down into the couch by his wrists now.  

“You don’t even mean it when you say it!” Sara screams in his face. “You fucking douchebag!”  

“Get off me, Sara!” Philo winces as her grip gets even tighter. Ian has stood up now and is holding his arms close to his body. Philo can tell from here that he is trembling.  

“No. Not until you kiss me!” Sara lets out another sob, and Philo gasps, feeling constricted and unable to breathe underneath her. She reaches for his zipper, trying to undo it with sloppy hand movements. “And touch me. Just touch me!” 

Before she can get Philo’s pants down, Ian smacks her in the head with a hardback book from the coffee table. The sound of the book against her skull is loud, resonating throughout the apartment. 

Sara tumbles off Philo, landing on the floor on her knees, disoriented.  

“Stop! He doesn’t want to, Sara! Just stop!” Ian cries now, his voice shaking and scratchy. Sara says nothing. She holds her bleeding head with a palm, and Philo scrambles to zip his pants up. He rises off the couch, holding himself with his arms. He was so disgusting. He had almost let it happen. In front of Ian, too. 

“Just... stop.” Ian wipes angrily at the snot dribbling down from his nose.  

It is eerily silent in the living room now, and Sara’s blood is beginning to drop onto the floor. She suddenly stands up, the floor creaking beneath her feet. She glares at Philo from across the apartment and walks to her room.  

She sets an open hand on her door and speaks to him firmly before she goes in.  

“Philo. I want you out by tonight.”  

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

Ian watched over Philo as he gathered his things. He helped him shove all his clothes into the bag he brought. It didn’t take long, since he didn’t own a lot to begin with. Ian walks him to the door, standing outside now with Smoky perched on the railing, purring and oblivious to everything.  

“Are you going to be alright, Ian?” Philo asks, reaching up and ruffling the boy’s hair.  

Ian’s face is still swollen and red, puffy from his crying. He gives Philo a small nod. 

“I’m going to ask my parents if I can come home.” Ian mumbles, reaching out to pet Smoky, who curls into his hand. “I’ll ask if I can bring Smoky, too.”  

“Well, that’s good.” Philo says, reaching in his pocket for his cigarettes. He gets one and lights it; bringing his trembling hand to his mouth, he takes a deep breath in and lets the calming effect of nicotine wash over him.  

“Are you going to be alright?” Philo looks down to see the worried expression on Ian’s face.  

“Sure, buddy. I’ll figure it out.” Philo sighs. Ian didn’t deserve to be exposed to all this, not with how young he was. It was unfair, and it vaguely reminded Philo of his own childhood. His wide eyes, forced open with shock at every violent event that shaped his destructive habits. He hoped there was still a chance for Ian. He was a good kid, smart, and he had a bright future ahead of him. “You have my number. Text me and let me know when you’re all moved back into your parents’ house, okay? And maybe we can go down to the library, soon. How does that sound?”  

Ian perks up, nodding.  

“Yeah, sounds great!” Philo draws the boy into a familial hug, and Ian hugs him back just as enthusiastically.  

“See you soon, kid.” 

Philo leaves then, heading through the dark alleyway, darkened even further from the clouds that hid away the yellow of the moon. It was hot that night, the end of May. 

Philo pulled out his phone, flipping it open for the first time in a few days. He had dozens of texts to read, so he slumped himself down against the brick side of a massage parlor a few blocks from Sara’s. He checks Eero’s contact first. He calls him. It rings for a while before Eero answers. 

“Hey, P. What’s up? It’s late.” Eero’s voice hits his ears quick. 

“Eero. Hey. Sorry to ask this of you, but can I stay the night tonight?”  

Eero goes silent for a long, long time. Philo hears some faint shuffling on the other end, and Philo can tell from this alone that there’s someone else with Eero. Likely Rachel.  

“Sorry, Philo. Rachel doesn’t want me to—Yes, baby. I know, I know.” His voice fades off for a moment, and Philo thinks maybe Rachel took the phone. He was right.  

“No. The answer is no. Goodnight, Philo.” Rachel says firmly into the phone, and the line drops.  

Philo brings his phone away from his ear, staring at Eero’s contact. As much as he wanted to dislike Rachel, he understood her concern for the most part. Whenever Philo contacted Eero first, it was always to ask for something, a little money here and there, a free ride, or a pack of cigarettes because he couldn’t afford them. Philo had built up a bad reputation with Rachel, but this time had been different. This time, he truly just needed someone to talk to, to unwind with after the horrible night he had had. And Rachel wouldn’t hear him out; she wouldn’t even let Eero hear him out.  

Reluctantly, Philo opens his phone to Rocket’s contact. Holding the phone up to his ear, he was certain Rocket wouldn’t answer his call after the argument they had the other day.  

Rocket answered on the first ring.  

“Philo?” 

“Hey Rocket. Sorry to ask this so late...” Philo pauses, feeling pathetic, feeling weak. And then, “Can you come here?” 

Philo hears some shuffling over the phone, a little muffled talking, and then Rocket’s voice, clear as day: 

“Where are you?”