"Hey Pj" I said to get his attention, looking up at him as he turned towards me.

"Yeah Danno?" He asked, knowing his nicknames annoyed me.

"Does Phil still suffer with eating disorders?" I questioned.

He stood still, thinking.

"Today is Thursday on your earth, he last ate on Monday, the day after your funeral.
I guess he beat his record of three days then." He said, turning back to water the plant he'd insisted on buying, reminding me of Phil.

"C-can we go see him?" I asked cautiously.

Pj sighed dramatically, slamming down his watering can.

"Fine!" He shouted, exasperated.

Suddenly, we were in the radio station; Phil stood in the corner as our boss approached him.

"What's up Phil?" He asked sincerely.

Phil handed him an official looking sheet of paper

"I can't do this anymore" he almost whispered and I wanted to be sick hearing him say those words. His hair was a mess, his clothes hung off him and the bags under his eyes were dark and ominous. His eyes were a light grey colour, devoid of life.

"I cant do the Radio Show alone" he finished and our boss looked sadly at Phil.

He wrote down the last check for Phil who took it sadly, thanking him for everything he'd done.

As he left he turned back and said to all our friends who worked there that were asking about why he was leaving so suddenly;

"Dan was always the funny one, I just made up the numbers"

Tears sprung into my eyes as Pj put a hand on my back soothingly. As Phil strode out they all started muttering about how hard he was taking my death. Some cried, some didn't.

We followed Phil down the road, pedestrians walking through us without hesitation, until he sat down on the side of some dark alleyway, pulling his knees into his chest. He opened the backpack he'd takwn with him and pulled out a bottle of vodka, he took a swig straight from the bottle as a tear rolled down his cheek. He coughed violently and instantly started retching onto the pavement because he was drinking on an empty stomach.

He mumbled a few curses as he shoved the bottle back into his backpack angrily and pulled out a rectangular box.

Cigarettes.

He lit it and took a drag, holding it for a while before blowing the smoke into the air. Coughing again.

It hurt to see him like this. He was always the happy, cheerful Phil who knew animal facts and would write a list of pretty things he'd seen that day. Now here he was, smoking and drinking, coughing his lungs up.

"When did he start smoking?" I asked quietly, scared my voice may crack.

"A young emo boy named Kaiden offered him a drink and a smoke about 2 weeks ago, he appears to have quite self destructive tendencies and Phil has gotten high with him and some others a number of times."

"Drugs?" I squeaked, not being able to tear my eyes away from the sorry state infront of me.

"Dan," Pj said calmly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I noticed he didn't use a nickname for me "we must return to the halfway room"

I just nooded, my jaw aching as I looked at my shoes, tears blurring my vision.

I guess at some point Pj left, teleporting, since there arent any doors here.

I just broke down, smashing stuff and sobbing loudly.

"Its my fault!" I screamed, Phil's dead eyes boring into my mind.

"Why! Why! Why! Why!" I repeated, hitting my head with my palm.

I think I fell asleep because next thing I knew pj was shaking me gently and I was on the floor.

"Hey danny-poo, you okay?" He helped me sit up as I fixed my fringe

"I'm-" I started to say but my voice broke "im fine" I coughed, getting to my feet and dusting off my jeans.