Happy Mistakes? - Phan

Chapter Seven

*Dan's POV*

I sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair that I had pulled up by Phil's bed, clutching my head in my hands. After what I was told was about three hours I had managed to calm down enough to be allowed into Phil's room. I honestly remember next to nothing about those hours, which had felt like minutes. The only thing I remember is drowning in self-hatred and that one spiteful thought cycling through my mind incessantly. All. My. Fault. It was still there, playing as a background to my troubled thoughts and feelings. I felt helpless, utterly useless. I couldn't help Phil, even when he was awake and talking, and certainly not now. It had been two days now, and I hadn't spoken with anyone, only eating when the doctors forced me to. They had tried to get me to leave, but when that happened, I sort of blacked out. I was told after this incident that I had started screaming and thrashing around, so they decided I could stay, if only because they thought if I was alone I'd be a danger to myself. They were probably right. The only thing keeping me sane right now was being able to look at his face, with all the tubes and wires they had attached to it. I honestly don't know why I was affected so strongly by this. Yeah, we were friends, and yeah, I felt like I was responsible. Of course I would be devastated, but there was something more, something keeping me here, not allowing me to leave Phil's bedside.

A voice at the back of my head whispered that I knew exactly why, and that I should just face the truth. I ignored it, unable to face that thought along with all the others. Instead, I just sat there, stroking Phil's hand. Seconds melting into minutes, minutes melting away into hours, hours into days, days into weeks. I had no concept of time, simply sleeping when I was tired and eating when I couldn't take the hunger in longer, only leaving his side to use the restroom and nothing more. I got phone calls, texts, e-mails, all wondering where I had gone, what had happened, was I alright. I ignored every single one. I couldn't bring myself to think beyond what was happening then and there, to think about the future. A future that could very possible not have Phil.

His expression never changed, his eyes never opened. He simply lay there, and silence filled the room with the exception of the various machines working on keeping the boy I cared so much about alive.

One day someone came into the room. I ignored them, assuming it was just another doctor who gave me empty promises of how Phil would be ok, how they were trying their hardest to save him. I ignored it like I ignored everything else. When this mystery person spoke, however, I realized this wasn't just another good for nothing doctor.

"Dan? Are you alright....?" It was Bella. I heard her come up behind me, and place, and felt a hand rest gently on my shoulder. I said nothing in reply, not caring enough to try and make small talk. When I didn't do anything to acknowledge her, she simply sighed and stood there, not saying another word. I was grateful that she didn't try to fill the silence, and simply accepted it.

As the weeks slipped by we fell into a sort of routine. Once a week, Bella would come and comfort me, pulling up a chair and sitting next to me for a while before leaving. I simply sat, ate, slept, and used the restroom. Bella knew that we weren't really in a relationship, and had even told me once that she thought Phil and I would be cute together. She never tried to do anything, which I was grateful for. She simply provided silent moral support.

Phil's face got paler and paler, and he was little more than a sack of bones now. The doctors had begun to lose hope that he would ever wake up, and had actual planned a date for when they would cut off his life support if he failed to wake. I knew all this, and yet I just sat, useless, helpless, trying to keep my head above the water that was flooding my mind. Water composed of blame, self-hatred, sorrow, and self-pity. My raft was my hope, and if that was crushed, I wasn't sure where that would leave me. Would it even be worth living anymore? I was sinking further and further into a seemingly endless pit of depression. I never really showed any outward emotion, but a battle waged in my war every hour of every day. A constant battle between what little hope I had left and all the little 'What ifs?' trying to crush me, to suck the life from me. They were slowly winning, each day my defenses crumbled a little more.

As the day when the doctors planned to 'pull the plug' drew nearer, I found myself praying. I had always been agnostic, never believing that there was some huge, all-powerful being dictating every details of our lives, but I needed someone to talk to, someone to place some faith in. I myself wasn't even sure who I was trying to reach. I think it was mostly just something I did to clear my head a little, and rebuild my defenses, so that I was able to hold on just a bit longer. If my mental fortress had been the size of, say, a castle when I first brought Phil here, then it was now a box barely big enough to sit up in, which I was curled up on the bottom of, trying to block out the thoughts and cling to sanity just a bit longer.

The day before they planned to kill Phil, the box broke, and I snapped. It started off slowly, with crying. That might not seem like a big deal, but I had literally shown no emotions in about a month, so this was pretty big. It only got worse from there. I started shaking, unable to control myself, and curled up into a ball on my chair, tears running down my face. I was unable to move, unable to think, or speak, and it was getting harder and harder to breath. I heard someone scream Phil's name, though I'm not sure if it was me, someone else, or if I was just hearing things inside the chaotic warzone that was my mind. I heard the door crash open and saw doctors surrounding me, trying to calm me down. It was like a dream. No. A nightmare. A nightmare that was my horrible, inescapable reality. A nightmare I wouldn't ever wake up from. The doctors finally gave up trying to calm me, and I felt a sharp prick on my arm before the world began to grow fuzzy. Just as I was about to pass out, one thought rose above the rest. Phil...

I succumbed to the darkness, and for the first time in weeks, my mind was completely silent.