The Day I Lost Dan Howell

Chaper 2

I fall to my knees, tears covering my face. I slam my fists into the wall and the room shakes. 

It isn't right.

"That's the first time I've even seen her breathing and they do that! She was calling my name Phil! For fucksake she  wanted me! That's just not fair." I yell out, a painfully cry in my voice. I fall to the floor a mess.

I should be strong for her but I just can't. I just.

|Dan calm down|

Heavily I bring my fist to the floor cracking it's skin.

|Dan please, it'll be okay|

The ground shudders scared of my strength. I roar, all I want is for them to let me see her.

"DAN!" Phil yanks me up off the ground, shaking me back to a level head. "Get your act together. You just need to wait. It'll be alright. I miss her too.."

His eyes brush my face, laced with pain and hurt.

".. A lot"

I go limp. I was being so selfish, it wasn't just me. It was him to.

"Phil, please take me to my room"  I glance one last time at Eve. Then I follow him to a corridor of doors. The stench of sanitiser hung in the air. Every surface was a luminescent white, all too clean and perfect. It was all silent. I hated it.

Phil opens a door to a small room, furnished again in the only colour this place seems to know, white. The bed room on consisted of the essentials; A simple, single, metal bed, clothes draws, single desk and chair and a small lamp. The only object that could be described as the only un-white object in the room was a narrow mirror opposite the bed.

I look out to Phil, across the hall. As he's about to open a door he says,
"Mine. Just in case"

I slip into the room behind me hesitantly, whispering a small goodbye to Phil. I lie on the bed, which only just fit my height. I was hoping to sleep but I was only left with my thoughts.

Thoughts of Eve.

I can't bare it, I leap off the bed running to the door, wanting to see her again. But I resist, my hand slipping of the handle, defeated. This wasn't fair on myself.

I catch a glance of myself in the mirror. I am a mess.

My eyes black as space, dark rings lining them. My hair curled uncontrollably. I was so pale, my skin dry and sore. All my features have slimmed, I haven't eaten. I didn't want to eat.

Then what I've been trying to block out appears to me so vividly. I move my crinkled shirt up and stare at the broad red scars from the fight. I was bruised black and blue, and a raw red gash crossed my neck towards my cheek. I didn't let them heal me. I refused.

Phil had though. Now he was completely recovered, he had a leap back in his step and a light in his eyes.

As Phil has gotten better, I have gotten worse.