Before I Let You Fall (Phan)

Chapter Two

Dan's POV

I sat alone, staring at the wall. My walls seemed to be my only friends. Whoever decided there should only be four? I would need a thousand to feel okay for once.

I hated it, hated the way the memories rushed back to me, reminding me of who I was and what I did.

It doesn't matter, my mind tried to plead.

Yes it does. She's gone because of you and will never see the light of day.

And there it was again, the inevitable abyss I always seemed to fall into. I wished my memories could be wiped clean like slate. I wished to start over and forget the abyss of my mind, and just have Phil to balance on. But that was impossible.

I nervously glanced at the door. Phil had run out to buy a couple things, so I was home alone. He had thrown away anything I had previously used...

But then my eyes fell to the sharp scissors lying on my desk. It had been so long that I was beginning to think that maybe someday, I would pull my sleeve back and be unable to see the pain written on them in indiscernible lists, but that day would not come for a while, if at all. My sleeve was the mask to my wrist just as my skin was a mask to cover up everything inside. I cautiously stood up and made my way over to the desk, knowing how much Phil would hate it...

I couldn't, though. I promised.

Always, Phil lurked in my mind whenever these thoughts came back. I wouldn't do it, because he was in my mind; I couldn't...

But she's dead because of you.

And there he haunting truth was, blatantly spilled in front of me like shattered glass on a floor. Perhaps the shattered glass had once been my heart. No matter where I went, and no matter how many times I tried to escape there the truth was, chasing my lies and I into the darkest corners of my mind that even Phil was unaware of. I wrapped my hand around the blades of the scissors.

And then I heard the front door burst open, followed by Phil's usual chirpy "I'm home!" and the gentle sound of footsteps against the hardwood floor that reminded me all too well of my childhood and memories I would rather forget. Nevertheless, I left my room to meet Phil, leaving the scissors back where they belonged. Once again, he had saved me.

Sometimes Phil really did live up to his username.

There the raven-haired boy stood, back facing me, throwing food wherever it would fit into the refrigerator. Then he turned around, having heard me approach, and threw a bag of something at me. I easily caught it and smiled when I read the label.

"Phil," I grinned, "you didn't have to get me Maltesers, you know." Phil shrugged and continued stuffing the fridge.

After he was done, he turned around to face me. Today his eyes were a deep blue with hints of green and yellow in them, like an ocean littered with beautiful coral, and I got lost in them for a moment; they lured me away from the cold, bitter reality of my life and pulled me into a place where I, for once, felt sane. I was okay. He had so unintentionally saved me, too many times to count. It was all because of him that my heart was still beating. Knowing this made a single tear slip down my cheek, and reality returned, crushing me with its weight.

"Dan, what's wrong?" he asked, worried. I burst into tears and collapsed against him. He simply held me, letting me cry, and not demanding an explanation. I was so grateful to have him in my life. Sometimes, I was sure I took it for granted, such as right then, as my salty tears crashed to the floor in a sea of words I could never speak. But Phil, as always, understood. The unspoken words on my tongue were the ones he understood better than any explanation I could give. Either way, I felt like he deserved one.

Sighing, I pulled away from his embrace, and instantly cold surrounded me, almost to a suffocating point.

"Too many times you've saved my life, Phil, and sometimes without even knowing it. I...thank you."

He smiled gingerly at me. "No need to thank me. No one deserves to be alone, especially not you. I hope you know that I'll always stick by your side, Dan, no matter what."

I wanted to throw my arms around him for saying that, but I resisted, just smiling instead.

But my head still screamed things at me, saying I didn't deserve Phil, and that he could never feel anything towards me.

I won't listen to you. I'm fine.

The scars on your arms don't agree with that statement.

No, I guess they didn't. I self-consciously tugged at my sleeves, suddenly ashamed.

Phil, too preoccupied with the pattern of the tiles on the floor, didn't seem to notice.

"Dan," he prompted after a couple moments, "are you positive you're okay? You can tell me anything, you know."

"Yes, of course," I lied. I would never want him to worry. I cared about him too much for that.

Strangely, though, my heart felt as if it was actually working when I was around him. When I was alone, however, all I felt was the deafening silence that droned on and on until I shattered it. Of course my heart never stopped beating, but just because a heart beats doesn't mean someone is truly alive.

At least, not alive like anyone should be. Sure, I had a beating heart, but I was far from alive; I was broken. Even if I was in a sea of people, I could never have felt so alone.

Phil created happiness in me, a rare emotion for someone such as myself, but his platonic love for me couldn't be all I relied on.

No matter how strongly he cared about me, he couldn't create a pulse in something that was never truly alive.