phan oneshots

Slashes

Words: 1,513
Trigger Warning

It became addictive. Moving a blade across my forearm made pain wash away. It made me focus on another type of pain. A type of pain that was better than the impounding stress that people expect. Being compared to others of greater ability and those who have succeeded in life, and not just through five minute comical videos.

YouTube wouldn't last forever. It was a trend that would eventually die out. As would I. For now, having the force of meeting the splitting image of perfection was plain artificial and idiotic.

Flicking the blade several times across my wrist made that disappear. It made me temporarily forget what I was going to deal with for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was for the attention. I don't mean the fans or the idiotic magazines; that was the sort of publicity I despised. I just wanted someone to notice, someone close, and realize that I felt alone. Although surrounded by so many people, it was effortless to feel so distant. Being introverted didn't mean I enjoyed being away from other individuals. I just frequently preferred to be alone sometimes; not all of the time. I am aware that one who is foolish will banish himself from others, yet I push so many individuals away. Quite hypocritical, right?

Everyone wants to be cared for. Everyone wants to be loved. No matter how many times they claim they appreciate action over chick flicks, each and every individual strives for the perfect image of a relationship. The unfortunate part was that I do too.

So many girls- and guys too- would love if I was wrapped around their body, but, being on the other side of the planet, they only knew the person they craved through a screen. And I only saw their comments on my videos, tweets on Twitter, Tumblr posts, and Instagram direct messages sent to me. Adoring each individual who hit the "subscribe" button on my YouTube channel was done, yet I didn't crave them as I did with the forbidden.

People strived for what wasn't possible, making everyone- even if seeming as a goody-two-shoes- a rebel. I admired my best friend, who would spend endless memories filled with laughter with me, yet we would never be living in the same apartment forever. He'd get married, as would I, and we'd go our separate ways, occasionally seeing each other for a drink or two. I dreamed of spending moments with that boy as I always did, excluding the two feet of space between us on the sofa while watching anime.

If Phil noticed the slashes, he can notice the state I'm in: isolation. Then, he could do something about it and I'd be in much better place. Nothing that those who contemplated suicide feared of ending up, but being in his arms. Getting the attention from him I only dreamed of.

I brought the blade across again, treating my wrist as if paper. I winced at the sting afterwards, but it was enough to bring a distraction from the repetitive need asked, the attention deserved, and Phil Lester.

I draped a white towel over my wrist and applied pressure, allowing the blood to soak into the cloth. I could never do it. Although I felt apart from them, I could never leave behind the people who felt the need to care. The people who would crash if I allowed myself to bleed out.

The phone beside me rang as the contact "Phil Lester" appeared along with a dreadful closeup I set as his contact picture. I slid the phone icon over and pressed the device to my ear.

"Hello," I choked.

"Hey, Dan!" Phil exclaimed. "I'm in this shop. I'm not quite sure what it's called. Anyways, there's this blender that's orange. Do we have a blender?"

"We have a blender, Phil," I replied.

"This one says it can chop anything at four times the speed," Phil retaliated, "and it's orange."