Ninety Nine Days - Phan (Boyxboy)

Chapter 9

Dan's POV

I couldn't bear to think about him; the state he was in. Images spiralled around my mind, the worst ones staying there and making me cry more. What if Phil really did look like what I was imagining? Him laying there,cut up and bruised? What if he wasn't going to wake up? What if this was the end?

I started to wonder what it would be like if it was the end. What I'd do without my Lion and my lover; what the fans would do without their innocent role model. I imagined sitting there in front of the camera, looking around the empty room with empty eyes and no emotions.

I would start with my usual greeting, "hello Internet" but it's a mumble and my eyes don't meet the camera. Tears fall down my tired face and I don't wipe them away. I don't care anymore. Still staring at the ground, I whimper, "so... You're probably wondering why Phil hasn't been updating..." I pause to clear my throat.

"Well... He... He died..." And it's my fault. Say it. "He died and... It's all my fault..." I break down, my body shuddering as I let out huge, exhausted sobs, resting my head in my shaky hands. I sigh and look back at the camera with red eyes as more tears fall down my cheeks.

"I..." I stop and look down before turning the camera off one final time. I can't continue doing what I used to love; YouTube seems dark and I feel like I'm betraying Phil by carrying on. I receive hate mail, and lots of it, and the fans are no longer my fans, they're my enemies. They ask why I did this to him - to them - but they don't understand the pain I'm feeling and I try to ignore it and just be brave. For Phil.

I can't move out, but I can't stay either, because staying in the apartment is torture without Phil. It's always silent and I still expect to hear his giggles flooding through the rooms after watching yet another funny cat video. However, leaving would shatter my already broken heart because the apartment reminds me of him. Wherever I look, there is something of his. His mask; his plants; his toys... His lion...

I felt someone's hand rest on my shoulder and my head shot up fast, taking me from my terrifying thoughts. My hands shook and my eyes flickered, trying to suppress tears that pricked my eyes but it didn't help. They ran down my red face and I stared up at the figure in confusion. I was looking straight at them but I didn't take in who it was.

"Just go away," I spat.
"Dan?"
"Go away! Please! I want to be alone." "Dan... I heard about..." The voice trailed off. "I'm so sorry. He'll be okay."
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" I yelled, sick of the fake sympathy that I was always receiving from everyone.

The figure retreated from where they were stood, and fled down the pale blue corridor. I sighed and held my head in my hands. This entire event was all my fault, because I was too stupid to realise that Phil would never do what I'd suspected. I was too much of a fool to the realise that he was innocent, yet I had screamed and shouted like a spoilt child who had been told "no".

All I wanted to do was disappear from all of this, so nobody could hear the anguished screams that I would unleash. I wanted to disappear from life; what would I do without Phil? He was my lifeline in everything that I had been through; and now I was alone. He left the room to save himself, because he knew that everything would turn south fast.

It did turn fast, didn't it dimwit? The voice resurfaced in my mind, speaking in a tone laced with annoyance and sarcasm. Once again, I stared at my hands, silently cursing at myself for making them looking so mangled and broken.

Occasional beeps echoed down the corridor, causing my head to slowly raise so I could look around to try and find the cause of the noise. The blue corridor had various medical posters haphazardly pinned to its walls, one overlaying the other, creating a cluster of different coloured papers.

Paramedics and medical staff scuttled around, barking commands at each other. A piece of luminous yellow paper pinned underneath the multitude of others caught my eye. I stood up and begun to walk towards it, curiosity plaguing my mind. I grasped the paper in my hand, allowing me to fully see what it was meant to be informing the public about.

I dropped the paper and clenched my fists in anger; even the posters could not help me feel any better. The yellow poster was to inform the public about driving safely, and the injuries that car crash victims have suffered.

With a quick turn on my heel, I walked away from the poster and returned to the line of flimsy plastic blue chairs.bMy fringe clung uncomfortably to my forehead and my clothes held a ridiculous amount of water.

My heart longed for Phil to miraculously stroll out of the surgery; for him to give me his oh-so-perfect smile and his cute laugh, for him to walk over to me and comfort me. But how would that happen if he was going through emergency surgery to stabilise him?

I decided I needed to speak to Phil's parents, seeing as they didn't know the condition that their own flesh and blood son is currently in - or possibly could be in at a later time. I planned it all out in my mind.

How would they react to it, if the worst did happen? Would I be disowned or would they still accept me? Who was I trying to fool; they weren't going to accept me after what I'd caused. Every scenario that I played in my head resulted in a tremendous mess.

I'll start by walking up to them, they'll probably ask me what's wrong, judging by the worn out, solemn look on my face. They'll ask where Phil is; why he isn't with me. I'll break at his name. "He di-died in hospital, from wounds that I've caused." I have to speak the truth to them, otherwise they would never know what took their precious son.

I'll attempt to explain the argument, and Phil's face stays in my head as I try to speak clearly without choking on a sob. Tears run down his face in streams, staining his precious face; his eyes constantly avoiding mine. It hurt to think about what would happen if he didn't pull through.

A memory comes to mind, one from my childhood. I was told the concept of pain by my dad, which still plays in my mind to this day, but it helped at times.

Pain is just an illusion.
This is just a bruise.
And you are just confused.
But you are only human; and everyone needs a hand sometimes.

I realised I could use a hand sometimes. Because I am only human.