Counting Down the Days » Phan AU

Three

My depression had never been worse. I'd accepted that I'm insane. I'd accepted that Phil would be fine if I were the one who left. I'd accepted that I'm a loser who's world revolves around Phil Lester, and I'd accepted that I am a worthless person who will never be as amazing as Phil.

I needed to take the pain away. I collapsed on the floor of my room, shining a flashlight under the bed. It wasn't long until I found what I was looking for.

I pulled out a tiny black box. I had duct taped it closed so long ago, wanting to never open it again. But I didn't get rid of it. I couldn't. I successfully tore the tape off after pulling at it for a few minutes and, with a shaky hand, slowly opened the box.

I instantly began sobbing at the sight of the knife. It played such a vivid scene in my mind, yet I grabbed it and retreated to the bathroom.

*TRIGGER WARNING*

I ran my finger across the edge of the knife as I stared at myself in the mirror, hating what I saw; hating the pathetic tears dripping off my cheek, hating my flustered face, hating me. I glanced down at knife in my hands, and set the sharp edge against my wrist.

Before I knew it, I was pushing into my skin. I cried, but didn't stop. Soon enough, I saw the first glance of blood.

***

The next day, I rolled out of bed, shaking off the fading memories of the night terror that had formed as I slept. I had them almost every night now. They always involved Phil, whether he was leaving me, forgetting me, or hating me.

I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The knife still sat on the sink. I stared at it for a long time. Then, I knocked it off the sink with my hand. It fell off the edge and skidded across the tiled floor to the wall of the bathtub. I rolled my eyes and left it there.

I roamed into the kitchen and opened the fridge, trying to find something to eat. Most everything available was expired, and there wasn't much of that either. I checked the cupboard and it was the same situation. I realized that I hadn't been shopping since Phil left, I'd mainly sat in the house, hiding from the world.

I groaned, knowing I would have to go face society if I didn't want to starve to death.

I quickly changed into black jeans and threw on a jacket, pulling the sleeves far over the fresh scars on my wrists.

The nearest grocery store wasn't too far, but not close enough. I boarded the train and arrived at the store quickly, which was how I liked it. I wanted to return home as soon as possible.

I filled my shopping cart to the brim, hoping I got enough food and home supplies for the stretch of time that I would continue to be alone.

As I was deciding how many boxes of cereal I should buy, a boy about my age walked up next to me and grabbed a box of oatmeal from the same shelf. I looked at him. He had curly brown hair and was wearing a bright green jacket.

"Hello there," he said, grinning.

I smiled slightly and mumbled, "Hi."

I wheeled my cart up to a checkout lane and began loading my items into the belt. The boy in the green walked up behind me. I glanced into his cart.

"You have so much less, I'm sorry. Would you like to go ahead of me?" I asked politely.

He smiled. "No, no, it's alright. I don't mind."