wake up, phil - [phan]

{ 40 } - Storm

Dan's POV

I had been here, on the bridge, for what felt like a month, as the people walked by, coming home from work or school and as the sky began to darken into the late afternoon. People pass as they continue with their everyday lives, unaware and oblivious that a huge storm of confusion and decision that is rattling through my head.

I probably looked really odd, a man in his twenties with a weird haircut, sat on a modern stone bench with no back, hunched over in my thin black Karashima jumper as I try and keep warmth in my body. Although it's pointless. I won't need a heartbeat, let alone warmth after I jump. But, I can't think straight.

I keep thinking and thinking, things I regret and things that I am proud of, going over and over, as if I have missed something out. I haven't really, I'm just trying to fool myself that I'm buying time before I jump and leave this all behind me.

But there's this voice. This voice that I couldn't get rid of even if I screamed as loud as I could or played music at the highest volume.

You could always go back.

You don't have to jump.

Go back.

You could always turn away.

I could.

I could technically turn away. I could technically avoid it all and go back, retrace my footsteps, back to...

Back to, what?

I already decided I can't return to a normal life when I'll be living in a house and a place and a home where every single room is overgrown and overrun with things that remind me of Phil, parts of him and times and memories with him that would keep coursing through my mind whenever I endured an everyday routine. Breakfast with Phil would become breakfast alone. Brushing my teeth with Phil whilst playing Muse in the background would become brushing my teeth in silence, alone. Playing video games and laughing with Phil would become sitting in a dark room, crying, alone.

I could not face the crowds, the photographers, the interviewers by myself. I hated it all, Phil had always known that, when the word "fame" first began to be used around us. He knew that, so he always made it easier for me by standing by me, flashing encouraging smiles at me, because he knew I was counting down the seconds before we could go home and enjoy each other's company with nobosy around to interrupt us, except he never knew he was helping me so much. He wasn't just my closest friend, he was a hell of a lot more than that. I knew him better than anyone, he knew me better than anyone, and he cared for me like nobody else ever had in the past.

Through my teenage years of hell, depression and loneliness, I had come close to killing myself a lot of times. But every time, just before the blade had enough pressure on it to pierce my skin, I had frozen, and thought,

If I go now, I could miss something important in my life.

And now when I look back, I am glad when I remember that I didn't kill myself, and because of that, I met Phil. And because of him, I was the happiest I had been. Maybe this might be the same.

If I jump now, I could be missing out on someone, or something in life.

But it wouldn't be the same. Whatever happened and however amazing it could be, it could never excell how incredible Phil was, and how lucky I was that our paths crossed on the internet all those years ago.

And the pain. The pain of waiting for this "amazing thing" to happen, when it might not potentially happen at all. This was like some kind of craze-induced pingpong game where each side lost and won, with no winner at all evident.

I could not sit here for weeks on end, on this barren bench with my body hunched over, like some kind of fucking squirrel trying to hibernate in the winter. I had to open up and fully decide on what I had to do, and do if before my mind played tricks on me again.

I had to move. My body felt stiff when I moved my shoulders, so I kept still nonetheless. I shoved my finger into mouth, and bit on my nail, hard.

The metallic taste of blood and skin lingered on the tip of my tongue as I nibbled on it, averting my attention from the whole situation. I sucked on my finger before taking it out of my mouth and wiping the blood on my jumper.

My finger now felt sore from the piece of skin I had torn from it. It was painful.

Pain.

That was one other thing that I knew a lot about from my life. I had probably experienced more painful moments, painful days, weeks, months and years than most people.

That's the thing about depression and being alone. It's like a dull pain that won't disappear until someone very special makes you completely forget every knife in your heart. A dull pain that lasts and lasts until that person comes along and tells you a joke that made you laugh and forget everything else, even if it was only for a few brief moments, or grins at you and tells you it'll be okay, and that you just have to hang on. You then grow to rely on that person for almost everything. Just like I did.

And now that one special person who I had come to lean on so much had just disappeared from my life. He had been such a huge part of my existence, and to come down to the end of the day, when I realise nothing will ever be the same again, and that dull pain from my teenage years will come back, and I will have nothing to protect myself.

Somebody could come into my life and, like Phil had done, change it, and be that person who would dissolve the throbbing pain. But it took me seconds to know that nobody could ever make me happy and help me become confident again like Phil had done.

A tiny spot of water appears on my hand, which is partly covered because I have my arms crossed.

Fuck, I can't cry in public like this.

But it was okay, because as I look up I can see the dark grey clouds and the water of the river has smaller and faster ripples. And then the heavens open, and the rain comes bucketing down.

I always liked the rain. I was sat there, feeling the rain water seeping through my thin jumper and dampening my skin, no doubt also making my hair stick to my forehead and curl slightly.

And as I stood, ignoring my limbs as they struggled to support me, I walked to the edge of the bridge, climbed onto and stood one of the thick stone pillar platforms and looked down into the treacherous river Thames as I felt the wind push up my fringe.

I thanked the rain for being there.

I thanked the rain for hiding my tears that were streaming down my face.

...