How to Help Howell?

Part 10

Dan's POV

I woke up the next morning really confused. What happened? Why was my wrist in a brace? Then the ugly memories came flooding back. One question still remained. Why was I still alive?

Phil I thought, and smiled at his name. I owe my life to Phil and just wish that I could be with him for the rest of my life. I looked over at the sleeping boy and found him with a distorted look on his face, talking in his sleep.

"I hate you! Go away...Dan...DAN! I HATE YOU!" I ran out of the lounge and into my room, determined not to cry like the emotionally weak baby I had been for the past few days. After a couple moments, I didn't even feel like crying. I just felt empty.

I had no meaning for living anymore. The one person I cared about hated me and so did the rest of the world. They had every reason to, I didn't blame them. It's my fault that I'm such an ugly, fat, terrible excuse for a human.

After getting caught in the twister of voices, I found myself curled in a ball in the corner with Phil staring at me in the doorway.

"Dan, it's okay," he assured me, reading my mind and coming to hug me in my corner.

"You don't have to do that, Phil," my voice broke. I cleared it and tried again.
"I know it's not true, so save it for someone who deserves it."

"Oh, Dan, none of that. I don't want to hear it." I stood up and looked at him sitting on the floor in confusion, but determination as well.

"We can't keep doing this, Phil! I get sad, you comfort me telling me I'm great and all that, I tell you to stop lying, and we hug until we fall asleep. Well, I'm not complaining about the last part...but Phil, I just can't take it!"

"Well, what do you want me to do, Dan? I'm just trying to help you, but you're being really stupid about it! Grow up, Dan!"

I fought the urge to burst into tears and run away crying like a 5 year old whose candy had just been stolen. Instead, I looked away from Phil and calmly walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I removed my sore and aching wrist from its brace and rummaged through the closet, looking for my shaving razor. Finally, I found it and took it in my hand, staring at it.

I pondered what I could do with it, confirming my decision. I took apart the razor, taking the blade I had separated out and placing it on the counter. I ran some water in the tub for a couple minutes, waiting for it to be about a third of the way full.

I grabbed the blade off the counter and sat myself in the tub.

Look at you, finally doing something right in your useless life. Congratulations on finally getting what you deserve.

I smiled at the thought of being liberated from the stress of the voices constantly battling in my head and worrying about my self-image. I wouldn't have to worry about bothering Phil anymore, or anyone else.

I did what I could with the razor, destroying my arms. It wouldn't matter, for I wouldn't live to see them try to be fixed. I started to hear Phil outside the door, but ignored him.

Goodbye, World

I thought as I laid face down in the calming bathtub, drifting off into a peaceful state.