Phan - A Broken Box

Dan's POV

Through these paper thin walls, I could hear phil on the phone. I didn't know who to, and I tried not to listen, but I couldn't help falling into his gentle tones, his slight accent, and picturing him sitting there, not mine.
Not mine.

Glancing at the suitcase in the corner, I was tempted to fling it open and pack it. I could take everything, run away. I've often joked about it, running from responsibility, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Sighing, I looked into my lap. My self pity was an ocean of sorrow in which I could wallow forever, drifting out into the sea, never moving, never breathing...
But out of the corner of my eye, I saw that box. That godforsaken, that damned box. And a tidal wave came to my ocean.
Repulsed. Angry. Frustrated. Lost. All of them, they all collaborated to move my shaking fingers towards that velvet cube, and, in one fierce, one out-of-body moment, they made me hurl that box across the room as though it were poisonous.

I suppose, in a way, it was.

It ricocheted from the opposite wall into the corner, where the hinges snapped and the lid parted from the rest. The top bounced under the dresser, and the cushion, still holding the gold, landed and sat calmly in the corner.
I sat speechless for a moment; my jaw hung ajar, in disbelief of what I'd just done; with every breath, I felt like gagging. There was a lump in my throat that I couldn't swallow, and my whole body was numb. I fell to my knees on the carpet, and crawled to the corner - I didn't have the strength to pull myself up again.
My hands were shaking so much that it were as though they were not my hands at all. They were much paler than my own hands, too, and I did not feel anything when I saw them holding the box.

I want to say I cried. I want to say I bawled like a baby, but I can't. Because that's a lie. What happened was -