Sinking

miserable

I hadn't slept in days.

I couldn't understand why I felt this miserable, almost more miserable than I'd been back in September. I figured that once Phil Lester touched your heart, nothing hurt more than him breaking it.

The day after the exchange behind the school, he had showed up and knocked on my door for ten minutes, before giving up and leaving due to my lack of an answer. Adrian had come home but I pretended to be asleep. My mom, too, of which I felt bad because I hadn't seen her in so long. I stayed in my room and I didn't leave. I wanted to avoid the painting of us that was in the hall closet. I don't think Phil had any of his belongings with him. I felt bad about that, too.

My room, which had been transformed into a neat, nice environment during the timespan of our relationship had returned to it's disgusting state, nearly worse than what it used to be. The computer on my desk remained on, opened to Tumblr even if I hadn't checked it at all. My bed was covered in open books and empty canvases, only a rectangle of cleanliness remained in the corner where I spent the nights with my eyes shut only to open them again when the light began to shine through my eyelids. The friendship bracelet I'd had on my wrist was gone, hidden behind the easel, because for some reason it felt as if if I hid the painful memories in the deep crevices of the wood I could forget about them. My paints were a mess, one of the palettes I had was brown because of the disorderly way I'd been pursuing my art. It was almost like I didn't care anymore.

I did, of course, I just didn't know it then.

I'd called PJ and told him I probably wouldn't be coming to work much, but he could call me if Phil didn't show up and I would. Apparently he'd been coming in every day he was scheduled.

This was a fact I tried not to let bother me, I'd told him I needed time away from him and away from thoughts of him, but the truth was that the fear that he was getting along just fine without me while I was here torturing myself every second of the day; it was troubling. Part of me wanted to prove I could get along without him, but it was impossible, a veracity that made me hate myself.

I didn't go to school, either, only on days when Chris would call me and say Phil wasn't going. I didn't talk to anyone while I was there since I was avoiding our friends as much as possible, which really was a stupid thing to do.

"I'm coming over tonight," PJ told me over the phone when he called on that Saturday, and I tried to decline by telling him I had a lot of art to catch up on. "Bullshit," He replied, "I know that painting is all you've been doing all this time. We're going to wake you up a bit."

I didn't exactly know what he meant with 'waking me up a bit', but I agreed anyway, hanging up before turning to my mess of a room and wondering if I should clean it up as much as I could possibly achieve.

This, however, resulted in me trying to pick up all the clothes on my floor, staring at the shirt Phil had given me in December, and then sitting on the clear spot of my bed while dry tears burned at my pupils. I accidentally sat there the whole day.

When the doorbell rang, I went out into the hallway of which felt alien to me, noticing that the house was empty of sound except for the echo of the ring at the door absorbing itself into the walls.

I opened the door, and my expression didn't change even as PJ's did, into one of pure pity.

"Dan," He whispered as if he didn't believe that it was me standing in front of him, "What's happened to you? Have you eaten? Slept? Showered?" I shook my head tiredly as he walked into the house. "Oh, Dan," He sighed, and then looked at me for a moment. "Do me a favor and shower, and then put on some different clothes. Everything else I'll help with."