psychedelia | phan

6: Everything Goes Horribly Wrong

Outside it is pouring rain heavily and even though I'm wearing a "waterproof" jacket, the rain seeps through the fabric and numbs my skin as I run through the streets of London with one destination in mind, and I know that if I keep running I'll find it.

I can't believe that Phil kissed me, and more importantly I can't believe that I actually felt something. I felt warm and safe and secure. But I've never fallen in love with another boy before, and I never thought I'd imagine Phil in that way again either.

But it felt so good.

We have kissed before, but it was years ago. It was on the London Eye a million miles above the ground and we kissed and it was the best feeling in the world to know that someone liked you back. That relationship lasted about two years and then we ended it when our subscribers began to shove Phan in our faces.

And now I'm running because he asked me if I felt anything, and I lied and ran out of the house. I can't imagine how hurt he must be feeling right now. Hurt, because of me. But the truth is, if I had been honest and told him I enjoyed the kiss and I liked it, where would that leave us? Phil knows a lot of shit about me but he doesn't know how fucking screwed up I am emotionally. I don't want to drag my best friend deeper into my mess of a life.

My feet slap on the pavement as my pace picks up and my arms pump at my sides. People are eyeing me strangely, like I'm weird for running in the street. I hate drawing attention to myself but I'm nearly there.

It will all be over soon.

I want everything to fade away and to stop, and I want to go back to the beginning where I was a stupid messed up kid from Berkshire who liked watching YouTubers on my crappy laptop, and I'd stay up until the early hours of the morning on Skype to AmazingPhil because he was the one thing that made me feel happy in the world. It was such a good feeling to know that you were the last thought for someone out there in the big world before they go to sleep.

Then we got famous for making collabs together and everything exploded in my face like a hand grenade. I never wanted to be famous. I just wanted to have a nice, small number of subscribers and a best friend named Phil.

Of course five million subscribers later, here I am. After all my running and heavy breathing through London, I've reached the end of my journey.

On the bridge of the River Thames.

Now, don't get me wrong. This is probably the dirtiest river in existence but it's the nearest one to me. I look down at the murky water angrily torrenting beneath this bridge and my heart pounds. What have I got left to live for? Screaming fans who watch my videos because they all think I'm secretly bumming my only friend? Fans who like how I look or who like my accent? Phil?

I suppose everything comes down to Phil. He is my last remaining tether to the world. He has held me down in this starless city for too long and I'm grateful for him, genuinely. My mind reverses through the years and a million memories of Phil flash in my mind. Us meeting for the first time in real life at the train station and crying in each other's arms. Phil holding my hand in the dark on New Year's Eve as we watched the fireworks above our heads explode. Our first ever kiss on the London Eye. Me being scared of the thunder and lightening outside our apartment and creeping into Phil's bed at midnight. Drinking caramel macchiato in Starbucks on our Starbucks sofa. Moving to London together. Crying while watching The Fault In Our Stars for the first time in the cinema. Getting drunk together and dancing to Girls Aloud. All of the fun times on the Internet Takeover on BBC1. Writing our book together, The Amazing Book Is Not On Fire, and the tours. Reading The Chair Fic on Tumblr and cried because we were laughing so hard and we weren't sure if the fic was disturbing or just really well written. All the times of us together, and there are so many that in forgetting but these are just a few that I can think of at the top of my head.

But this is how we end. On a bridge above the most disgusting river in the history of humanity. London is growing dim as it heads for six in the evening, so no one takes notice when I climb over the railing of the bridge and stand on the edge.

"Dan!" I hear a scream cut loose from someone's throat and I almost lose my balance on the edge of the bridge. I need to jump, I need to jump. I carefully turn around and see Phil's face, shocked and stunned and bloated with tears. "Dan, please don't leave me."

"Phil," I say his name and immediately I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes. I wish he'd go away and leave me because he's just making it harder for me. "Please, go home."

He looks panicked. He takes three steps towards me and I struggle to breathe. Phil shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here at all. "Phill —" I warn him.

"Don't jump off that bridge," he begs. "I need you. What will I do if you're gone? How will I live?"

"I left you a note," I tell him.

"A note? A fucking suicide note?" Phil scoffs. "And what good is that to me if I can't hear your voice every day? You don't realise that I need you. If you don't stay with me then I won't have a reason to live anymore. You're my anchor."

I could make a joke about being an anchor and sinking down into this river but I highly doubt that he will find it funny. "I don't want you to see me when I fall."

"You're not going to jump, Dan. Do you hear me?"

I turn away from him. He's too late, I've already decided what I'm going to do. It will take more than a few words to prevent this.

"Daniel Howell," Phil tries using my full name to get my attention. "Please. You're loved and important and I need you. Everyone needs you. Think about how the world is going to react when they hear that you've killed yourself. I can guarantee that somewhere in the world, a few million people will be mourning your death and a few more will be in a pretty bad place themselves. You've helped so many people, Dan. Including me. Just think about how many more you could save just by being alive?"

"But I don't want to just be alive," I whisper. "I want to feel alive."

"I can help you to get better," he raises his voice, but I'm not listening. I'm not listening.

I can't hear his words anymore. I'm not focusing. Suddenly, I hear him run towards me to try and stop me, but I feel like a loaded gun. I can't be stopped.

I step off the ledge, and time slows down around me.

I feel hands grabbing my arms and pulling me upwards, and I scream. Why can't I escape this living hell? Why won't everyone let me go?

I know that it's Phil dragging my weight upwards and I squirm in his grasp.

"Let me fucking go!" I howl, tears running down my cheeks. "Let me go!"

Phil grunts as he pulls me over the railing, and he reaches over the bars to pull my legs up, and I kick at him, hard.

Too hard.

Phil loses his balance, and I realise that I must have kicked him in the head. He releases his grip on me and I fall onto the ground, uninjured and alive. I spin around. Phil is not there. Where is —

My thoughts are cut off by an incoherent scream that chills my blood and I peer over the railing to see what it is, though I already know.

Phil Lester, falling down fast and hard into the River Thames, screaming.

I scream too. I scream and scream until my voice disappears and so does Phil as his body smacks against the dirty water and my knuckles turn white as I grip the railing as tightly as I can.

What have I done?