Depressed | Phan {EDITING}

twenty øne

DAN

I've tried to tell Phil what really happened in that alley too many times now.

I just can't seem to do it. Everytime, I come up with some idiotic excuse so I don't have to say anything.

"You alright?" Phil looks down at me, smiling, "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks..."

"You sure?"

"Wait." I say. As bad as it sounds, I really need to get him away for a few minutes; I want to be alone. "Could I, um, have some coffee?"

"We've run out... You know that."

I did know that, but I was hoping he could leave the house for a bit to get some.

"You know what, I'll go out and buy some more! You don't mind being on your own for a couple of minutes, do you?"

"No," I reply, "it's fine."

"I won't be long!" he says, running down the stairs and, consequently, out of the door.

As soon as I hear the front door close, I run over to my rucksack that I had yesterday.

I see a glint of silver at the bottom and quickly grab it.

I walk into Phil's bathroom and over to the mirror, placing the blade onto the back of the sink.

I stand and stare at my reflection.

He was right. I am disgusting.

I take of my shirt and my chest is covered in scars and bruises. My father would've said there weren't enough. I should do what he would've wanted. I don't want to be a disappointment anymore.

Grabbing the knife, I start to carve "FAT" into my stomach. I can feel the tears running down my face while I do it. It hurts but the feeling of release is so much stronger.

Once I've finished, I look back at the mirror and see the bleeding lines running down my stomach. My father would be proud of me.

Suddenly, I remember where I am and that Phil will be coming back any second. Once I've cleaned the blade and dried it, I put it into my pocket.

I look into the mirror one last time, before dabbing away the worst of the bleeding with some water.

Afraid that it might bleed through, I find a medicine cupboard and take the bandages, making a mental note to restock them.

I wrap them around my stomach and then pull my shirt back over my head, as I hear Phil opening the door downstairs.

"I'm back!" he says.

I go down the stairs to see him in the kitchen, making coffee.

He looks up at me and smiles, before looking back to what he's doing.

"Thank you for going out and getting it," I say, "You didn't have to."

"Anything for you," he smiles, kissing my forehead.

I manage to force a smile, which looks like he bought.

He returns back to his coffee making and, once he has finished, pours it into a mug.

"Here you are." He passes me the mug and motions for me to go and sit on the sofa.

"I fell over while I was out, so I'm just going to go and bandage up my ankle. That alright?" he asks.

I nod, nervously, before looking back down at the milky brown coffee.

A few minutes later, he comes down the stairs with a confused look on his face. "Dan..." he starts, "Do you have any idea where the bandages are?"

I bring my head up to look at him but I stay silent.

"Dan?" he asks, slowly, looking concerned.

I still don't say anything, as I take a small sip of coffee.

"Dan," he says, raising his voice a little, "How bad exactly is your depression?"

"I-I uh-" I choke out, trying to keep everything in.

"Dan. Do you cut?" he asks. Except, when I look up at him, his face isn't angry and disgusted like I thought it would be. He looks sad and genuinely worried and I start to feel bad.

I open my mouth, to explain, but as soon ask do, I hear a knock at the door.

"Philip!" a woman's voice calls, from outside, "I'm back!"