Phanfiction - Changes

Part 7 - Dan

(Dan's POV)

I sit. Sit on the couch all day. No videos. No nothing. Not giving a crap about my commitments. Is this depression? I don't know. I do know, however, that this isn't how I want my life to be. It's been three months since the crash, and he still hasn't returned. I don't give a damn about how dependent I am upon him. I can't even say his name. It hurts...too much. No...don't cry! I cry enough as it is. I'm such a baby. This isn't what he would want me to do all day, yet I do it. I suck. No wonder he left. Hey, I said don't cry! Keep it together. I can't be a mess like this. But then what's the point? Oh my god Dan, I swear, if I hear myself so much as sob for another second...

With my foot, I knocked my wine glass that had been emptied the night before onto the floor, shattering into pieces. I looked at it for a millisecond before raising my bare foot a centimeter above the shards, contemplating on whether I should push against the shards or not. I couldn't cry anymore, and besides, it didn't matter, my leg was already messed up from the crash, it wasn't like I was using it for anything important at that very moment. I shut my eyes, about to slam my foot onto the sharp floor when I thought about him. He needed me to heal quickly, that's what he would have liked to see the next time he saw me, and stepping on shards of glass would not help my state. I got up from the couch, careful not to step on the broken wine glass, getting a napkin and cleaning up the mess that I had made. Once I threw away the glass, I made my way into his room. I stood right against his mirror, looking at my reflection. To be honest, I don't know what I stared at my reflection for, but it wasn't helping my situation. Staring at all my features only reminded me of the time when he told me everything he loved about me. And right now, that was everything I hated about myself. My dull brown eyes. My stupid hobbit hair. My flawed skin. I look like a fucking girl. It didn't help that I hadn't taken a shower for three days. I turned around and fell onto his bed. His pillow still smelled of his hair. It was as if he had died, yet instead of grief, I was feeling sorrow. Sorrow for being so sensitive. If I wasn't so thin-skinned, here he would be--no, here we would be, together, a happy couple living in peace with our audience in favor of our love. It's no use that all this time I tried to hide behind a mask of sarcasm and indifference. He could always see right through me. He knows me so well. That's why I love him so much. He's just...so caring, so full of love. He is so full of innocence and confidence, two things that I lack. He is twice the person I am. Those big blue eyes will never look at me like my brown ones look at him. And he will never love me like I love him.

I don't want to admit it, but...I don't know what to do. Like, I'm not suicidal or anything, but it's just that I've been with him for so long I have no idea what life is supposed to be like alone. Will he ever come back? And if he does, will he ever return my feelings for him? You know what that doesn't matter. If he returns, that would be enough for me. He has always been a good friend to me, and his friendship would fill a large part of the hole that is inside of me right now. But...Phil's not here. And he might not ever come back. So what is it that's keeping me sane?