As Bright As The Sun (Phan)

Chapter Six.

( Hello. It's me. So I just have a few things to say. So this chapter may be Triggering, so Trigger Warning. Trigger Warning. Trigger Warning. Abuse, self harm, not eating and becoming unhealthily skinny. I know this is a bit dark for a story, but I am giving you a fair warning. This chapter will be heart wrenching and breaking, and if you can't stomach it, I'm am so sorry. But in this chapter we will be exploring and discovering what has made Dan so cold and distant, that is all. Goodbye everyone. )

( The Past )

All he could do was wince at blow after blow was struck, and he began to grow woozy, a sure sign that he was losing more blood then he should be. Biting his lips he toughened it out till the end and was left there to lick his own wounds and patch up, only for another beating tomorrow, one that could be more rough and more hard. It was a horrible thing for someone to say they'd grown used to this kind of behavior, but for Dan, it was every day kind of thing, so it was practically routine for him.

For the past few years of his life, he'd been abused. He would have told someone by now if he wasn't so afraid that his father would find him and eventually kill him for selling him out, so he kept quiet about it and made excuses for the injuries he turned up with at school. He saw the concern, the worry in the eyes of students and faculty as they watched him walk off, usually with a limp of some sort. 

Limping into his room he closed and locked the door, he knew his father wouldn't come in now, he'd done his daily beating as was off to get drunk and pass out on the couch, leaving Dan to his own devices for a few hours before attempting to sleep. He didn't each much anymore, he saw no point. Most of the food that was left in this house was rotten and disgusting anyways. Just like the man who owned it.  

Pulling his shirt up in front of the mirror he owned, he sighed. He was being starved, and it was showing. His ribs were apparent, jutting out from his body, he felt ugly and disgusting himself, and he put his shirt back down, hiding the body he hated so much from his sight though he knew it was there, it was always there, it would always be there. Tears pooled in his eyes as he fell onto his sorry excuse for a bed, a mattress on the floor with practically a rag as a blanket and a sponge as a pillow.

He hated himself, he hated his life, he hated everything. Thoughts began to whirl in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut. He hated being alone, these thoughts scared him. They were thoughts of death. His death. They wanted him to kill himself. And sometimes he almost gave him, but he'd resorted to a razor, which was the next best thing, though that was funny term to use. Sighing he pulled down his pants, ignoring the way his bones jutted out in the ugliest of way, and brought out a razor he kept hidden in one of the loose floorboards. His dad never looked in his room anyways.

Bringing the razor to his inner thigh he felt it glide against his skin, the sting only lasting for a moment before soothing over, bright red blood dripping out of the wound before he added another. He was just layering them over the couple hundred others that laced his inner thighs. This was the only place he thought of that no one would be able to see and then stop him. He couldn't stop, this was his drug, he was addicted, and it felt so good.

Adding a few more he had at least a dozen new cuts, and it looked so beautiful, but he felt so ugly. The way he was destroying his body was wrong, he knew, but he didn't care. His body was already being destroyed by the man who claimed to be his father, so why not just speed up the process? He added at least one more before hiding the razor blade again, sighing, and laying back. Why was his life shit?

Why was he so alone? Why did no one love him? Why did no one care? Why didn't anyone do anything? Why did no one stop him, stop his father, stop any of this. Why did he just stop breathing?

That was the important question. Would it really make any difference if he was gone or not. True, his father would be out of beating dummy, and his ' friends ' and teachers may wonder were he went, but there was really no reason to stay, was there? He was ready to get the razor out again. One clean flick of the wrist and his throat would be slashed, he'd be gone. No more abuse for him. He'd be dead.

But something stopped him from lifting that floor board, and he sat back up straight. No. He wasn't going to give in, that was give his father some sort of satisfaction. He'd always said he was a nuisance and a pain to keep around and it would be better if he was gone. And if he was actually gone, all he would be doing is pleasing his father. He'd stick to his thighs.

Curling up onto his ' bed ' he sighed and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to go to sleep. He knew that his abuser was just downstairs, drunk and most likely passed out. And so he decided, to give up. Not in the way he wanted, his thoughts wanted, but he'd give everything else up. What was the point of being kind to people if they were just going to stab you in the back? Look away when you need help? What was the point of smiling, getting close to someone. They'd all just leave eventually.

He'd be alone, forever.

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So yeah. This is kind of what Dan's childhood consisted of, we shall go back to present time Dan and Phil shortly, I may do one POV of Phil in child mode, but I don't think so, I'm not good in Phil's POV. But I do hope you liked this, or appreciated it. This is why Dan is so distant, so cold. Why he flinched when Phil hugged him. Why affection is foreign to him. Well, anyways, toodles!