For Me, For You, For Us(Completed)

History

Authors note: Hey guys just wanted to thank you for reading this story, sorry my updating is kinda random. I already have the entire story planned out and this is kinda a slow section of chapters but it's for a reason!!! Any ways, thanks for reading and I'll try to get two chapters up this week:).

PEEJ's POV
Dan didn't show up for first period today. I don't even know what to think anymore. I've known Dan my whole life and I know when he is getting to a self-destructive point, but this, this is more dangerous than any of his episodes from the past, I'm not sure what caused the change in him but he's different. His hope is gone.
I pull my jacket closer around myself as I get to the front of the dorms and starting walking up the steps to the front door.
I reach around in my bag for my ID card. My hands freezing up in the outside air.
I finally find my ID card and scan it to get inside the building. I shuffle in, hanging up my coat as I walk over to Dan's room, ready to wake him up from whatever drunken state he is in.
The light is off when I push the door open, it's unlocked, which is weird for Dan, because of his past experiences he doesn't like having the door unlocked or open, it makes it to easy to get inside. I shut the door quietly when I walk in, not wanting to wake him yet as I walk to the bed, I pull the covers back, expecting to see him curled in a ball underneath them, liquor bottle in hand.
But he's not there.
I frown and start to walk around the room. My foot start to slip on the floor and I look down, seeing a puddle that has spread all around the room, coming from the bathroom.
My heart stops and I'm instantly transported back in time...
Dan and I had known each other as long as I can remember, we lived next to each other as kids, went to all the same schools...
Dan was the kid that everyone wanted to be: rich, popular, smart, attractive. I was the only one who got to see that all of those things came with a price.
I was 9 years old the first time I realized that Dan's father verbally and physically abused him.
I was 14 years old the first time I realized that Dan had been sexually abused. 
And I was 16 years old the first time Dan tried to kill himself.
I remember walking into his bathroom, just like I was doing now and finding him collapsed against the ground, blood leaking out of his cut wrists as he slowly bled to death.
I pray to God I'm not too late.

I shove open the bathroom door, almost running into the wall in my frenzy, I freeze, and my heart drops as I see Dan in the tub, surrounded by a sea of lightly pink water, luckily his head is above water so at least he didn't drown, if he's even still alive. For a moment I can't move, I'm frozen as the past wars with the present in my mind. The facet is still on, despite the overflow and all I can hear is the steady stream of water hitting water, taunting me, I know the sound of running water will forever haunt me after this day.

I'm over at Dan's side before I even realize what I'm doing. It's like having an out of body experience. My body knows what to do but my mind can't handle the situation and has left, leaving me with a deathly sort of calm.
I grab his shoulders and lift him out of the tub, water splashing everywhere as I set him on the ground. I set his head in my lap as I turn both of his wrists over looking for cuts, I don't find any significant cuts. But the skin is rubbed raw, almost as if it had been burned, and all the smaller old self-harm cuts on his arms are open and lightly bleeding as well. I tilt his chin up and put my ear next to his nose and mouth to listen for breathing.
At first I don't hear anything and my entire body starts to shake, but the I can very subtly pick up on his shaky intake of breath.
Once I have confirmation that he is still alive it's like all the adrenaline fades out of my body and I collapse on the wet floor. My entire body starts shaking and yet, I still feel numb.

Eventually I regain enough control over myself that I turn off the tub and pick Dan up by his shoulders careful not to touch anywhere else incase it hurts him, as I carry him from the bathroom and lay him on the bed.
I weigh my options. I could call an ambulance but then Dan's father would be informed on what happened and he would make this little episode here look like a walk in the park compared to what he would do to Dan.
I put my head in my hands, I don't know what to do!
I rationalize with myself that I will keep an eye on him and if he looks like he's not getting better or if he gets worse then I will call the police.
Suddenly I realize that my whole body is shivering. The entire room is freezing and we are both sopping wet. I get up and open Dan's dresser, grabbing a pair of sweats and t-shirts for both of us, I quickly shrug off my wet clothes and pull on Dan's dry ones. I then turn to the bed and after a pause start taking his clothes off as well. I make sure to watch his face, to make sure that he doesn't wake up at all during his experience. He doesn't need those memories right now. Eventually I manage to get him out of his dripping clothes and I pick the dry ones up, ready to try to put them on him and hopefully warm him up when I begin to notice the cuts all over his body.
I knew that he was cutting again, not that he ever really stopped, but I had no idea that it had gotten this far.
His chest is covered in burns, cuts, and scars, some of them newer, some years old. The burns continue down onto his thighs, especially his inner thighs, where old scar tissue is covered with new burns and cuts, this is also where the writing starts, words like faggot, disgusting, and worthless, carved over and over into his skin, leaving it indented. This is when the burns start to stop and the serious cutting begins, hundreds of little cuts, layered on top of one another, crisscross down his legs in a gruesome pattern. His arms, which are still bright red for whatever reason and are lightly bleeding everywhere from old scars, are in better shape that anywhere else on his body.
Suddenly my legs give out and my knees hit the floor, hard enough to make me cry out, but I don't make a sound. I can barely breath.
I lean my head against the side of his bed, right next to his arm, where I can see the puckered scar of where he tried to kill himself many years ago. My vision starts to swim and my breathing gets erratic, my calm finally leaving me and the shock settling in. I cross my legs and wrap my hands around my head. Pressing as hard as I can, trying to disappear into myself, the sobbing becomes uncontrollable.