Scarred

5. Scars

Phil
The fact that there only was one bedroom with one double bed in my apartment, didn't seem to bother us.

I woke up with my arms wrapped around Dan, just like I had in his first night in the hospital. I let out a sigh, happy to have him here in my arms.

Dan slowly opened his eyes, looking sleepily at me. "Hey," he said, and smiled.

"Hey," I replied. "Did I wake you?"

"I don't mind being woken by you." He looked at me and bit his lip, asking for a kiss.

"Are you hinting at something?" I asked, amused.

"Obviously not," Dan answered before he leant forward and kissed me.

 

After spending an eternity in bed that seemed to pass too quickly, I said: "I think we should have some breakfast or something." Just as I wanted to get out of bed, Dan grabbed my wrist. "Please," he said, "Just a little longer."

I took his wrist, and looked at his arm. I felt stupid for not having seen this before.

His arm was covered in scars. He had been hurting himself, something he shouldn't be doing. His beautiful body shouldn't be damaged.

Dan noticed me staring and looked uncomfortable. "I haven't cut myself for a few weeks now," he said, while he sat up straight. "Not since my attempt of suicide."

I sat back down on my bed. "Why, Dan?" I asked gently.

He looked down, and said: "You don't understand Phil."

"Then make me understand."

"You wouldn't understand. Something like this would never happen to you. You're too..."

I finished his sentence; "...too happy?"

He finally looked up at me and I showed him the inside of my left arm, and then my right arm. Covered in scars, just like his. "I wouldn't understand, right?" I said. Dan looked at me in shock. "Phil, I'm so sorry," he said.

"Don't be." I stood up and asked something completely irrelevant. "What do you want for breakfast?"

I didn't want to talk about my depression, but I knew Dan wouldn't just let this rest. He followed me into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar, which had actually never been used.

"What do you mean?" he asked and I leant against the cupboard in the kitchen.

"You know me as someone with a bright personality, but I wasn't always like that," I started. "I was bullied in high school. I was kind of a loner and therefore an easy target, I suppose. The worst thing is that I actually believed the bullies. I didn't deserve to live. I cut myself to forget the pain in my mind and smoked weed to feel a little happy."

Dan interrupted me. "Weed? You smoked weed?" I saw in his eyes he was imagining it and he laughed softly. I had to laugh too.

"My brother found out when I tried to kill myself," I continued. "I had almost taken all of his pills when he brought me to the hospital. I had almost died of an overdose of my brother's medication.

I started to feel better when my brother showed me how beautiful life could be."

"What about those bullies?" Dan asked.

I sighed. "One day I realized that every day they broke me down, piece by piece, I was letting them win. And they didn't deserve that victory."