You're Driving Me Crazy - Phan

Chapter 2

Dan's POV
Phil was talking. What he was saying, I didn't know. But I could hear his voice. I could hear a lot of voices, each beacons me to follow them, to listen to them, to leave with them. Everyone was talking at the same time but yet only one person was talking. Constantly talking. My head was buzzing as if I'd drunk a whole brewery dry the night before. Nothing focused until something touched my shoulder.
"Your coffee's going cold." No more words were exchanged. The room was no longer drowning in voices. Just silence which, strangely, seemed much more intimidating. Normally questions would be asked, hugs would be ensured. Not this time evidently.
"I can't drink it Phil." He didn't even question why, he just nodded at me, so I continued. "Phil stop drinking the coffee."
His expression then changed. He was confused.
"Why? Dan look at me, Dan?" I wasn't aware I was not looking at Phil. He'll think you're crazy Dan. Don't tell him. Let him drink the coffee Dan. Let him die.
"No, no I can't." Phil put down the coffee. He moved from his chair to kneel in front of mine.
"Dan it's too late at night for this. I like to think I'm a patient person, but you really do push it sometimes." Phil muttered, staring straight through my eyes.
"W-what? But y-you, and-d-"
"Stop talking Dan, I don't care what you have to say." So much for Phil loving me.
"Why?" Was all I could get out, my mouth seemed sewn shut with material much stronger then cotton.
"'Why' what Dan?" My eyes focused once again. Phil hadn't been talking before. "Dan you keep zoning out, you're sort of scaring me."
"Phil I'm scared." Short and sweet, maybe not sweet, but straight to the point. White noise filled the room, indicating that someone needed to continue the conversation.
"Dan I'm tired, how about we just go to bed?" Phil looked rather miserable, something I wasn't used to. Something I hadn't seen in years.

Phil's POV

Dan kept staring off into the distance, ignoring my every word. He didn't mean too, it wasn't his fault. But that didn't make it easier. I loved Dan, sure, but it seemed like some days I was solely his carer not his boyfriend.
"Up you get." I held out my hands towards him, hopping he'd just go along with it. "Dan please just stand up." He smiled at me slightly so I took it as my cue to drag him to his feet. We walked hand in hand to our bedroom like any other couple would do in a healthy relationship. I was tired, very tired, but somehow I knew I wasn't going to be sleeping much. Everything is the same on these days. It's like I live on a never ending cycle of misery. I'm a broken record constantly playing the same twenty four beats until a passerby nudges the record forward. Everything seems to be getting better, good lyrics, catchy tunes, until it reaches those twenty four beats.

"Phil will you close the door?"
"Give me a sec'."

I left the room and shut the door behind me. I felt like doing something I hadn't done in a while. I entered the bathroom and pulled off my jumper. Lined scars made their way up my wrists slowly but surely. They were barely visible now, but sometimes, I found comfort in simply staring at them. As if they'd make everything bad go away. That never quite worked, but it was nice to think it did. I hadn't taken medication for a few months, feeling fully healed and happy. Maybe I was wrong.

The sharp silver dug into my wrists. I couldn't make it sound magical. I slumped against the bathroom door with a razor blade in one hand and the remains of the throw away razor in the other. It's quite hard to take apart a razor, until you've done it enough times to know exactly what thin sheets of plastic you need to stick the pencil lead under. A technique I had mastered many years ago and apparently, still had memorised. Pointless lines of blood seemed wrong, so I carved something in, much more meaningful then a line. Something that had stuck with me ever since I was told it.

I looked up from my own little world of sweet blood and sour memories. Then I saw something I saw every other day as well. I haven't seen it in this light for many years, but today seemed to be the day that every memory resurfaced, begging to be acted on.

   Been a while hasn't it?
Do it Phil
Why not?
Guess what Phil?
You're still
fat

My fingers made their way down my throats like they had so many other times that I had permanent scars on those  two fingers. I am fat. I am useless. I am worthless.

I leant on my hands as I bent over the toilet.
I felt like a teenager again. I felt like I did when I was at home. Well now, this was my home. So I guess some things don't change.

I look down at my wrists to see 27 carved deeply, still bleeding.

I guess some things never leave you.