Head Down (phanfiction)

14 * Don't Let The Uber Driver See You Cry

His girlfriend?

I knew Dan was bisexual but that didn't mean he could date two people at once. (That is definitely not what it means, by the way)

When he said it, that it was all his girlfriend's stuff, I was speechless. And after a thousand millennia, when I finally did, the only words I could find were weak and stupid.

"Why?" I had said.

"I'm so sorry Phil." Dan wouldn't look at me.

"Who?" I managed.

He told me it was one of the teacher's assistants in the library. They met when I was still trying to tutor him.

I felt sick.

I still feel sick.

"When?"

"When?" Dan seemed confused. It only made me angrier.

I was really mad now, but I'm kind of actually proud of what I said next, because it made Dan shut up. Very few things did that. "When did you first put your filthy mouth on her's and slosh your tongues together without considering that one of you may have a boyfriend that actually loves you waiting for you to come crawling back home."

"I'm sorry, Phil. I really--"

"Were you ever planning on telling me about this?" I demanded. He didn't deserve to say sorry. This was way bigger than sorry.

He took his time answering, "eventually,"

Every word out of his mouth made me hate him more. More and more and more and more because he just kept talking, apologizing for everything but I knew now that I couldn't trust his word anymore.

Before I close the bedroom door behind me, I ask him one last thing, "Does she even know about me?" I didn't know what answer I was hoping for, but when Dan said told me that he'd never told her about us, I wanted to cry. Just break down right there in front of him. But I only had to hold it in for a few seconds while I stomped past Dan's parents in the living room and ripped open the front door and seeing how hard I could slam it behind me. The hinges didn't break. I wish they had. Maybe that would've made me feel better.

As I was crossing the street, I felt truly grateful that I lived so close to my pig-faced now-ex-boyfriend. Because, although we'll probably see each other in a few awkward instances after this, at least I don't have to feel horrible for crying in an Uber car all the way home.

So there I was, at home, where I should've felt safe but I didn't.

Where I was was far too close to wherever Dan was, probably still in his room. I wondered if he was upset. I wondered if he felt as empty as I did.

No. Of course he didn't. Because he did this. He brought this on himself. Why should he care?

Who even was this girl? This nameless library bitch who stole Dan right out from under me?

Whoever she was, it wasn't even her fault. Dan was the one I should have been (and sure as hell was) mad at. But I guess I wanted to have a common enemy. I didn't want to fight Dan, i wanted to fight with him.

And Hazel would've clobbered me for thinking of a girl I didn't even know as a bitch. She hated that word. But I couldn't help it. That thought was just there. And sometimes you can't control what your mind tells you. Or at least I can't.

Right now, the restricted thoughts that leaked into my brain were horrible little whispers that stung like acid.

This is my own fault, I heard, even though I knew it wasn't true.

I wasn't enough for him, This is his fault, Phil, I tried to tell myself, but my mind was shouting now and if my rationality was a circuit board some idiot had spilled orange juice all over it.

(I wasn't quite sure if said idiot would be me or Dan, but in the moment everything was my fault so I just stacked it on top of the quickly growing pile of things that were probably-not-actually-but-because-I-hate-myself-and-can't-really-think-right-now definitely my fault.)

My tongue tasted sour. I felt sick.

And I hated that I had let myself fall like this because I was perfectly fine before I met Dan.

I had my music and Hazel and I was fine. I was fine being alone before Dan crashed into my life and made me need him.

I didn't want to ever need anyone else; it made me feel so weak.

But he did it.

I needed him now so god damn bad, sometimes it felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't be alone without being lonely anymore.

Every note I played reminded me of him; how he would sit on my piano or on the floor behind me and sing along. He made even music -- something I was sure I had more or less mastered up until then -- he made it better. And now that he was gone, everything I played felt hollow. Sometimes it hurt to play -- not in a miserable poetic way -- it hurt like a beating.

But I refused to let Dan take away the most important thing in my life.

(A/N) a short "filler" chapter but I think it was really important to include
-Melly