Requiem For A Dream // Phan

2; Maybe I could try and get over it.

**TW**

Quote of the day: Forget what hurt you, but never forget what it taught you.

Question Of the day: What's your favorite color and why?

Dan's P.O.V.)

        I refused to talk, I wouldn't eat, I couldn't ever sleep, I couldn't even smile. It's been 3 weeks since he left me . . . He didn't come back to get the rest of his stuff either. Sometimes, I would go into his room and attempt to sleep in his bed. Just to get some comfort y'know . . . the pillows smelt like him and the room had his aura all around it. But not even a full minute later, I'm practically sobbing into his pillows.

After a few days, it had finally settled in my head that he wasn't coming back. At first, I was numb to it, going about my everyday life or at least attempting to. But I still felt a bit empty that there wasn't another person in the apartment. I knew I had to go back to work at some point but after all, it is Christmas in a few days so they let all of the employees get some days off of their choice, So I'm gonna be alone... This holiday. It made my eyes drop to the floor and my heart clench. Six years, we've been together for six years and he just now got tired of me. Was he fed up with the constant whining of my problems? I don't get it, but yet all that consumes me is the fact that this was my fault. All of it whatsoever, no one could convince me otherwise.

So I contemplated my options, I haven't used anything to harm myself in so long, I used to aid my urges with Phil, and he would help me get through the day and now that he wasn't here, I couldn't handle it myself. It made me angry when I realized it, because I wasn't supposed to be so dependant on someone so unhealthily but, he told me . . . he told me that he wouldn't ever leave me. The razors were still in the place that I had left them. At the moment, I was in the bathtub, soaking in the water, fully clothed. My thoughts eating me alive.

I wasn't one to cope right with things, I couldn't call or talk to anyone because in the back of my mind there's always this thought that everyone just pitied me. But I wanted someone to hold me, to just sit there with me and reassure me that everything would be okay, like my mother. She would be best to talk to at the moment but, she's gone. Not dead, but she can't hold me if she's in another country. She lived in the States, and I didn't have the money or time to go to Minnesota for her, scratch that, I had all the time in the world. Just the money was a worry. I mean I had enough to get by, I just --

Maybe I seem like I'm exaggerating it but I swear to all of the things holy that I'm in complete and utter pain and god I just want it to go away, I just want to be better and get over him but I can't. I mentally cannot get over him, and it makes sure to let me know every second of every - fucking - day.

By the time I was satisfied with how many slices I made on my arm, the water was a dark crimson and I couldn't stop staring at it. I felt myself slowly dip in, letting my head go under, not bothering to close my eyes. I could still feel my wrists pouring into the red water heavily, but it was easily ignored.

My ears were muffled by the warm water, I finally let my eyes close and urged myself to hear silence. It was serene almost, too nice, I felt as if I didn't deserve it. But then my lungs became warm, a familiar feeling, it was almost comforting. A new feeling came then, my throat tightened as if I wanted to scream and was holding it back as if someone's hands were wrapped around it and squeezing. I opened my mouth, letting the water fill up my lungs, and then it burned, it was like a knife slicing up my chest and my body ached for air, my brain screaming at me to get up but I hadn't lifted myself up until it was too much to bear. As I coughed out my organs, I felt my vision come back to me slowly, and I breathed in the toxic air and cried. I cried and I cried until my head had started to hurt, I put my head on my knees after I lifted them to my chest.

I kicked the plug and heard the bubbling of the drain, I got up slowly, and started to peel off the wet clothing, as I did so, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, I shivered at the sight of my arms but focused on how dead my face looked before shaking my head and getting out, I reluctantly put on boxers and slipped on a big green sweater, which I soon recognized to be Phil's old one. I didn't even let it bother me like it usually did, I used up all my pathetic sadness and regret already, there was none left. But what did bother me was the aching of my wrist up against the soft fabric of the sleeves.

So I went back into the bathroom, avoiding glancing up at my hideous reflection once more and grabbed the first aid kit, getting the bandages out and wrapping it around both of my arms, Only then did I realized how much damage I really did. I needed stitches for sure, but I wasn't going to bother the hospital with my stupid fucking problems so, I just wrapped it.

A shrill of a phone was what startled me out of my self-loathing trance because no one had decided to contact me in weeks. I stumbled with it in my hands making myself tremble with annoyance.

"Hello?" My voice was fragile, it really bothered me.

"Hey, Dani boy!"

"Oh hey, breadbin . . . What's up?" I actually let myself be bit happy, and I embraced it. I didn't want it to go, but already, I felt it fade a bit.

"Nothing much. So the reason I called you was to ask if you wanted to hang out. I know you've been all moody and shit, and I figured I could help you. You know? So uh, what do you say?" I backtracked, I really didn't want to go anywhere.

"Uhm . . . maybe some other--"

"Please." I heard him say,

I sighed, annoyingly. "Why the hell not? When do you--"

"Three o'clock tomorrow sound good?"

"Yeah sure. See you then." I hung up and bounced onto my bed with a sigh, the happy feeling erasing completely.

I need to get my shit together . . .