Drunk - A Phanfiction

Not Easy

Dan's P.O.V

I can hear the faint breath of people in the surrounding rooms - acting as a terrifying obstacle I had to pass to get to where I wanted to go. If I were to wake one of these people, they'd call for someone and I'd be in so much shit.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and let my feet softly touch the cold floor. I allow myself to put my hands either side of me, onto the bed - pushing myself up to a point where I was completely standing up.

I was told earlier on in the week that I was schizophrenic, which was pretty difficult to comprehend, but I can feel myself getting better and I can feel myself starting to be able to depict a voice from a thought.

I can ignore the voice now. I can ignore that constant shadow that watches over me, telling me I'm worthless. I know it's not real. I can get away from it...

Most of the time.

Allowing my feet to move softly enough that no one could hear, I make my way to the tall bedroom door, which appears to almost be towering over me in quite a dominating role. Yes, I know it's an object, but everything seems to take control of me in here. I might like the fact that this place has stopped me from listening to the voices, but it's so soul destroying that I need to leave.

Phil visited me last Tuesday, actually. He told me that I'll be getting out on Sunday, which is tomorrow. He told me that we would be together and everything would be okay. He'd look after me, he'd be there for me. Honestly, I needed that right now.

I place my palm around the door handle, twisting it gently in my hand until I hear the door click open. Looking right and left along the corridors as I go, I wander out of my bedroom, careful not to make a sound. Everyone is still asleep, which gives me some sort of comfort, but I still remain to the sound levels of a mouse.

In this place, I have a spot that I enjoy going to a lot. It comforts me - especially at night. It's all I've really got anymore. That's where I'm going now - the spot. It reminds me that there still is a shed of happiness and hope in this place. It reminds me that the world is still there... Waiting for me.

The bars on the windows reflect the sky's crystal so beautifully when I get closer to it. The soft glass on the other side represents the freedom outside, and the ability to see things much more clearly than the way being locked up like a prisoner does. That's what the bars show - fear... Isolation.

I sit on the window sill, my head against the wall and my knees arching up to fit in my feet. Glancing up to the sky, I remind myself that this hell won't last forever. I'll be back with the black-haired man that I love. Phil.

A/N Sorry for the lack of updating lately, guys. I've had a bit of writer's block. But I'm going to try and update more and more!