secret soulmates // phan

ten.

Dan
So.. I have social media now.
I hope Joel and his friends won't find me. If they do, I could just block them, but I don't want to get into more trouble.

I click on the Twitter icon. Who could I follow?
Maybe I can follow MUSE, one of my favourite bands. I type in MUSE and find them straight away. This is quite cool actually!
I search for some more bands and artists I like. I do the same with Instagram. Now I can actually see what they get up to, and maybe interact with them.

When I'm done following them, I decide to go to YouTube. What do you watch on here? Are there like people who make videos?
I decide to just type in MUSE again.
I find some music videos and interviews. I click on one and before I know it, I've been watching videos for an hour. I also saw some girl talking about how much she loves them. I found that a bit too much. I mean, I'm not that big of a fanboy.

"Daniel! Dinner's ready!" my mom calls from downstairs.
I put my phone next to me on my bedside table and slowly start walking downstairs. I don't want food. I'm fat enough.
When we're on the dinner table I still pretend to eat, though. I don't want to disappoint my mom.

"So, how was your day?" she asks.
I gulp. "Fine." I try to smile, but fail. It doesn't look real, I feel it. I avoid her gaze and poke my food with my fork, shuffling it around, trying to make it look like I ate more.
She probably realizes I'm not fine. I'm sure she can see that my face is thin, my eyes are dark. She sees I don't eat, that I'm not fine. Luckily, she doesn't ask. And that's what I love about her. She doesn't force me to eat, to actually tell her how I feel.
I'm bad at opening up to people. I hate talking about myself.
"Can I go take a shower?" I ask my mom. She quickly glares at my plate, which is still full. "Yeah."
I stand up, taking my plate to the rubbish bin in the kitchen and scraping the leftover food in there. I put the plate in the sink.
When I walk back to the living room to go upstairs, my mom suddenly calls my name.
"Daniel?"
I turn around.
"Yeah?"
We make eye contact.
"I love you, okay? A lot. Please don't ever forget that."
I smile.
"I won't, mom. I love you too."
And with that, I turn around to go upstairs and take a shower.

Now, a lot of people hate showering, but I actually don't mind.
It feels like my problems wash away. Only to come back afterwards, but still. It's quite relaxing.
I lock the bathroom door and pull my oversized, black sweater over my head, revealing all my scars. I look into the mirror and sigh.
I'm so disgusting.
I take off my jeans and underwear too, before turning on the shower and stepping into it. I like my shower a little too hot.
I take my razor blade and make a cut on my wrist. There's something satisfying about cutting yourself in the shower and the blood washing away straight afterwards.
I make another cut. For no apparent reason, really. Just life in general.
The cuts sting as the water pours over them. The pain distracts me from my problems.
I quietly hum to myself. I don't mind the pain. I'd rather have physical pain than emotional pain.
I wash my hair, still quietly humming. I really like singing, actually. I never sing or hum too loudly, scared that someone might hear.
Once I'm done in the shower, I use a cotton pad on my wrist, so it's not obvious when my mom washes the towels. I put on a new sweater, still black and oversized, and some pajama bottoms. I hide my wrists in my sleeves and walk back to my room.