bruised knuckles - a phanfic

chapter nine

Trigger warning: Self harm, suicidal thoughts

Phil sat in his room, drowning his head in his hands. Why did he do this to me? Why did it have to be Maddie? Why did he yell at me? Why? Why? Why? Was I not good enough? . . . He yelled at her. Was he trying to push her away? He's never showed interest in her before. No, no, no! He's bad, he can't be trusted, don't trust him. No more chances.

No more chances for Dan Howell. He's like a disease, an illness. He's bad, bad, bad. Don't trust Dan Howell. Don't give him any chances.

Thoughts were swirling around Phil's head like water down a drain. He couldn't stop thinking about Dan, he couldn't stop thinking about what he did, he couldn't stop replaying the scene in his mind. Again and again and again. He watches it over and over behind his eyelids, like a repeating ad on the television. Dan Howell had played him once again.

Broken his heart. No, ripped it out and stomped on it. Crushed it. Now it's covered in dirt and gravel like, like a stepped on wad of chewing gum.

Phil leans back against his wall, eyes moving to the drawer of his bedside table. He hadn't touched the contents in so long. So so long. He couldn't possibly do it. No. Not now.

He found himself shifting forward though, reaching out to the drawer. Slowly, as if it might bite him, he pulls it open, revealing the contents inside. His fingertips brushes against a razor blade ever so carefully before he picks it up, shaking.

The blade sliced through his skin. He watched the blood well up like tears the tears that were now staining his cheeks. The stinging felt good. He placed the razor back in it's spot after he felt he had added enough cuts to his collection. Cuts that would become scars. Scars that scattered his skin, reminding him of the pain. Each having a story of why he inflicted it on himself, why it was left there.

He sighed, his worries and pain dribbling out like water spilling over a full glass. There was a knock at the door, Phil panicked for a moment. Quickly, he stood before slipping on a dark jumper to hide the blood. Carefully he slinked toward the door, reaching for the silver knob. It's cold on his hand, he turned it carefully and pulled the door open. He took a step back as he did so, looking up to see who was knocking.

Dan Howell.

Phil looked away from him, he can feel the blood trickling down his arm. He hoped that it doesn't reach the end of the sleeve. They stand there in stiff silence for many moments before someone breaks it.

"Phil, I'm sorry." Dan's voice is quiet and soft, like he's trying not to disturb Phil. Like he's trying to make sure that he doesn't look himself and go off like a rabid beast.

"Are you?" Phil replied, looking up at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the floor.

"Yes." Dan took in a deep breath, running his tongue over his bottom lip due to nervousness. "Just let me explain. Talk to me."

"No." Phil simply said back, praying in his head that this conversation doesn't last much longer. The blood is drawing close to the end of his jumper sleeve. He can't touch his arm, it will sting. Dan might know. He moves his arm behind the door just as the blood drips out, landing on the floor with a faint splatter.

It's still quiet, Phil shifts his gaze upwards. They meet eyes. Phil searches Dan's for some sort of sincerity. It's there, he can see it, yet he doesn't believe it. It can't be true, not with Dan Howell. It can never be true.

NOTE: I try to avoid writing these sorts of chapters but it was kind of a filler. I didn't know what else to write.

Word Count: 646 words