Can i trust you? A phan fiction #wattys2016

Questioning

Dans p.o.v-

Maybe I should visit him. Just to make sure hes ok. Oh, who am I kidding? I loved to stare at those beautiful blue eyes and that raven black hair. But not only did I absoulutly LOVE to stare at Phil, it was also my conscience that was eating me alive that pushed me to want to see Phil. I couldnt bear with my guilty conscience if I didnt. It would just keep nagging at me and telling me how bad of a person I was although I have enough of those thoughts myself excluding the ones I frequently get from my annoying conscience. But then again, Phil probably wouldnt even give me the time of day to talk to me. Heavan knows that he probably hates me with a passion. I honestly dont blame him. Ive been beating him up with my so called, "friends" for the past several years now. If I were in his position, I probably wouldve murdered me. But of course Phil wouldnt do that, hes to nice. And theres also the fact that I knew nothing about this kid, even though I have taken an interest in him. Since I knew nothing about him, I didnt know where he lived. Which was lucky for him because if the other kids knew where he lived, it would not be good for Phil. It would mean that he would have one less place he could be safe at.

I really feel bad for Phil. Hes been nothing but nice to everyone, but as soon as a rumor starts about him being gay (which no one even knows if its true or not) every single person in the damn school turns on him like a pack of wolves. And even with everyone being harsh towards him, hes never rude towards them. I mean, that could always be because hes scared that if hes rude then he could get beat up, which is completely understandable. Even if he still is nice to everyone, his behavior was affected greatly. And whats sad is that I might be the only one whos noticed this. Hes alot quiter, keeping to himself instead of smiling to other people. He never looks up. Its almost as if hes afraid to make eye contact. Like, if he makes eye contact, he'll break down and everything will be revealed to the public eye. And then if hes scared of that happening, he must be hiding something that he doesnt want anyone else to hear... I wonder what it is. I snap out of my thoughts regarding Phils secrets and realize that im still in bed and havent gotten up in order to try and find Phils house. I look at the time. 12am.....Well, its obviously to late to go try and find him. The streets in Manchester arent as safe as you think, and with my luck, id be mugged the second I stepped out of my house. With that being said, I decide on going to sleep, letting my mind wander back on those bright blue eyes.

Phils P.O.V-

I woke up on the bathroom floor, covered in my own dried-up blood. I lifted up my arm, tearing open a few cuts by accident during the process. I yelped in pain. Again, I was relived by the fact that my parent werent home. I put my hands in front of my eyes, studying them. Nothing looked different. Is this what the afterlife is like? Its defenitly not hevan, seeing as though I didnt believe in that propaganda bullshit and also I commited suicide so that means I would be sent to hell anyway. Even if I did believe in that shit. And also not to mention the fact that I was gay. That drove Christians up the wall even though the bible mentions way more how divorce is unholy. But now is not the time for a rant about stupid people ( No offence to the Christians who arent like that) Am I going to stay like this forever? Stuck in the same way I was when I died? All bloody and beaten? My cuts never fading? But am I even dead?

I looked around the room. Everything was the same as how I left it. Then realization struck me. I was still alive. I started crying. I dont want to be alive! Why am I still here!? I never want anything! And when I want one thing in life, its rejected! Why? After my many attempts of suicide, im still here? It should be scientifically impossible that im here! Theres obviously no point in me being here! So why am I still here? Is my point in life just to be tortured? Is it to be a punching bag? What? All I could ask was why and what. I cried even harder. "WHY?" I screamed. My voice echoed throughout the almost empty house. The echo rang back into my ears. I could hear how cracked and strangled my voice was. No wonder I never talked. Not only was I terrified to talk around other people, my voice was so hideous from lack of talking. But I couldnt control what I was saying.

"Why....why?" I said through my strangled sobs. Why me out of all people? Why was I chosen to live this life and then rejected when I wanted to end it? I cried so hard that I wasnt able to stop the tears all night.

*Next Morning*

"School." I thought sadly, dragging myself off the bed. How I got in my bed is a mystery. But I'm not complaining, at least I'm not sleeping on the hard ground in my bathroom. I was still hurting from last night. I was throbbing in pain from both, last nights beating and from my....attempt from last night. My arms were still slightly bleeding, only producing little droplets. Like I said, I shouldnt be alive. My hair was a mess, I was a mess. Its not like I'm going to look like a supermodel, thats impossible. I'll alway just be ugly, emo, faggot Phil. Usually, thoughts like these would send me over the edge, but not today.

I trudged towards my closet and picked out a mediocre outfit. I never wore any of my 'good' outfits because I knew that they would always just end up getting ripped, dirty, or covered in blood. I then proceeded to slip on the clothes and try to straighten my hair with a half-functioning straightener. My raven black hair is singed by the end of this process and smells a bit burnt afterwards like it always does. I straightened the last few strands of my hair and stepped back to look at my appearance in the mirror. I had on a long sleeve shirt and a jumper so I didn't have to worry about anyone seeing my cuts. Thats a check off of the list of things not to worry about in the day. I had bruises on my face and i had a busted lip. But other than that, I looked better than I would most days. I dont know if it was just my imagination or not, but it seemed like I had put more effort into getting ready more than I usually would.

I took one last quick glance out myself before I pulled out my cracked phone to check the time. 7:45!?!?! I was late for being early!!! I grabbed my ripped bookbag and bolted out of the door. Making sure to lock the door this time. I then ran the next to streets into my school. Well actually when I say run, I mean limp. My legs were still injured and if I actually ran or did any physical exercise whatsoever, I would more than likely pass out. Why? You might be asking. Because of reasons.....

Before I entered my huge schools, large gates, I checked to make sure I was the only one entering the premises. I sneakily entered into the building and hastily "ran" to my homeroom. I pushed myself against the wall beside my classroom and looked inside to make sure no one, besides my teacher, was in there. Making sure that the coast was clear, I swiflty entered the first classroom of hell for the day. And the only ray of sunshine being the nice teacher named Mr. Fizzy. I made my way to my seat in the back of the classroom which is where I usually sit due to the fact of no one else wanting to be seated next to me, and me not wanting to sit by any of these twats.

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Authors note- this whole story will not be depressing!! Ok? There will be conflict soon cx ill update soon baby ;)

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