Open Eyes (Phan)

Six

Dan

I woke up the next morning in absolute agony. I had to bite back a scream when pain flashed through my stomach. My head was pounding against my skull.

I groaned when I sat up. I wasn't sure how I was going to get through school today. I even debated skipping again.

But I couldn't do that. Or at least, I couldn't stay home.

My step father had given me one hell of a beating the previous night. And combined with the one Mike had given me yesterday, it was a miracle I was even moving.

I wasn't sure why I wasn't used to it by now. This was my every day life.

I dragged myself out of bed and slowly got dressed. My attire was the same every day. Black converse. Black skinny jeans. Black T-shirt. Black hoodie. It never changed.

I grabbed my bag and eased it onto my shoulders, then made my way to school.

I prayed that I wouldn't run into Mike or any of his friends today. I didn't think I could physically handle another beating.

And of course, my prayers went unheard and unanswered. The bell rang three hours later, signaling the end of the second class, and the start of lunch.

I went to the place where I usually spent my lunch. In the bathroom.

I didn't have any food with me. I didn't eat very often. Anorexia had been destroying my digestive system for years. So I just sat on the counter and played around on my phone.

I actually thought I was going to make it through all of lunch without anything happening.

Oh, how wrong I was.

The door to the bathroom swung open, hitting the wall behind it with an echoing bang. I jumped, my phone falling to the floor. I didn't even have time to worry about whether or not it was cracked before I was picked up by the collar of my shirt.

"There's my favorite fag!" Sneered a voice. Hot breath slapped me.

"M-Mike please leave me al-lone." I stuttered. My heart was racing. Terror coursed through my veins. I could hardly breath.

"Not today, worthless freak."

I was flipped around, and my head was shoved into the mirror. Pain flared in my head. My vision went blurry. And by the time it cleared, my back was pressed against the metal door of one of the stalls.

"P-please," I whimpered. I got a punch in the face in response.

"Good Lord. Why haven't you killed yourself yet? Every one would like you better if you were dead."

He let go of my shirt and I fell to the floor. He walked out, snickering.

And I was left alone with the voices in my head laughing in unison.

The end of the day came all to slowly. I spent the rest of it curled on the floor in the bathroom, to scared to move. When I finally did, my head was throbbing.

But I managed to get the blood and my head cleaned up by the time the bell rang for the end of school.

I walked home. The wind blew my fringe around, ruining the time I'd spent straightening it this morning. What a waste.

Yes you are.

I didn't have the energy to tell the voice to shut up. I didn't have the energy for a lot of things anymore.

I debated going to the bookstore. And I would have gone in. Except when I walked past, it wasn't Phil at the front counter. I think it was the manager.

Usually I wouldn't care. I'd go in and sit in my corner for two hours just like I always did. So why did I turn and continue walking down the street.

Why did I suddenly only want to go in when Phil was there?

I walked up the street, towards home. I didn't think my step dad would be home, but I didn't really care at the moment. I just wanted to collapse in my bed.

And that's exactly what I did. My step father was out somewhere, as I'd suspected. So I had the still, silent house all to myself. So for two hours I lay in my bed, thinking of nothing for once in my life. I simply stared at the ceiling.

My head was filled with nothing. I'm not even sure I had a brain at this point. Even the voices in my head were quiet.

I should have known it wouldn't last.

I should have known I couldn't be happy, or emotionless, for very long.

I was suspended in empty air, and only the sound of the front door opening could shove me roughly back to the ground.

With just that one sound, the voices were once again screaming at me. Irrational thoughts filled my head.

I stayed where I was. Rigid and tense with fear. My heart was pounding against my chest, threatening to explode. I tried to keep my heavy breathing quiet.

He's coming for you
He knows about you
You deserve what's coming, faggot

"Daniel!" My step father boomed from somewhere downstairs. "Get your rutting ass down here!"

I scrambled off my bed and rushed down the stairs as quickly as I could. My step father was not a patient man.

I found him in the living room, already opening a beer.

As soon as he saw me his blank expression morphed into a scowl.
He drained the beer in three gulps.

Then he brought the now empty glass down on my head.

I saw stars.

I don't remember falling. But suddenly I was on the floor. Every noise was muffled. My step father screamed something at me, but I couldn't make out his words.

He slammed his foot into my gut. I groaned loudly in pain.

This went on for a while. I have no clue how long. Any sense of time that I had was torn away from me when my head was slammed into a wall.

But my step father finally let up. He trudged away, another beer in hand. Leaving me on the floor, covered in blood.

I attempted to get up. It took me another long while to stand and make my way up the stairs. Every movement I made caused my head to swim with pain and dizziness. I couldn't see straight. I tripped going up the stairs.

But I managed to stumble into my room and sit on my bed, whimpering at the pain that followed. I grabbed my phone to check the time. How long had I been on the ground?

But when I opened my phone, I never did check the time.

I had received a message.

I had no friends, no loving family. Who the hell would text me?

But I felt heat rising to my face when I read the message.

Unknown number: hey!! It's Phil from the bookstore!