TOO GOOD ; Phan

n i n e t y s i x

I look through my bag, seeing if I have any homework, which, fortunately, I don't. My eye catches on something else in the bag, something I know I should ignore, but I can't. The blade is still there, and I should throw it out, but I can't. I'm getting better. Doing that would be stupid. If I did, I'd be betraying Phil, and I can't do it.

I close my bag and get up, about to walk away.

Fuck it. 

I turn around, opening up my bag and pulling the blade out, putting it in the pocket of my jeans. Phil is still in the living room.

"Hey, Phil!" I shout. I could tell him. I could ask him to help, but I just can't.

"Yeah?!"

"I'm gonna take a shower!"

"Okay!"

I get up, walking into the bathroom and running the shower. I rid myself of my clothes, getting in and holding the blade. I let it impact the skin of my chest, blood running down, slowly diluted by the warm water, a bloody mess at the bottom of the shower. I do it again, enjoying teh sight of my blood leaving my body and going down the drain. One of the times, my breath hitches, and clearly Phil heard.

"Dan? You okay?"

"Ye-Ah." I say, my voice catching in my throat.

"You sure?"

I sniffle; tears on my cheeks now, mixing with the water.

"I'm fine."

"Dan, seriously." He says, and he twists the doorknob. I forgot to lock the door. 

I do my best to hide my chest and what I've done, but there's blood on my hands.

"Oh my god, Dan! He says, grabbing my arms, forcing me to drop the blade. 

He drags me out of the shower, handing me a towel, no words said. I wrap it around my waist and also covering my stomach, and he starts to run the sink, washing the blood off of my hand. He opens a cabinet above the sink, pulling out what looks like bandages, and gently wrapping it around my chest where the cuts are.

He takes my hand in his, leading me out of the bathroom and into the living room, and I sit on the sofa, burying my face in the palms of my hands. What the fuck have I done? He's mad at me, I know it. I betrayed him. He sits beside me, placing a hand on my back, and I cry onto his shoulder.

"I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry, I-"

"Sh, Dan, sh. I'm not mad, I'm sorry that you didn't think you could talk to me."

"No, n-no, I do, but I just- I don't know. I saw the blade, and I- I couldn't help myself."

"I need you to give me all of the blades."

"That was th-the only one, the rest are in my flat."

"Okay, Dan, please tell me the truth. Don't lie to me, I care about you, a lot."

"I'm telling the truth, I promise," I tell him; because I am telling the truth. "Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not, it's not your fault. It's just- I don't know. I thought you were getting better."

"I am, I am!"

"Dan, the tattoo I got; it was for you. It was because I care about you, because I love you, more than I'll ever love anyone. I know you know that, but maybe you don't know quite how much you mean to me."

"But-"

"If you want to cut yourself, you have to take my arm, look me in the eye, and cut me as many times as you'd do it to yourself."

"But I couldn't do that to you."

And then I understand. It hurts him, too.