The Diary (Phan)

Chapter Three

That wasn't much of a cliffhanger, was it?

I tried.

PHIL'S POV

I looked the boy in the eye, then watched him as he set the journal beside the sink.

"Are you alright?" He asked. Of course I wasn't, I mean, I did just spend twenty minutes cutting into my skin just now, but I couldn't exactly tell him that.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I lied.

"Can I—is there any way I can help you?" He walked to the paper towel dispenser and grabbed some. I watched him soak the rough paper-like stuff under the water and wring it out a little. "Do you have bandages?" He asked and I shook my head, why would I wrap something I did to myself?

"Nope, just my hoodie." I said simply, then grabbed it. "I have to get to class." I slid the oversized hoodie over my head and made sure everything was down when I was about to walk out.

"Wait, what's your name?" He asked. I sighed and let it out, because, why not?

"Phil." I sighed and walked out the door. I rolled my eyes and sighed, one more person who knew about my habit.

But then I remebered seeing something so familiar.

A journal.

My journal.

"Shit."

DAN'S POV

What was his problem? I wondered and walked out a few seconds later. I wondered why he cut. I wondered if he had any of the same problems as my anonymous.

What if he was my anonymous. I shivered, he couldn't have been, right? Coincidences happen, right? But that wasn't coincidence, it couldn't have been, that's not possible. I let it go and went back to class. I didn't feel like reading anymore of it right then, but I had to, I had to know if he was okay, and if he'd had anymore plans, maybe he'd have put a date and place that he would be doing it. I wanted so badly to help him, but I knew I couldn't, and I was worthless when it came to stuff like this.

I went back to the classroom. I was a little awkward moving through the desks with my stupid lack of balance and the fact that I was on the whole other side of the room in the back corner, but once I got there I sat right down and opened the journal. I looked around, and noticed the girl who sits in front of me looking at the journal.

"Whose is that."

"Mine." I lied, if there was one thing I could do well is keep a promise, and I made one with my anonymous, I would never say anything about this.

"A diary?" She asked, her name was Carrie, and Jesus, this girl was so nosy. She was hardly my friend, what did she care.

"No, not a diary." I said. "A story."

"Ooh, can I read it?"

"No." She finally turned around. I sighed and began to read.

I bet you're bored with this.

I mean, yeah, a boy who decides that he wants to put all of his thoughts into a notebook and leave it for someone to read.

You're lucky, you know.

This could have gone to anyone.

Well, I guess that this wouldn't be luck then, because who wants to sit and read something that a dying boy is writing. And don't get me wrong, I haven't done anything, yet. I'm not physically dying at the moment, but I'm currently dying in the inside. That sounds like song lyrics. I'll call Oli Sykes and tell him that we've gotten his new single.