The Diary (Phan)

Chapter Twelve

I know that I said that there wouldn't be a different ending, but I changed my mind.

Grab tissues.

DAN'S POV

I guess when you have someone so close to you that killed themselves you want to be with them. Never once had I even dared to think of suicide. Why would I? My situation was nearly perfect compared to Phil's. I didn't even find another person, because I deserved the loneliness. I couldn't save him. He deserved so much more than me. All I gave him was more of a reason to worry. I should have noticedthe way that he stared at the journal that he was my anonymous. I was so stupid.

It's been haunting me since I read the note. Why couldn't he have waited until that Friday two years ago?

Sometimes I feel like I can feel him, pathetic, right? I mean, we met not even a week before he did it. I should have stopped him. And now I was curled up in a ball on the floor, pulling my hair out at the thought of the words I read. I put the song on my phone to torture me, both of them. I put them on repeat and imagine the pain I felt when I walked in on him, his arms bloody and the note sat just far enough not to get any of the blood on it. Both of the songs were so lovely, but I felt hollow. How could I have let it happen?

"Why the fuck am I so stupid?" I screamed at myself and kicked the wall. I lived in a flat now, and I was pretty sure that my neighbours were used to the banging sounds of things flying around my room. Why was I so attatched to him? Why couldn't I just forget about him? PJ had been asking me to come out a lot lately, but I always found an excuse.

I'm pathetic, that's what it is when you can't let something go. Or someone. He's been gone for two years now, and I'd hardly ate anything, and the guilt wouldn't let me keep it down if I had. I was unhealthily thin, and it was quickly getting worse.

I hope I die. Go to hell, too, it's what I deserve. If I hadn't wasted my time getting there, then he may have lived. I hated his mother for not going to check on her son. But what did she care, because as far as I knew, it was nothing to her. She showed up at the hospital and didn't say a word. His father was at work, and wouldn't take the rest of the day off.

Bulls In the Bronx started, and I fell to the floor once again, screaming at myself, I'd felt like cutting before today, but today was the first time I'd ever acted upon it. I left my bedroom and went to the bathroom. I didn't have any razors, so I just used a shaving one. I pulled the plastic off, making it easier to cut with. I pulled my sleeve up, revealing my skin, I needed to feel the pain that he did. It was what was fair.

I cut deeper each time. The first time was light, barely breaking the skin, but then I was slashing into my skin. My whole forearm up to the inside of my elbow.

"I'm so sorry, Phil. This is my fault." I said, forcing the razor deeper. I was counting aloud with each time. This was thirty-four. There was blood dripping on the floor. The farther up my arm, the deeper the cuts were. I knew that it wasn't what Phil would have wanted, he would have wanted me to be okay with him killing himself, but to be honest, I was far from it, as you can see. I can't live without him, apparently. I decided that I couldn't walk to my bed, I was too exausted, so I just laid on the floor, praying for the end.

;-;

The end didn't come that night, or the night after it, or the whole week. PJ came over to check on me twice, but I didn't say anything. I was glad it was winter, I didn't have to worry about him noticing my jumper. I sighed. I should have just killed myself. I wouldn't have to worry about PJ worrying about me. I didn't want him to come over and force me to eat. He didn't know that I would just throw it all back up once he left, or maybe he did, it didn't matter.

I was on my bed, staring at the wall. There was a crack in it, like the one in Doctor Who, maybe it was a portal to another place. I was already staring a portal in the face. Heaven or Hell. Or nothing, because I never really believed in religion, because if there was a God, then why would he just have me live Hell on Earth. And more importantly, why would he do this. Why would he let Phil commit suicide?

I was angry with him, but I was also angry at myself. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. I looked at my arms, there were so many new cuts, and there were burns too. I didn't use my straightener for anything else. I looked at my hands. Pills, sixty-two, to be exact. I looked outside. There was a motorway right outside of my flat, maybe I could just jump in front of a car.

I decided the pills would be easier. I sighed and put my hand to my mouth. I swallowed the pills several at a time. I was so tired, and I knew that when I fell asleep I would never wake up again.

I was alright with that.

"I'm coming for you, Phil."

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You all know that I had to make it worse. I hope you didn't cry, because it wasn't that bad... I'm so sorry. There will be no continuation of this, so I'm sorry. You can imagine if he lived or not... don't hurt me, please.

Vote/comment if you don't hate me too much.