Her Bastille Dream °A Dan Smith Fanfic°

God Is A Woman

INSTAGRAM STORY WEIRDOS PLEASE READ: I can't believe I have to clarify this — but it's been brought to my attention that people think this is real! None of this is real: Dan doesn't have cancer, he isn't a father, he's not engaged...blah blah blah. This is a dark fanfic that I made because I'm tired of seeing happy ones. I don't wish Dan being unhappy or living in misery at all (in fact I want him to have a bit of r&r time to himself!). It's just a fucked up fic that I wrote out of boredom. So please go and spread fake news somewhere else. Was it SO hard for you guys to at least make a profile and comment/dm me before making me out to be a bad guy to Instagram. Also, stop being gullible.

—x—

Six months, five days and seven hours—that's how long my whole world has been crumbling into smithereens. There's no end in sight either. It's just a dark empty void. Bad things keep happening and I have no control over any of them...I feel useless.

First, was her demise.
Then, it was our depression.
Now it's Dan's illness.

Me and Dan sit opposite each other in total silence. We're meant to be eating, but I'm not feeling in the mood to digest anything at the moment. I don't think Dan's in the eating mood either, his meal looks very unappealing. "I don't want this," Dan mumbles under his breath whilst gesturing towards his plate of salad.

God, he's  got to stop doing this.

"Just eat it." I hiss under my breath in retaliation, just in case if someone overheard us bickering. I might as well try to keep the last of our dignities in tact.

"Just let me fucking die already. This is..."—Dan pokes the sloppy looking lettuce with his fork—"fucking torture." I close my eyes whilst I rub my head with the palms of my clammy hands.

I've been getting these strange headaches since she passed away. Sometimes I get these 'visions' where I can see her her tiny little body...but I can't hold her...I can't play with her...I can't tell her that mommy loves her.

"You heard what the doctor said," I remind him.

Dan tried to commit suicide. I found him...unresponsive and cold...and called the ambulance. Then, at the hospital, for doctor came into the room and forced me to sit down by Dan's bedside. Doctor Shaw then broke the news.

Dan has the c-word. He thought it was the grief which was making him feel violently ill and light headed...not the terrible c-word.

"I can't even take my fiancée for a dinner. What the fuck is the point even being here?" I don't answer him. Instead I look away, but then I regret it.

A family of three walks in. They're in their late twenties, their baby is...a baby. A newborn. Four months. I can only tell because I look at pictures of babies like Luna on the Internet. I need to try and visualise her ageing gracefully in my mind.

It's a better coping mechanism...rather than trying to forget about here.

The baby is happy. She looks around...just like Luna. She even has her pretty blue eyes. "Hello" I whisper looking at her. My sadness doesn't go. It simply fades as the baby smiles, I smile back.

She's such a cute thing. The father then notices me looking at his daughter, I guess it looks weird. But they are sitting right next to me and Dan.