Open Eyes (Phan)

Twenty Seven

Okay so I'm going to switch the writing style a little bit. Like instead of saying "he said" it'd be "he says".

Does that make any sense?

It's easier for me to write like that. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea for me to do it differently.
-TrucePhan
________________________

Phil

Two days came and went in the blink of an eye. I spent most of it sitting next to Dan's bed, talking to him.

I learned more about his history. He went into detail about some of the things he had told me when he set his heart on the kitchen counter that day. Like the day when his younger brother and mum left.

He told me a lot about his family. What he knew about his father, about his brother and his mum. And about his stepdad. Who I learned was more than just abusive.

A small part of me hates the stories Dan tells me. Stories about some of the things that vile man had done to Dan.

To my Dan.

Sometime the stories end with me crying. And sometimes I have to leave the room to keep myself from punching a wall.

He also told me about Mike, his bully. The kid who makes Dan hate himself more than he already does. The kid who makes his only escape from home a living hell.

Sometimes when the stories end, it was Dan who became a sobbing mess. And by sometimes I mean most of the time. When he did, I would get up onto the bed next to him and hold him in my arms until his sobs quieted.

On the third day of being in a building that smelled like bleach, the doctor finally hands Dan his discharge paperwork.

In less than an hour we are walking through the parking lot towards an ugly green car.

The air is cold and I'm still shivering when I close the door of the car.

"Welcome back, kid," PJ says by way of greeting. He gives Dan one of his weird smiles.

"Thanks?" Dan says.

I chuckle slightly from where I sit in the passengers seat.

The drive to the flat is quiet. Dan's looking out his window and PJ is bouncing his head to whatever the song on the radio was. And I stare out of my own window.

Then the song changes. I honestly wouldn't have notice if Dan didn't truly speak up for the first time in hours.

"Can you turn it up please?"

PJ obliges and turns the knob, raising the volume. Dan sings along softly.

God damn, he can sing.

I know where you stand
Silent in the trees
And that's where I am
Silent in the trees
Why won't you speak
Where I happened to be?
Silent in the trees
Standing cowardly

I am too shocked to say anything. Too scared to interrupt him, to push any words past my lips.

I realize that Dan isn't just singing along. He's harmonizing.

I can feel your breath
I can feel my death
I want to know you
I want to see
I want to say
Hello

I glance swiftly back at the brown haired, brown eyed boy. He's still watching the world fly past outside his window.

The same lyrics repeat again. And Dan harmonizes again. His voice is like an earful of melted butter.

His eyes are thoughtful. I knew by looking at him that this song meant a lot to him.

The song ends. It takes a moment before my mouth can open and my vocal chords function.

"Dan."

He seems to suddenly realize that he'd been singing out loud in an otherwise quiet car. His cheeks turn bright red and he staples his gaze to the floor of the car.

"Sorry."

"Dan, that was amazing." I say quietly. PJ nods in agreement.

"Oh," he says shyly. "Thanks."

"I didn't know you could sing."

Dan shrugs and doesn't reply. It reminds me of when I first met him. When that's the only response I could get out of him most of the time. And that was a little over a month ago.

That means that Dan trusts me.

My heart swells.

We make it back to the flat a few minutes later. I help Dan out of the car and into the small living space.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" I ask him. He gives me a distant nod, so I go into the kitchen and make two steaming glasses of rich chocolate.

When I come back, Dan doesn't even notice when I set his own mug in front of him. He is staring at his hands, which are facing palm up in his lap. His chocolate eyes are glazed over.

He looks so tired.

"Dan?"

He snaps his head up in surprise and looks wildly around him. As if he is surprised to be sitting on the sofa. Then his pools of chocolate meet my blue eyes.

"Sorry. What?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He blinks at me.

"I'm listening." He says.

"To what, Dan?" I press.

"The voices." He replies. His eyes grew glassy again. Distant and cold. I take a seat next to him on the sofa and set my mug down on the table.

I tap his still open palms.

"Let me in. What are they saying?"

"I-" he looks as if he's searching for the right words. Like maybe the voices speak in a different language.

"Yeah?"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"They're placing bets."

I tilt my head in confusion.

"Placing bets on what?" I question.

"On how long it'll take for you to give up on me." He answers, looking down at his hands.

I feel my heart sink.

"I'm not going to." I tell him. I grab his hand and squeeze it.

"He's lying." Dan says. I assume he's telling me what the voices are saying. "He just pretending. Who would want to be around you?"

My heart sinks below invisible waves and I feel myself drowning.

"No, Dan. I'm not lying. I'm not pretending." I say. I take his other hand and lace my fingers through his.

He finally turns to look at me. His gold flecked eyes are wide and scared. I pull him into my arms and hold him tight. He doesn't cry, but I can feel the weight leave his shoulders.

We stay like that for a long time.