Broken and Fixed.

Chapter 2

Dan's POV
I wake up and stretch, staring at the bare white ceiling above me. I turn over and flinch as my sensitive new scars touch my bedding. I look at my arm remembering last night. I then glance at my bedding and realise it's soaked. In blood. My blood. Great. How will I explain this to my mum again? It's the second time in two nights and she's already suspicious. I can't. Will not tell her. It'd break her heart.

I quickly jump in the shower, my fresh scars stinging a little bit in the hot water. I get out, dry myself and sling on black skinny jeans and a random black top with long sleeves. No-one will ever see my cuts. And about the black? Well I'm feeling a bit depressed.

I straighten my curly hair styling it to one side as normal. I look at the time. Only 5:45? Wow. I'm up early.

I decide to watch some more Phil. Just yo have a good start to the day. I turn on my laptop, and chuck my bedding in the washing machine while it loads up. I go to my emails, receiving the usual junk. There's one email that stands out from all the rest. I click on it, and start to fangirl inside. It's from Phil! Phil!!

I then realise what it's about. Shit. He's probably telling me to go fuck off and go die somewhere. I decide to read the email anyway, so I'll have another reason for my blades tonight on top of the others. I gasp as I read the email.

Hi Dan
Yes over course we can chat privately. Here's my Facebook.
www.facebook.com/philliplester.htm
Add me

I re-read it over and over again. My favourite YouTuber knows who I am? I click on the link and it sends me to his Facebook. I send him a friend request and wait...

Phil's POV
I dreamt of a boy named Dan. He was dying, so I helped him. That meant he lived. He survived. He was happy. That meant I lived. I survived. I was happy. No more pain. No more sorrow. No more hate.

I woke up, my alarm blaring as I try to switch it off. I eventually do, and grab my laptop so I can check Facebook. I log on and see some of the fanart my small following of subscribers have drawn. I smile. At least some people like my videos. I'm about to click off, when a friend request comes through. It's from Daniel Howell, the boy who asked for my help. I accept it and send him a message.

Hi Dan
It's Phil ( as you've probably guessed ). What's up? You can tell me.

Almost immediately I get a reply.

Hi Phil
I just can't cope anymore. I self-harm. It's stupid I know. You probably won't talk to me anymore. No-one does.

My heart instantly dropped. This boy doesn't need to. No-one should or need to self-harm. I lightly touch my arm, as memories come flooding back to me.

I remember the last time, when my mum found out. I was leaning against the bedroom wall. Cutting. Slashing. My arm a mess of flesh and blood. It had become a ritual. Every night. She came in, wondering why I was still awake. She saw me. Blade in hand. Blood everywhere. She gasped and burst out crying. For about half a year onwards, I had to go to counselling.

The itch to cut overwhelms me, as I read the message over and over again. I know I shouldn't. I've been clean for almost a year and a half. I won't. I will not cut. I type back.

Dan, please just stop. Don't do this to yourself. I know what it's like. The urge. It's just too strong. Just think about things. You need to stop. Please. If for no-one else, do it for me.

I leave my laptop, as I go get ready for another day of - yep you guessed it - procrastinating. Tomorrow I'm going back to Manchester for uni. I jump in the shower and think about Dan. Dan. Why am I thinking about him so much? You've never met him Phil.

Maybe it's because he's just like me...