Creators Of Pain

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by Lisa-is-not-a-slut

by Lisa-is-not-a-slut

~ Trigger warning: mention of self harm ~

Phil P.O.V

I’m currently cleaning up the mess in my and Y/N’s shared bedroom. I want to surprise her with a clean bedroom when she returns from shopping. I’m almost done when I look under the bed. The only item under the bed is Y/N’s diary. “Why is her diary covered in blood?” I think by myself. I know I shouldn’t but she hurt herself in the past. It’s possible she just had a paper cut but it’s also possible she is self-harming again. I’m not taking any risks.

I open her diary and start reading.

15 DECEMBER 2014

Dear diary. I can’t’ take it anymore it’s getting harder to stop myself. I can’t tell phil. I don’t’ want to worry him. I’m strong. I’m NOT going to break.

“But you can always talk to me.” I think while reading. “why won’t she talk to me?”

16 DECEMBER 2014

They won’t stop. The fans they keep telling me I’m not good enough.

“But most of them love you!” I scream at the little book in my hands.

17 DECEMBER 2014

Srr Phil I broke my promise please don’t be mad. But the cutting felt so good. The feeling of blood dripping out of my wounds.

18 DECEMBER 2014

I regret what I did last night. It’s difficult to hide. How could I be so stupid.

19 DECEMBER 2014

Nobody is suspicious (I hope)

20 DECEMBER 2014

I love the pain.

21 DECEMBER 2014

22 DECEMBER 2014

I didn’t write last night. I wanted to write, I started but I felt so bad. Something in my head is telling me to cut. Cut cut cut. I can’t take it anymore. I’m worthless! I don’t deserve to live! I don’t’ deserve phil. Soon it will be over. :’(

Srr Phil

“What this is not possible, why didn’t she tell me” I think while staring down at the blood covered diary. I’m so invested in my thoughts that I don’t’ hear the door. I don’t realize Y/N is her till I hear her say. “Phil what is that in your hands?” I slowly turn around and see her face change when she realizes I’m reading her diary. She tries to run out of the room but I stop her.

When I pull her close into a hug she breaks down. “I’m sorry Phil, I’m so sorry.”

I lay her down on the bed holding her until she sops crying. “We get through this together.” I wisper softly in her hair.

The next morning we are standing at the front door of the psychiatry. “They can help her here.” I think while letting her go. I let her go without knowing when I will see her again.

“They can help her here.”