4am

one

I turn my head and take a look at the time. Fuck. It's four in the morning. Last time I checked it was only eleven. I hadn't stopped pacing the kitchen. Where the fuck was he? I wasn't tired, and even if I was, I wouldn't be able to sleep, not like this. My chest rose and fell as I made an attempt to steady my breathing.

I bit down on my lip, hard. I winced at the pain and gratefully accepted the release from emotional torment for a glimpse of a second, as the physical damage took over the sharp ringing in my head. A singular tear of blood was drawn from my chapped lips.

I extended my tongue from my mouth to lick up the blood, staring coldly at the blank television. A door clicked from behind me and I whipped my head around to see Dan entering the flat with two plastic carrier bags, both empty. I scanned his face: pale, bruised, dark shadows under his eyes, scratches on his jawline, a cut lip. He looked up at me and his expression dropped.

His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his pupils dilated. He diverted his gaze away from me almost as soon as he'd caught it. He reeked of smoke and alcohol and drugs. Again. My eyes began to well up, seeing someone I cared about so much standing in front of me, a complete fucking mess.

I held back the tears and tried to keep my voice steady and affirmative. "Dan." I croaked. "Where were you this time?" He waited a few seconds before responding, taking a deep breath in.

"It... it w-won't, doesn't... matter to you Phil." He stumbled through his sentence, his eyes fixed on the ground where his feet were shuffling. He was nervous, he always shuffles his feet when he's nervous. I took a few shaky strides towards him, my hands clasped together, to try and stop the trembling. I didn't want him to see that I was this affected by him. He looked up slowly and I could see tears in his deep brown eyes, now mixed with a pale red colour, the veins prominent. My gaze travelled up to his temple where there was a particularly bad collection of bruises.

They were of multiple hues, colours that shouldn't be on someones skin. There were abhorrent purple-grey mixes, about the size of a fist. It was horrible. I wanted to be tough, I wanted to act strong for him but I couldn't. At the sight of his face, my blood pressure began to rise and I felt the stress pumping through my head. I began to see red seep into the corners of my vision. My anger was fuelled by worry, suddenly I didn't care if he saw me as weak.

"Dan, have you fucking seen yourself? It's getting worse it's getting worse it's... fuck, they can't keep doing this! Before it was bad, okay, but... but this is just too far! I can't handle this anymore, it's selfish Dan! Why do you keep going back to them?" I screamed, my fists clenched hard enough together so that I could dig my nails into my palms. Hard.

"Y-You don't get it!" Dan slurred, his voice breaking. I stared at him for a second, breathing heavily. I didn't think, I just walked out the door, slamming it behind me. Dan was too fucked up right now to follow me. I didn't care. I wanted to find the people who did this to him. I clenched my fists and headed down the stairs and out into the manchester air. I thought of Dan, and another wave of anger washed over my body, starting in my head and causing me to let out a muffled noise.

I kicked the ground and screamed, rage filling my whole body, as I saw three figures approaching me from an alley. Breathing heavily, I sopped kicking the ground and looked up at the figures, my heart pounding, straining to see their faces. It was them.