Powder [phan]

XXV

WARNING: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, SUICIDE ATTEMPT (?), DRUG USE

***

Dan's POV

The doorbell rang again and again and I didn't move, didn't intend to let in the person who had been trying to reach me all day.

It was probably Oliver and if I didn't give him a sign of life soon, he would probably call the police, so maybe I should at least write a message to him.

I hadn't left the house in days and only moved for the bare essentials. My couch was the only place where I was consistently.

The packaging of the food I had ordered was already stacked beside me, but I wasn't motivated enough to put it away. Just listened to the melancholic music of the album, which felt like it was starting a thousand times over.

He was right.

I didn't want it any other way. Wanted to destroy me, let myself be destroyed, from the cocaine. It was only fair if I suffered when my body was destroyed, insidiously, without me really noticing. I only felt the intoxication and yet I knew it was eating me up. And I knew it was right. That it was okay and every minute I got closer to death was well invested.

It felt like the only logical consequence after I hurt Phil so much. After I did everything I could to get rid of him, shake him off, because I felt his grip so tightly.

I couldn't control that I was too afraid of losing control. And as paradoxical as it sounded, it made sense to me.

I was afraid to love him.

Fear of being loved by him.

Afraid to stand by him. To get used to its hold. Afraid that everything would be perfect because a far too large part of me didn't want that.

I needed that feeling that I had right now. This feeling of voluntarily coming closer to death. I wanted to punish myself before I did anything, just out of fear that it could happen.

And then it happened.

To a much greater extent than I ever imagined, but even the suffering in his eyes couldn't have been ignored. Even I couldn't convince myself now that I didn't mean so much to him that my betrayal had broken his heart. More than that. If I was honest with myself, I had mentally abused him, robbed him of his last energy, and finally the trust that I could never give him.

I just lay there, the dry tears on my cheeks that didn't want to flow anymore and that blazing hatred in me, the hatred of myself, was the only thing that kept me alive. The only thing that still remembered life.

And it still felt good somehow.

This pain in his expression, his look, which showed me how he was torn inside, lay on my chest like a constant companion and made it difficult for me to breathe. At the same time, never let me forget that he loved me. He had loved me and it hurt so much that it was over and was so beautiful that it had happened. Nobody would be able to take that away from me. Nobody would be able to undo that Phil had loved me. Even if he didn't do it now.

At least apparently I was back in control by catching the past and lying here as long as I wanted - until I was all drugs.

Just a little message to Oliver and the rest of the day would pass, as the previous ones had.

I laboriously got up and strolled to my phone to write to him that I was fine and that he didn't have to worry. That I just wanted a little time for myself.

I heard two dogs barking at each other through the open window, felt my legs, my fingers, knew that the effect was waning. At the same time, it started to hurt, so I put my phone aside and went on to the bedroom. Before I even realized why I had entered it, I was staring in the mirror.