Losing Him // phan

Blood (2)

"Maybe you should see a doctor." I blurted out into the silence.

Silence. It was so unusual. So surreal. Especially over breakfast. We used to wait for each other and spend the mornings together. But now, we both were so exhausted that we're lucky if we wake in in the morning time at all.

Dan looked stunned. He put his spoon back into his bowl of untouched cereal, the noise ten times louder than it should have been. Then he looked angry.

"I don't want to talk about it, Phil."

"I've been reading up about it. I think it's Nightmare Disorder, or Parasomnia. It's a common symptom of PTSD. And it's very likely to affect your mood and personality, and make you afraid-"

"I said shut up, Phil!" Dan slammed his spoon into his bowl quickly, shattering the ceramic, spilling the milk and cereal everywhere. He watched it drip off the table and onto the floor with horror. Then his eyes trailed up the mess slowly to my hand, which had been reaching out for his when he broke the bowl. A large piece of it had collided with my skin, slicing it open in two places.

My hand hovered there, shaking. It hurt, but not as much as what Dan had said. I wanted to help him. I wanted to fix him. Two nights ago, he had seemed like he was going to let me, when he finally told me what he was dreaming about. But last night, when he screamed and I turned on the light, he sent me away without a glance. I couldn't figure it out. I couldn't figure him out.

He watched as the blood dripped from my hand and onto the dining room table, mixing with the milk that had spread all over. We sat frozen for what felt like years. Then he suddenly stood up, his chair scrapping along the ground loudly, and stormed into his room.

~-~-~

"Phil. Phil, I need you." After the previous night, and today, I thought he never would want to talk to me again.

I ran into his room as fast as humanly possible.

He was bleeding.

He had a large cut on his forehead and blood all over his hands. He must have hit his face on the cabinet by his bed when he was screaming and thrashing about. I tried so hard to ignore it. I really did. It hurt me physically to hear him screaming like that and not be able to do anything. I didn't think he'd want to see me. But then he had called for me.

"Oh my god!" I shouted, dropping to my knees in front of him. He was starring at his hands in horror, tears streaming down his face, blood dripping from his forehead. I took his bloodied hands, and looked up at him. "Dan, you need to go to A&E." I said. He wouldn't look at me.

"No. Please. I don't want to go." He was crying uncontrollably, body-shaking sobs that echoed around the otherwise silent room. I shook my head.

"I'm calling 999." I said loudly. I got up and ran to the toilet, wetting a towel in the sink, and coming back. Dan hadn't moved, but his head had dropped in defeat. I lifted his chin, and looked into his eyes as I dabbed the cut. I grabbed his phone off his bed-side cabinet, and dialed 999.

His eyes were cloudy, dull. If he hadn't been completely broken before, now, I was sure of it. He was shattered.

"Phil?" Dan asked as it rang. He had shut his eyes, tight, his breathing long and shaky. "I hit the bottom."