the broken

Chapter 7

I'm so pathetic, I couldn't even kill myself, couldn't even take care of myself when I'd chickened out. I just had to call Phil, just had to worm my way into his life, dump all of my problems on him. He hadn't shown up because he cared, he'd shown up so I wouldn't kill myself, taken me back to his house so I wouldn't try again. He's being nice, doing what a good person would. I'm so stupid.

Phil appears in the doorway, holding a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that is about three sizes too big for me, smiling sheepishly. He hands them to me and starts babbling on about the size, apologizing, and I stare at him, entranced by the way his lips move, the way his eyelashes catch the light when he blinks. I am too distracted to hear a thing he says.

After a couple of seconds, he stops talking, and I shake my head, shaking myself out of my daze.

"Just bring your old clothes out when you're done changing and I can dry them up for you, okay?"

I nod.

He closes the door softly as he leaves, and I push myself into a sitting position, peeling my wet clothes off. I bury myself in Phils clothes, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around myself, trying to get warm.

I grab the pile of wet clothes that have been dropped unceremoniously on the floor and gather them in my arms.

I make myself strong enough to lift them.

Phil

I wrap my hand around the doorknob of the spare room.

Since we'd moved here, it had never really been put to use, sitting untouched, but it was quite a nice room, with a big airy window that let in plenty of light, and a queen sized bed covered with all the spare blankets in the apartment. Upon bringing Dan home, I had wrapped him up in every blanket on that bed, hoping that, between the sunlight and the blankets, he'd be warm enough.

I had retired to the couch, resigning to checking on him every hour, but each hour flew by, met with nothing but pale skin and uneven breathing, like tree branches rattling in the wind.

Sometimes I'd watch him from the doorway, watch the way his eyelashes would flutter, or the way he curled his hands into the blankets as he slept, think about how scary he looked, how dead.

I had told myself that if he didn't wake up after a day, I'd take him to hospital, no matter what he had said.

I'd rather him hating me and breathing than loving me and dead.

The deadline was coming up.

Lost in thought, I walk through the doorway, only to find a living, breathing Dan, hugging himself and shivering violently. At the sight of me, he jumps back, slamming his head into the wall.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you, I didn't know you were awake."

"No, it's okay," he mumbles, eyes still wide, rubbing the back of his head.

My eyes scan over his face, taking in paper white skin, and the dark smudges under his eyes. Despite the fact that he's been asleep for almost 24 hours, he looks as though he hasn't slept a day in his life.

"Where am I?" he asks, quietly, eyes darting around the room before finally settling on me.

"Oh, you're in my apartment."

Was it weird of me to bring him here? God, I bet he thought he'd been kidnapped or something. I'm an idiot.

"You just freaked out when I tried to take you to hospital and I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry. I hope it's okay that I brought you here."