the broken

Chapter 12

MARCH, 2009

Dan

I blink sleepily, trying to wake up, as the sunlight from my window warms my cheeks.
When my eyes finally flutter open, my heart jumps into my throat. Phil is lying next to me, long arms wrapped around me, legs tangled with mine.

We are puzzle pieces slotted together.

Oh god.

The night is in bits and pieces.

I must have fallen asleep.

Fuck.

My head races with every possible bad situation, every thing I could've done better, and a ball forms in my throat, trapping the air inside my lungs until they catch on fire.

I try to untangle myself from his arms, but at my movements, he sleepily tightens his grip around me, one hand unconsciously tangling in my hair. I finally give up, dropping my head onto his chest and trying to control my breathing.

One in, one out, until my shaky heart has returned to normal speeds.

He is warm and soft and his arms are wrapped around me and I allow myself, for just this moment, to feel safe.

My eyes have started to flutter back shut when I feel him stirring next to me.

"Dan?"

Phil's morning voice is deep and crackly and makes my stomach flip over.

I bury my head deeper in his shirt so he doesn't see that my cheeks have gone red.

"Hmm?"

"Good morning."

I can hear the smile in his voice.

I yawn widely before replying the same to him, cheeks still red, voice still muffled through his shirt.

It falls silent for a few minutes, and it would have been nice, lying there with his hands tangled in my hair, had I not been filled with an uneasy guilt, a nervous expectancy for something bad to happen.

"I'm sorry I woke you up last night."

I brace myself for his arms to leave me, but to my surprise, they just wrap around me tighter, pulling me closer.

"That's not your fault, Dan, no need to be sorry. I happened to enjoy being able to protect you last night, so don't you worry about a thing," Phil says softly, poking my nose.

It was my fault.

"Want some breakfast?"

"I'm not really hungry."

I hear a disappointed sigh leak from his lips, but then he perks up, sitting up and pulling me with him so that I am now sitting in his lap. Part of me knows we shouldn't be this close, knows I shouldn't let myself be here, but the other part of me curls my hands into his shirt so I won't fall backward.

"Want to go to the movies? I heard the one that's out right now isn't too bad."

I stare at his face, cheeks pink with sleep, hair messy and soft, face made of angles that I want to trace with my finger, right down to the freckles on his shoulders. What if I asked to stay here, what if I let him hold me, what if I played with his hair, let my hands explore his sharp edges, his soft skin.

What if.

I blink myself out of my daydream.

"I don't feel like leaving the house today. Maybe we could stay in and watch something here instead?"

"Yeah, okay!"

Phil cracks an excited smile, rolling off the bed and stretching. I slowly climb out after him, the taste of sunshine and forgotten daydreams still left in my mouth.

"Lets go set it up," he says, practically bouncing on his feet, and I can't help but to let out a small laugh.

"Okay, okay."

He bounds out of the room, looking back once to make sure I am following. By the time I make my way to the lounge, he has already pulled up a movie on the TV, perched on the couch waiting for me.

I collapse into the seat next to him.

The morning turns to afternoon and then to evening as we sit on the couch, letting movie after movie play.

I look up at him through my eyelashes, watching the way the light from the TV flickers over his face.

All day I've been stewing over this morning, about how excited he looked when he asked me if I wanted to go see a movie, about the flash of disappointment when I said I didn't. I'm so selfish I should've just said yes I should've just gotten over myself because who cares if public places make me anxious if I could've seen him look that happy. I disappointed him I let him down and now I can't help but wonder what he's thinking can't stop myself from imagining his disappointment can't stop myself from thinking about how annoying I must be.

He clicks the TV off, startling me out of my thoughts.

"I had fun today."

He is just a nice person, a genuinely kind human being, trying to pretend to care about me because he feels sorry for me. He must be so annoyed with me. He doesn't want to spend time with me, he just doesn't want me to kill myself.

"Mmm."

He doesn't mean that.

"I'm really tired, I think I might just go to my room."

Phil's face melts into a concerned expression, but I know he is just putting it on for my benefit, acting the part, because god, he doesn't have a mean bone in his body.

"Dan..."

I have already crossed the room and started walking down the hallway, cutting off whatever he is about to say. I don't want to hear it. I can't let myself hear it.

Every lie he tells me just wraps around my brain, ties a pretty bow and makes the world seem shiny, makes me believe that maybe he really does care, maybe he would love me back.
Like there was an alternate universe where he could hold me and mean it, where I could trace every inch of him every time I become unsure if there's anything good left in the world to reassure myself.

It doesn't exist, and I can't afford to pretend it does.

I sink down to my floor and stare at the wall, pretending that I'm not crying, digging my fingernails into the floorboards because the world has started spinning and I'm too afraid to fall off.

Bad thoughts and bad hands weave their way through my bones and pressure builds up in the back of my throat and my heart is going to explode and I wouldn't even care if it did.

I get up, tilting heavily to the left, my face hot and cold at the same time, and I make my way across the hall to the bathroom, shaking hands fumbling in the cabinets, for the only thing that lets the waves spill out enough so that they don't bubble over. I am shivering, I am dragging claws across my skin, I am freezing and filthy and about to overflow.

Bad words and dirty water leak out of me.

Again, and again, and again, until red drips down my arm and pools at my fingers, until the pressure in the back of my head stops pressing against my throat.

Everything is dizzy and makes my tongue thick.

I am pathetic and disgusting and deserve every bit.

I get onto my knees to wipe up blood off the floor until my blurry eyes stop seeing red, will myself to float out and back to my room.

This shirt is not enough and I put on another and then another until I stop shivering, and with that I lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, waiting for nothing to come.

—

a/n thingy: this was supposed to be a happy chapter.