What a Catch - Phan

Answer my question

*1 year later*

Summer in the City 2016 was last weekend, and it went perfectly. Phil and I have more fans than we could ever imagine, and every single one of them is so supportive of us. We had no distractions, no people trying to get between us, and no bad feedback. Everyone was so kind, all of them respecting us and none of them barging in to try and see us. We had heard nothing from my father since the radio show, and that was over a year ago. I resolved that he had learned to accept me, or at least learned from his mistakes and decided that it was a bad idea to try and get to me, especially as I had hundreds of thousands more subscribers than I did when he last saw me, and he knew that it would be too risky for him.

Phil and I, we were still together. True, we had our arguments, of course we did, but they were always small, never getting to the extremes of the Five Nights at Freddy's argument. We always resolved them within a few hours though because we realised that we couldn't live without the other one, so we ended up doing something sweet and romantic like taking the other out to dinner or making a video specially for them to show how much we appreciate them.

Phil Is Not On Fire 7 had been a great success. We answered questions like always and we also put on the Sharpie cat whiskers. We did a couple of skits and did some 'dares' that we had been asked to do. The video got over seven million views which was amazing for Phil and I, and both of us now had around the same amount of subscribers, which was good as I always found it unfair that I had more subscribers than him even though he had been doing YouTube for longer and I had never really been hooked by the idea of filming myself then posting it online for a living; my first videos are proof that I was so awkward and clumsy that I would have never started if it weren't for Phil.

--------------------

Phil waved something in front of my eyes, pulling me out of my senseless and dazed state. I snapped back to reality and blinked, focussing my eyes on the white rectangular objects in Phil's hand. The material looked like paper, all white besides black writing and blue on one end. The pieces were about two inches white and five inches long, the blue bit only taking up one inch.

Once he saw that that I was alert, Phil handed me one of the two sheets. I noticed that it was a ticket to something. The ticket had the thickness of card, but was much smoother, covered in a glossy shine that made it shimmer in the spotlight. The royal blue end contrasted from the white, and the two colours were separated by a gold rim. On the white section, words were written, printed neatly in black ink, prominent on the sheet. 'Muse' I read out on the first line. My heart started beating faster, and I could feel the blood coursing through my veins with each beat. I read the next line. '02 Arena' My mouth started to break into a smile. 'Front row' The smile changed to a shocked expression, as I stared down at the ticket, scared that it was a dream and savouring every moment as if the ticket was going to be ripped mercilessly from my grasp. When I realised that it actually was real, I couldn't stop smiling. And, for the first time in my life, I felt like I deserved it.

I had spent my life pondering about why I existed. I thought I was just a mistake, not meant to be born, a glitch. I was hurt physically and mentally by bullies and my parents for being who I was, and after a while I started to believe them. After a while I started to think that being gay was a disease, was something shameful. Having the haircut I have and dressing the way up dress didn't help with that, as I was then classified as the 'emo faggot'. I was told it was wrong to like the bands that actually helped me make it through my life. I was told it was unnatural to like people of the same gender. I knew I couldn't change who I was; you can't exactly become straight on demand or get rid of your whole wardrobe, so I took to slicing my skin for a release. To see the blood that was inside of me running down my thighs and arms in red rivers of sadness, droplets falling off and landing on the while tile beneath me... it felt... nice I guess. I thought that if I could transfer pain from other people into pain from myself, then it wouldn't hurt as much and wouldn't remind me of life for a few minutes. It worked for a while... but then I realised I had a serious problem. I would cut over twenty cuts a day, every day, even when I wasn't hurt. I would end up in the bathroom for over an hour, trying to stop the bleeding so it wouldn't run through on to my clothes. I would constantly be pulling my sleeves over my arms and staying in the school loos just to cut some more. I would crave the sight of my blood dripping down my skin, erupting from self-inflicted slices in my flesh.