He Speaks Suicide (Phan AU)

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WARNING:

I know a lot of people deal with depression, anxiety, and the urge to self harm. I dedicate this story to any one of you reading this because I know it's hard to live with those and I have a close family member living with depression and bipolar disorder. I want you all to know that there is a way to help yourself or the others around you who are going through the same things. Either if it's talking to someone or finding a healthy way to cope, you can get through it. I wish you all the best in life and I hope you enjoy reading this book.

-Mia

Dan's POV

I barely got any sleep. In fact, I didn't I slept at all. I just stared at my ceiling as the hours ticked by, waiting for something, anything to happen. Maybe a good dream.

"Wake up faggot!" My step-dad, James pounds on the locked door. Of course, I couldn't have that nice dream. I look at the clock on my phone. 6:27 a.m.

I look at myself in the mirror and sighed in displeasure. I don't know how anyone could look at a person and think they're beautiful. In all honesty, all humans are hideous. Some just show that horribleness on the outside. I just happen to be one of those people. My body is littered with scars and bruises. My eyes are the worst shade of brown. The kind of brown you would see if you stepped on dog shit, not like a newly polished loafer, or a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter's night. 

I closed my eyes, lip quivering slightly. I open them once more and walk to my wardrobe, grabbing something that would be socially acceptable to wear. Truth be told, I don't give a shit, but I don't want people to really read me like I'm naked.

I walk out of my room with my bag and phone in hand. I wasted no time trying to get to the door, but alas, I was not quick enough. 

"Do you think you can fucking leave me?" James calls from the top of the stairs. I wince at his booming voice and book it out the door and down my street, not looking back. I can't risk it. When I know I'm a safe distance from my house, I walk as calmly as I can.

I take my earbuds and plug them into my shitty LG before going to a playlist and playing "Princeton Avenue" by Issues. 

I wonder if anyone else feels connected to song like I do. This song just happens to be the one that I relate to the most. I can name a hundred reasons why, but quite frankly, I don't have the patience to do that.

I continue listening to bands like Erra, Volumes, and A Day To Remember as I walk into school. I pause my music, take out my earbuds, and return my phone to my bag. After zipping it back up, I go over to my locker and get my books for the first half of the day.

"What's up, fag?" A kid named Jessie asks, laughing. He shoves me into the side of a trash can, causing me to knock it over and everything inside to spill on me. I groan and get up and pick up the bin, then dust myself off and walk through the halls. I am surprised to see nothing was on my locker today. Maybe it will be a decent day.

We all know that'll never happen.

I turn the corner and walk into the classroom, which is art. The scent of paint, wax, and paper fills my nose. I smile slightly in delight, taking a seat in the back of the class. As usual I take out my sketch pad. 

For the longest time, I've been drawing a pair of beautiful, ocean-blue eyes. I saw them in one of my rare dreams one night and still can't get them out of my mind. Those eyes, I love them, even though I don't know who they belong to. I look at my sketch of the eyes. If I ever meet the owner of these beautiful eyes, I hope they look like they do on paper. I wish I can see those delicate, shining eyes.