Dan's P.O.V:
My nervous eyes scanned over the comments, sweat pricking my face and all colour draining.
"what the fuck dan? '-' "
"wow i expected your standards to be a little higher than this, dan. a whore. really?"
"reported"
"damn dan😍😍 thicc"
"I've been a fan for 5 years but i just lost all my respect. I'm ripping down my fucking posters."
"i can't believe this, unsubscribed from this slut."
I deleted it faster than it had got up there. I looked up my channel on Google and all I was seeing were News bulletins saying 'Youtube Star Daniel Howell has lost 500k subscribers in 30 minutes - an all time high', 'Daniel Howell's life ruined from his whore fiancee' 'Can Dan Howell pull his career back up after such a violent fall? Probably not.'
My mind raced. Maybe she is a whore? I stood by the door focusing my eyes towards (y/n), her face dropped in her hands, hair strewn over her red face and tears dripping so fast a small puddle was already being created by her fluffy socks. She was wailing out loud she was crying, so intensely she was losing her balance, about to pass out.
On the other hand, my face was blotchy from the fear, anger, betrayment, stress, upset, emptiness, every single emotion - I was feeling EVERYTHING and nothing at the same time. It's as if the devil had injected me with all bad emotions concentrated into one drop. But the overwhelming affectivity was pure white rage and anger. I launched my phone on the floor, watching it smash into hundreds of pieces. The small sticker she put on it when we visited my family for Easter cracked away. The scratch I got when Phil accidentally dropped it in the sink lost amongst shattered pieces of glass. I watched her flinch and stumble to the floor. I feel NO sympathy.
"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TAKE I PICTURE OF US LIKE THIS ANYWAY? WITHOUT MY CONSENT? AND WHO THE FUCK DID YOU SEND IT TO?" I screamed out. Fuck the neighbours. Fuck what they might hear.
"I DIDN'T!" She stood up sternly on her two feet. "DO YOU THINK I WOULD WANT TO FUCK YOU OVER LIKE THIS? NO! OF COURSE I WOULDN'T! I LOVE YOU, IT'S THE FUCKING KILLER WHO DID THIS!"
Bullshit. NO way was I believing a second of this. I'm better off alone. What if she was the reason for Phil's death? How would I know? I can't trust her anymore. She needs to go.
"Get the fuck out of this house." I mumbled, waves of disbelief now overpowering. I wouldn't look her in the eyes. She is draining me.
"No. We need to fix this."
"WHY FIX WHAT YOU'VE ALREADY BROKEN?!" I bellowed. The room was suddenly unbearably silent as we both stood, limbs hanging spiritlessly beside our chests. She spoke up, fracturing the quietness.
"Don't you trust me?" I opened my mouth to retaliate but by that time she had ran into our bedroom, got a bag of her things and walked past me coldly out of the door.
Before (y/n) left, she stood with the door open and the path of the house in view. She took a few seconds to study my eyes, eyelids, nose, cheekbones, dimples, and longest of all my lips. A streak of hurt faded into her eyes before her departure fell swift, the gentle click of her cautiously closing the door behind herself as not to trigger me even further. Even if I HATED her she was still a temperate natured person.
Oh well. That means nothing to me.
I collapsed on the sofa, weighed down, my chest feeling dense and broken. I opened my box of antidepressants and swallowed two times the dose I was advised to take, dry. And I slept. Hoping to wake up into the world with Phil here by my side to comfort me, and no one else.
Your P.O.V:
I ran to distance myself from him, towards the main road. All I packed was my bus pass and a coat. I don't need, or want anything else. I was hearing the distant bustle of people chatting, cars driving, buses purring and children laughing. But I was listening to the way Dan's voice cracked in the first word he confronted me with - the word 'Why'. I was seeing the grey, cracked, crooked stone slabs that lined the pavement I was travelling across hastily. But I was still looking at his vacant eyes, purple eyelids, blush coloured nose, blotchy tear streamed cheeks, cracked crooked lips firmly still. No matter how much I admire my surroundings of the busy bustling streets of North London all I hear is white noise, smell silence, taste bitterness, feel nonbeing and see the last ever look on dan's face when all his remaining hope burned out and all that was left to see was broken. I am the person who broke Daniel Howell, that's all I ever will be.
Of course he would choose his career. Of course.
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