The Mistake

Time to escape.

Please listen to the songs in here while you read this, they fit so perfectly, and they're all amazing. (I think that's my favourite adjective right now.)

     "Three bodies have been found at a party in London. The Youtubers Chris Kendall, Sam Pepper and PJ Ligouri were found at the house party late last night. It is thought by the police to have been a murder. The police are investigating, and interrogations have started. This morning, the head of the London Police Force held a meeting discussing..." The news reporters voice was then interrupted by a video clip of the meeting, a balding man blinded by the flashing cameras was stood on a podium. He was speaking about how they were going to deal with everything, and how everything was going to be alright. But Phil knew it wasn't, for many reasons.

     He had killed people, innocent people. People that didn't deserve to die. Just because he was jealous! No one should ever kill anyone, especially not for such a petty feeling. But then again... it was Dan. Dan Howell, the most amazing being on the earth. He was the most beautiful person ever, on the inside, outside and everything in between. He was an angel, to Phil.

    Phil flung the TV control to the floor in anger, and stormed into his room. He threw his heavy body onto his bed with a loud sigh. He then groaned again, but louder. Then again, and again, the volume growing as each sound heaved itself from his mouth with emotion. Soon, Phil was screaming as loud as he could. Dan had left earlier to go visit Bryony, so Phil was alone.

     He thrashed around on his bed, grasping the sheets and not bothering to control his writhing limbs. He was lost in his anguish, ignoring the outside world.

    Feeling a sudden need to really let go, Phil jumped up from his position and stormed over to his CD player. He put in the CD, and pressed play. The heavy drum beat of What You Want by Evanescence burst from the speakers around his room. His voice joined with Amy Lee's, he didn't care about how he sounded. He just needed to let go.

     Instead of going back to his bed, Phil jumped around his room, flinging his body with no thought for anything else. His voice screamed the chorus, so loud his head banged. When the song blasted to a close, he started to calm his movements. But he still didn't feel calm, if anything, he felt worse.

     The next song was The Fight Song by Marilyn Manson, the perfect song for Phil's feelings. He swung his body around, his hands flying out and hitting things. Photos, glasses of water and other various items fell to the floor.

    After that song finished, Homesick by A Day To Remember came on. Dan had introduced Phil to the band. Feeling helpless, Phil walked into his en suite. The cabinet door swung open, and he reached up. He shuffled around the bottles of shower gel and aftershave, dropping several in his haste. Then he found the small bottle of pain-killers, the cheap ones from Tesco. With them, he also grabbed his razor.

    Sat back on his bed, Phil looked at his hands. He knew what he was about to do, and he knew it was wrong. But he also knew that he would feel better after he'd done it, just like before.

     The last time he'd done this, he'd cut so deep that Dan had found him lying on the bathroom floor. Dan had helped him stop the cutting, but the only reason he'd started was because Phil knew Dan would never love him. Then he had stopped, for Dan's sake. Now those rules didn't apply.

     Phil lifted his hoody sleeve up, to reveal the faint ribbons of translucent white around his wrist. He remembered the pain, and the ensuing release.

     Phil switched the music up, just as the chorus came on, and he sang along. The razor was pressed into his wrist lightly, the anticipation building. Phil recalled the sharp sting of the blade, and his subconsciously glided the blade across the skin, mirroring the past memories, engraved into his delicate skin.

     He stared at the cut. At first, it was invisible, then the blood started to seep up. It spilled over the ridge of skin, and Phil sighed. He could feel the pain start to drain away, ever so slowly. The pain of seeing Dan and PJ, and also the feeling of accomplishment. He felt like this was a reward: he'd lasted so long without cutting, and this was his prize.

     He drew the cold metal across his arm once more, pressing deeper as the intensity of the sting grew. He revelled in it, and smiled. Then he did it again, and again, and again. His arm was soon covered in scarlett stripes, the size varying from small, to grotesquely large and messy, from where he had dug into the flesh.

     By this time, the song had changed again. By then it was Your Heart Is An Empty Room by Death Cab For Cutie. Dan had introduced him to this band as well, and Phil remembered when he had first heard this song. He was sat with Dan on the sofa. He remembered listening to the lyrics and feeling their purpose cling to him. Then he had felt a weight on his shoulder: Dan's head. When he discovered what it was, it's weight felt lighter. He felt Dan's breathing pattern stay slow and steady, and then he had fallen asleep too.

     The song shook Phil out of his reverie. He had stopped for Dan; he was betraying his Dan. The razor was flung into one of the many piles of mess in his now-ruined bedroom. Pain and guilt ripped themselves through Phil's chest. He knew he shouldn't have done it, but he had felt so terrible.

     Phil looked at the bottle of pills on the bed next to him. They looked so enticing; promising peace and safety in just one simple step. He picked up the bottle and twisted the cap. Then he poured out one, two, three, four, five, six pills into his blood-smeared palm.

     He stared at the innocent-looking tablets and brought his hand up to his mouth, clearing all thoughts from his head. He picked up a glass of water and swallowed.

     The last thing he remembered was falling back onto his bed whilst Transatlanticism by Death Cab For Cutie played.