Rumor Mill - Phil

Chapter 10

Trigger warning: semi graphic self-harm and extreme violence. 

I'm not numb. Those who are numb, they're living in luxury. No, before Dan, I was numb. Now, I'm broken. I feel everything. I feel it all, every emotion, whether I want to or not. It's like a wound, collecting anything that decides to pass by and infecting itself. 

I never texted him back. Who would? What do you say to that? What the hell do you say to someone who took your everything, who you wasted the best of yourself with, who you trusted, who was literally your only friend in the world, what do you say when they decide to leave? 

I'm not numb, but I'm fucking confused. I stand here, in my bathroom struggling with the sharp objects are in the cupboard, thinking about the words Dan said just hours before. He said he loved me. 

Was I right all along? Had all that time repeating to myself that we weren't in love been correct? Should I have never let myself care? We weren't in love. We weren't in love. 

There are razors behind the mirror, and I remember his words, that if I ever thought about cutting that I should call him, but I don't have him now, do I? My phone is balanced on the sink, and I snatch it up again, unlocking the screen and staring blankly at his text again. 

I can't do this anymore. Do what anymore? What the fuck was he doing that was so hard, that his mind just decided to give up on me? On us? 

I decide to respond, to confirm to him that I've seen, although I do ponder whether the 'read' receipt would hurt more. 

I knew we were working too well to be real. I read it, I re-read it, over and over. I know I can't say anything that's more than one sentence. If I write two sentences, then I won't be able to stop. I delete what I've written. 

It was only a matter of time I guess. No, no that sounds too resigned. That sounds understanding. And in reality, I am anything but. 

I fucking hate you. What a lie. The biggest lie yet. Never in my life could I hate Dan Howell. That's been the problem the whole time. 

I shake my head in disgust and set the phone back down on the sink, not hesitating this time to reach into the drug cabinet to pull out a razor. 

Dan doesn't want me to do this. 

But then again, Dan doesn't want to stick around. So I guess we'll have to agree to disagree. 

It's more painful than it was before. Maybe because I'm just as wounded inside, maybe because I'm used to it in the dead of the night, when I'm mindless and unfeeling, or maybe because I really have a pressing reason that causes me to go deeper. I'm bleeding despite the reason, and I hold toilet paper to my cut, stopping the blood as I sink to the tile floor and let my head fall against the wall. 

There are tears, and I sob harder when I remember the last time I really cried was the morning Dan said he loved me.

I had promised him I wouldn't leave. And look what he's gone and done. Exactly that. He's left. 

I force myself from the bathroom, but my room is worse. Everywhere in the house just reeks of Dan, of what we've done and said, but my room is the most raw. My sheets still smell of sex, and I doubt the memory will fade as easily as the scent.

The slam of a door causes me to jump, and my mind believes it's Dan in a last-ditch attempt to make sense of everything. 

"Phil?" A voice calls. A female voice. It's my parents, home from their travel job. My stomach sinks, and I rush to pull a jacket over my cut, and Tim strolls into the room just after I settle on my bed with my Stephen King book.