Chapter Ten - Phil: (trigger warning for this chapter. the paragraph in italics references to cutting and suicide)
"I swear, you're growing more limbs with every step," I said, boosting Howell's weight higher from where it rested on my hips. My palms were clammy as I held onto the backs of his knees, his arms wrapped around my neck comfortably, while his tuffs of hair tickled the edges of my jaw.
I honestly don't know how I got corralled into giving out a piggyback ride.
Howell stuck his hand in front of my face.
If your car wasn't such a hunk of junk, this wouldn't have happened, he signed.
"It is not a hunk of junk!" I shouted indignantly. "And besides, I can recall many times where that 'hunk of junk' came in handy- like that day I found you wandering aimlessly around town before school."
I could feel Howell smile against the back of my neck- he was happy that I remembered.
He sobered quickly though, his mind wandering elsewhere.
I knew we were both thinking about it.
The kiss.
It still felt weird- to even think the word. And embarrassing.
I couldn't believe I'd asked that.
Would you, Daniel Howell do me the honor of letting me kiss you?
Ew, god, I sounded like I was from the futuristic Downton Abbey world with that pretentious question. I kind of wanted to throw up.
I continued carrying Howell, both of us keeping to ourselves.
But... however much it made me disgusted with myself, that kiss-
It was nice. It was soft and warm and gentle- everything I saw in Howell- everything I wasn't.
It made me feel out of my element- like I was finally both New and Old Phil again.
Of course, after the kiss was awkward. Neither of us knew where to look, and I being who I am, shut down all possibilities of discussion.
We'd both laid frozen for a moment, my hand still tucking a lock behind Howell's ear, his fisted in the front of my shirt, before I'd hauled us both to our feet.
Howell had taken but one step before he tumbled back into my chest.
"Desperate much?" I'd asked smiling gently, trying not to scare him off- god anything thing but that.
Howell had blushed, signing with a shaky hand, I think I've twisted my ankle.
I'd shaken my head chuckling at his clumsiness, his injury probably due to when he tackled me and we'd-
I stopped smiling.
"Come on," I'd offered, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, crushing his body against my side as we hobbled over to the car.
Only to find it dead, as I turned the key repeatedly in the ignition.
Perfect.
I'd pinched the bridge of my nose, as Howell leaned against the car for support.
"Our houses are just a couple miles away," I'd said turning to him. "We can walk, or I can at least. Come here."
I'd motioned for him to get onto my back, smiling when his cheeks had started to prickle pink.
Which was how we found ourselves in this current position- Howell on my back, with a mile or so to go until we were home.
"Hey," I said, my voice winded. "Could you walk for a bit. I know you're crippled now but my back is killing me."
Howell snorted as I came to a halt, and he slid down my back onto his feet.
I definitely didn't notice the way his chest moved across my back.
Nor the way his fragile hands gripped my waist to stabilize himself.
I didn't even notice the way he blushed as he looked down at his hands, before darting his eyes to the ground.
Okay- maybe I did notice that.
I ran a hand through my pale blue hair, and looked around as we stood in the middle of the deserted road.
"Come on, this way," I said taking Howell's hand as I started walking. "It's going to get dark soon."
I definitely didn't notice that small smile of hope that crept onto his face.
We walked in silence for a ways, something that had become the norm between us. I wondered if we would ever voice the unspoken words that always floated between us. If we would ever really know the true, deeply fragile parts of the other.
I looked up at the sky, the clouds slowly fading to pink, mixing with the blue, looking like an explosion, or Howell's cheeks when he blushed. I squeezed his hand tighter in mine. I wondered what he saw when he looked at the sky, if his artist's mind caught something I didn't, something I was missing. Some hidden clue that made his world magical.
I felt Howell stop beside me, pulling his hand out of mine.
I turned to look at him, his hands playing with the hem of his sweater, his shoulder nearly slipping out of the neck hole.
He licked his lips. "Phil." he whispered, his voice hoarse.
I widened my eyes, stepping up closer to him. I don't think I would ever get used to him speaking.
"Yes?" I whispered, bowing my head and knocking foreheads with him.
"I-" he struggled to make the sounds, his lips shaking. "I need- I- tell you-"
He coughed, rubbing his throat with one of his sweater paws.
"What do you need to tell me?" I asked softly, trying to patch his sentences together. If I could, I would stay like this forever, Howell's face close enough to touch, to count his eyelashes, to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.
I hooked my finger on the neck of his sweater, and hoisted it over his shoulder.
He shuddered, and took a step back.
"What's wrong?" I asked, slightly wounded.
Howell shook his head as he reached into his pockets, pulling out a folded up piece of notebook paper. No- wait- sketchbook paper.
He fiddled with his in his hands. I could see his whole body trembling.
"Howell?"
He didn't look at me.
"Dan?" he paused, still not looking as he extended his hand with the piece of paper clenched inside.
I took it, my eyes never leaving his face.
Slowly I unfolded it, once, twice, thrice-
I felt Howell grab my arm suddenly. He was looking wild, like an animal whose cage door had just been opened- unsure whether to flee or cower.
Please don't, he signed. Please don't think too poorly of me after this.
I looked at him puzzled, before he retracted his hand, and I unfolded to note completely.
It wasn't a drawing.
It looked like a notebook entry, the date at the top reading a little over two years ago. The edges were worn and the ink smudged, something faded red staining the bottom corner.
Dear friend, it read. The handwriting was wobbly, as if when writing, the person's hands had been shaking, smudged a bit from when the back their hand crossed over the letters as they wrote.
I think this is it. This is my last cry for help- my only cry for help. I didn't know everything would turn out as it did- I didn't know Aaron was capable of this. I've been crying for hours- still am. I wouldn't tell my parents why. I couldn't- not with his voice calling in my head. Thank god they didn't notice the suspicious bulges on my thighs and arms- where the bandages were wrapped, seeping into red.
I feel tainted,
and disgusting,
and dirty.
I don't know if I can even describe the events that took place.
I don't know if I can recall without-
The next part was scribbled over, unreadable.
I'd known Aaron was troubled- I just don't think I understood how unstable.
I don't know what happened, one minute we were talking, he was touching my face, so gentle. And then the next he was asking me weird questions.
"Do you love me?" he'd asked. I'd responded "of course, do you love me?"- and he'd just smiled and said nothing. That should have been my first sign.
Then he asked me if I would do anything for him, if I would go to the ends of the worlds for him. I told he I would.
I was so blinding in love. No- not love- obsession.
The word "obsession" had been written so hard it tore through the paper.
So when he asked me to follow him because he "had something to show me" I didn't think anything of it. Why would I?
But he- more scribbled out writing -lead me into the bathroom, oh god.
There were a bunch of scribbles.
He was touching me, pushing me into the bathroom, pushing me into the tub. I still feel cold from the shallow water. I was panicking, asking him what was going on. He just kept say I deserved it. "You love me right? You need to be one with me, feel my pain, my suffering. Don't worry, you'll like it."
In that moment-
More scribbling.
In that moment I knew what was going to happen before it did. I saw what was in his hands, the ones that had touched me so gently becoming nothing more than claws tearing me apart. There was so much blood I-
Everything hurts. And now, just now we got the call. Aaron's dead. And I'm numb.
More scribbles.
One day, I think I'll write everything that happened in that bathroom down. And then I'll throw it in the fire and never tell it to anyone. No- I'm not even going to speak to anyone because I-
The page ended. I turned the paper over but there was no more writing.
My hands were shaking hard, my entire body felt coiled like a spring.
"Howell," I said slowly, failing to keep the complete rage out of my voice. "What. The fuck. Is this?"
I looked up at him and then wish I hadn't.
His shoulders were hunched, his arms wrapped around himself, body shaking uncontrollably. His face looked like a child's finger painting, all the colors running down his pale face. He looked young and pitiful, and hollow- like an abandoned toy.
I didn't think twice, pulling him into my chest, holding him tightly, so tightly. The night was closing in around us, rain starting to patter, and I could feel Howell's box inside himself, the one he kept all his fragile things inside, being ripped open.
And I didn't have enough fingers to count the amount of things I wanted to say, to make everything better.
I didn't know what to make of the letter- the more I thought about it the angrier I got. I knew I wasn't going to get answers now. This wasn't something I could just yell at Howell about until he accidently gave me the answer I was looking for. No. This was something much scarier, darker. Something I had to proceed with caution.
"Shhh," I whispered into Howell's matted hair. "Shhh, it's alright, I'm here, I'm not leaving."
He sniffled into the crook of my neck.
"Hey, you remember what I told you about the crows? The story about how they made me their friend and tormented people?" I asked, trying to distract Howell.
He nodded his head slowly.
"Well, I forced myself to remember those things. And not out of self pity so I could beat myself up over it or for revenge, nothing stupid like that. No, I remember because I'm not going to become something like that. I'm not going to be a tool who belittles and patronizes people, or someone who cowered in fear of those who are stronger. I'm going to be better, be something they wish they could be. I'm not going to be a monster like them."
I felt Howell let out another sob. I didn't think I was helping.
"Hey, come on, let's go home- to my house- and we can talk there, okay?"
Howell nudged his head in agreement.
He made a startled yelp noise as I picked him up, jostling him and wrapping his legs around my waist, like one would carry a baby on their hip.
"Let's get you home," I breathed, and started walking again.
As Howell whimpered, I felt tired. I was tired of the hidden words that we never told each other. I was tired of the cautious footsteps we always took around each other. I was tired of our days with one another always ending in a fight or tears.
For once I want Howell to hold me in his arms and let me tell him all the things I kept inside. All the little things I never mentioned, even when they were as frivolous as me telling him his hair looked nice.
Howell told me that I didn't trust easily, but that's not true.
I just wonder sometimes if he's better at speaking his mind then I am.
AN:
first chapter as promised at eight. next one should be coming in the next few minutes.
thanks for putting up with me guys.
ALSO DID YALL SEE DAN"S FUCKING INSTAGRAM POST???? ICH BIN IN DICH???? I WAS LIKE "DID HE MEAN ICH HABE DICH?!"
he is secret one of my readers. totally confirmed.
-Xxx Eddy