I eventually fall asleep in the early hours of the morning but end up awake within only a few hours of sleep. I am really tired but my eyes won't close. I turn onto my back and stare blankly up at my ceiling. I focus on my breathing and I think. I think about the war. And my mum. And my dad. Miss Hayes. Stupid Sam and his stupid gang.
"Hey, Dan, are you- woah, what's wrong?" Phil's voice says and I turn my head to the doorway where he is sat in his wheelchair. I can feel the tears slipping from my eyes but I don't bother wiping them away. I let them fall. Phil wheels over to me and wipes my face for me with the pad of his thumb. He's gentle and it's not something I'm used to. "What's up?" He asks.
"Everything." I say in a whisper and shut my eyes, still facing him.
"I know that this must be hard for you." He begins and he pushes my fringe out of my face as he does so. It calms me. "But I will try everything I can to make you happier here. Being older than most people can't be easy. But you'll be okay. I'll make sure of it." His words calm me and I take a deep breath with my eyes still closed.
"Thank you." I whisper and open my eyes.
"It's okay." he says softly. "Why don't you get washed and dressed and then I can show you around?" I nod and sit up, letting the blanket fall off of me. I rub my tired eyes. "The bathroom is just through there." Phil says and points through the doorway to the door opposite mine.
I take my clothes for the day and enter the bathroom. It has a bath but no shower. I assume it's because you have to stand up in showers and that probably isn't ideal for Phil. I run the smallest of baths, not wanting to waste resources and step out of my pyjamas. Once I am washed, I dry with a thin towel and change into my clothes. I am quick to brush my teeth before I leave the bathroom and then I take my pyjamas back to my room. Phil appears in the doorway after a couple of minutes. "You ready?" He asks and I nod, getting to my feet. We walk to the kitchen where there are two plates with toast on them. Phil puts one plate in front of me at the small table and I smile at him while trying to think of how not to eat this.
"Um, I-" I began but my voice got caught and I just sit there.
"Is everything okay?" Phil asks worriedly.
Of course not, if I eat this I'll probably throw up! "Yeah." I answer, disregarding my thoughts that are most probably true. I take a small bite and force the food down.
"So, I thought we could just take a little tour and then we can stop off at my friend's house later if you like. He has a son about your age." Phil says conversationally as we eat.
"Yeah, that sounds good." I say when all I really want to do is sit on my own and read or perhaps listen to some music. Call me a nerd but Mozart is just amazing. I finish half of the toast before my stomach turns and I have to force myself not to throw up.
"Are you okay?" Phil asks as I squirm in my seat.
"No, I'm sorry." I say. I try to make it to the bathroom, or at least the sink, I really try. Apparently, I didn't try hard enough. I throw up all over the kitchen floor, some of it so letters onto the cabinets. The acidic taste in my mouth leaves me feeling disgusting while my eyes glisten with tears.
"DAN!" Phil shouts as I kneel on the floor, vomit dribbling down my chin. This situation is all too familiar. And suddenly, I'm not with Phil anymore.
I sit on the stairs of my small house. I can hear mum and dad arguing downstairs. I can't pull myself away from it. I hear a loud smash and can't help the whimper that escapes my chapped lips at the sound. And then my dad stands in front of me. He grabs my upper arm and drags me into the kitchen where a glass bottle lays smashed on the floor. He pushes me onto my knees and kicks me in the back, stomach, legs, everywhere. I try not to shout out, it usually makes this worse. My stomach churns and before I know it, I vomit all over the floor.
"You disgusting piece of crap!" Dad yells and I whimper lightly, wiping the dribbled vomit off of my chin. "You better clean this up!" He says and I got get up but he pushes me back down. "Where the bloody hell do you think you're going?"
"T-to get a r-rag." I stammer.
"You're not ruining the bloody rags! Use your shirt!" He orders.
"But it's my only one l-left and I have t-to go to sc-school." I argue weakly.
"I don't bloody care!" He yells and kicks me in the back. I remove my shirt and wipe up the vomit before heading to the bathroom as soon as my dad is gone. I ring out my shirt above the toilet and wipe the vomit off with damp toilet paper as best I can. I cringe as I put the shirt back on. But I grab my school bag and head to school none the less.
I open my eyes and immediately spring to my feet. Without thinking about it, I pull my shirt off and begin to clean up the mess I made. Almost as soon as I start, there is a hand stopping mine from moving. Phil takes the shirt out of my hand and puts it into the laundry basket. He guides me back onto the chair at the table before cleaning up the mess with a rag. When he finishes, he wheels over to me so that we're eye level. "Dan, I have a lot of questions for you." He says.
"I know." I reply.
And then I brace myself, preparing for the inevitable interrogation that I was about to receive.
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Evacuee (Phan Fiction)
फैनफिक्शनBased during World War One. The year was 1916 and Dan Howell had been sent off to the British countryside due to the war at the age of 16. Leaving behind his mother and friends, Dan doesn't take much of a liking to the unfamiliar way of living he ha...
