phan one-shots

9 crimes

Based off the sing 9 crimes by Damien rice because it's beautiful.

Word count: 2074

Trigger warnings: suicide talk and thoughts, cheating.

Summary: Dan finds Phil is cheating. Sadness ensues.

Dans p.o.v.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you

I knew what was happening. He was over me. Of course he was. I saw it coming before we even started dating. I just didn't know that he would do this to me at a time like this.

He was cheating on me.

I saw it, even though I already knew what was happening, so it wasn't that big of a surprise. Apparently I wasn't supposed to be there though, like walking through my own house is against his expectations. He was sitting there with no other than cat. Not only was he cheating on me, but it was with someone I considered a friend.

It's the wrong time
For somebody new

And to make this shit pile even deeper, one of my ex's, that was actually still one of my close friends, just died in a car crash. I mean I know I haven't been that interesting these past couple of weeks, but what did he expect? Someone close to me suddenly died! Was me not having sex with him for two weeks seriously enough for him to go cheat on me; to throw away 6 years of love? Just because of two weeks?

To be honest I couldn't blame him. He was never one to just settle down and I knew it, especially not with someone like me. I always wondered why he said he loved me. Was it real? I guess not.

Is that alright with you?
Give my gun away when it's loaded.

So all that brings me here. Sitting here, completely drained. I know other people have bigger fucking problems but all that shit doesn't effect me. All their problems don't matter to me, because I don't fucking have anyone left in my life. How could someone say that's not something to be upset over? I don't know. All I know is that I hate phil, and cat, but most of all, myself.

I think nothing as I hold my face in my hands, the cool metal of the gun pressed gently against my cheek. Odd how the first time I've felt content in almost a month is when I'm sitting here with a fucking gun pressed to my face. Fucked up, just like me.

Is that alright with you?
If you don't shoot it, how am I supposed to hold it?

I expected you to come in and save me, or at least try. I knew you were home, and you knew I was upset. Or did you? You seemed pretty busy the last time I saw you. I can't wait to forget.

I almost did it, I swear I did. But the weirdest thing happened, and I thought about my brother, for some reason. I thought off my mother, and father. I knew they already thought I was a disappointment, but image being the parents of a complete failure. They already have enough to deal with. I wouldn't want to cause them anymore trouble.

I know! I could run out, get hit by a car, and make it look like an accident. Then I wouldn't be a complete failure, just a disappointment. I could live with that; metaphorically.

I put the gun back on the box under my bed and carefully opened my door. I wouldn't want Phil to actually care, but I don't think he ever would. I walk carefully past the lounge where Phil was and down the stairs, leading out of our flat.

It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you.

I knew it was pointless, but I kept thinking if I just went back, I could forgive you and we could live happily together. I knew I could never trust you again, but for some reason I thought I could make an exception. I didn't want to face the truth. That you didn't love me, and I still loved you. Like, fuck, that sounds so pathetic. I didn't want to feel that way anymore, but I didn't want to die yet either.