A/N:
(I highkey like Scott's version of this song its v emotion listen to it ok ok)
T/W; mentions of domestic abuse
xx
Close enough to start a war,
All that I have is on the floor,
God only knows what we're fighting for,
All that I say, you always say more,
Phil didn't like this relationship anymore. He shed too many tears. It was like a boat, he was slowing down. Everything began to exhaust him.
He use to think that if it was worth fighting for, it was worth the effort. But how many nights crying himself to sleep was the effort worth?
How many times would he have to get use to these scary mood changes putting him into a frenzy of panic?
It never use to be like this, he told himself.
He's just under stress, he told himself.
Things will go back to how it use to, he told himself.
I can't keep up with your turning tables,
Under your thumb, I can't breathe,
He would question himself if it was all worth it. First it was just the empty feeling. Maybe everything said was said to protect him. For good.
But things changed so quickly. One minute they were laughing, the next he was on the kitchen floor crying secretly.
It became difficult.
So I won't let you close enough to hurt me,
No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me,
I can't give you what you think you gave me,
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables,
To turning tables,
Phil never realised it was wrong at first.
He never knew it wasn't right to clutch a kitchen knife desperately at 2am.
Contemplating thoughts nobody should ever think about.
Hiding a small pocket knife under his pillow.
Just to keep safe. His brain was a machine working non-stop at a full active mode, it would eventually burn out and explode.
Under haunted skies I see, ooh,
Where love is lost, your ghost is found,
I braved a hundred storms to leave you,
As hard as you try, no, I will never be knocked down,
But Phil wasn't weak from this. It made him numb. He wouldn't be afraid to leave his house anymore. He wouldn't be forced again. His small box had been invaded by some man. He needed to be his own hero. He had to grab his knife, slit a tear and climb out. His box had been invaded and he needed to find a new box. But cutting the box was like cutting his own skin, it was excruciatingly painful.
I can't keep up with your turning tables,
Under your thumb, I can't breathe
Phil climbed out eventually. When the box began to get more crowded. When his thoughts were everywhere. The box was losing oxygen, his lungs hurt and his stomach turned tight. He could hear his rapid breath and the whistle of his bloody nose. He could feel the tears roll down his cheek every time he heard him walk upstairs. And that's when he knew he needed to leave.
So I won't let you close enough to hurt me, No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me,
I can't give you what you think you gave me,
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables,
Turning tables,
The memories of him were what continued to pull him back in like overgrown weeds of grass. He had so desperately tried to escape at time but they would clutch onto him and pull him back down, plummeting into the box. He would get hurt trying to escape. He would be back in the box, smothered in love, but before he knew it the tables were turned again and he began to be yelled at over something he didn't know about.
Next time I'll be braver,
I'll be my own savior,
When the thunder calls for me,
Next time I'll be braver,
I'll be my own savior,
Standing on my own two feet,
Phil grabbed the kitchen knife in one hand. Packing his clothes in another bag. He creeped downstairs in the middle of the night, where his soft snored were to be heard.
He needed to be brave for himself, and he opened the door. A cool wind cut his face, hitting him as he was finally able to take a deep breath. He took a step out of the door.
Well, actually he hadn't. Not yet. But he always said he would. Someday.
I won't let you close enough to hurt me,
No, I won't ask you, you to just desert me,
I can't give you what you think you gave me,
Now he had a small box in his hand full of those memories. The nice ones where they would laugh together until one of them started tearing up. Where they would simply stand at 3am in their kitchen, humming a soft tune dancing together in silly socks and boxers. The memories of those long kisses under the sun and moonlight. The dazed looks.
And when he finally left that box, took a step onto the pavement, he took a few steps. He clutched onto the small box before lifting his arms and using all of his force to throw the object onto the middle of the road as an upcoming car passed. The car unaffectedly crushed it as Phil sighed a shaky breath. Cold tears flew down his face.
"Bye Dan." He croaked out.
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables,
To turning tables,
Turning tables, yeah,
Turning tables.
A/N:
Back w/ an angsty fic ahahaha sorry...um not much of phan more of phil&abusive!dan im sorry
xx
