(Phan) The Angel With A Black Heart.

Going Away Again

"Dan!! Who did this??"
I groan groggily, waking up slowly. "What?.."
"Dan! Are you fucking kidding me?!" My friend says panicked.
"What are you talking about.." I say annoyed.
Phil jerks something out of my chest, causing a pain to serge through my body.
I look down, my vision blurred and my body numb.
"A knife! A knife!! Inside of you!" My friend yells with misty eyes.
I gasp in shock, "A knife? Someone stabbed me?"
"Maybe you did it to yourself.." Phil states suspiciously.

Why would I do a thing like that? I mean, yes killing myself occurs to me way more often then it should, stabbing myself wasn't the way I was planning to leave the world, though.

"I don't believe so, Phil.." I say, hazily. 

I feel myself drifting away once again. I wonder where reality is when I need it. I know this can't be real. I've died and died again, both physically and emotionally. I look at Phil's worried face. He always looks so beautiful. I raise my hand up, trying to convince him I'm still alive.

"You're dying, you can't, you CAN'T die. Not now! Not AGAIN!"

I look drunkenly at the ceiling, feeling my mind go.

I count the ceiling tiles slowly..

"1....

2...

3....

...."

I can no longer count, my voice is silenced by a force. Not a physical force, but a kind of force that stops you from making another sound..

I hear my beautiful friend's voice vaguely.

"Dan.. Dan!! No! Wait! I love you!"

I feel his warm tears hit my pained chest, I flinch.

I swallow hard, trying to utter words again, then

I was gone.

_____________________________________

I'm alive? Awake? At least I can think.

I raise up, looking at my hands. Blood. It's everywhere. Where am I? Where's Phil? I look around, still feeling dizzy. I'm in my room, I thought. It still looks the same. I must've just passed out. 

I stand up briefly, testing my stance, making sure this is the reality I remember. I feel pain everywhere.

I look down, the pain was the knife still in my chest. I can't bare to remove it, I may die. I walk out of my room.

"Phil? Phil? Where are you? Have you gone?"

No answer.

I walk hazily to his bedroom, stumbling on the objects he leaves on the floor as always.

I see an object under the covers, I smirk at his stupidity.

"Awwh Phil" I lift the blanket, gasping.

Blood. Blood. It's everywhere.

Bruises.

Slices. 

Broken bones.

"Ph-Phil?" I shakily say, examining his body.

He looks awful.. Who could have done this?

He couldn't have done this, he wouldn't abuse himself so harshly.

I decide to call the ambulance, telling them the situation in a shaky voice.

I put the phone down, getting on my hands and knees, shaking and panting.

I cry softly, keeping the image of Phil, young and alive, in my brain.

I feel dizzy again.

I can't take this anymore..

I slowly remove the knife.

I lie on my back, letting forces grab my soul and fiddle with it.

I'm dying, this time, I want it. I want it.

Phil is dead..

And it's all my fault.

But I'll see him again.

I smile softly, looking at the hazy ceiling.

Remembering Phil's voice.

His face.

His irresistible personality. 

His charm.

"1...

2...

3..."

And I was gone.

Gone again.

Forever.