| university | d.h

| twelve |

// Dan //

The whole thing happens so fast that I can't even fucking react because I'm too busy being struck with horror. After Alex and Tyler run out and Dalton has stopped laughing, for the most part at least, everyone around us that witnessed the exchange is still giggling and whispering amongst themselves. People I don't know, my own friends, randoms from the university. I feel like I'm in one of those fucking naked-at-school dreams where you're just standing there in the middle of the hallway and everyone is laughing at you.
"Mind your own fucking business,"
I'm louder than necessary, which is typical, but it has the effect that I wanted to achieve. People go back to their old shitty conversations and the crowd disperses. My eyes instantly start to scan for Phil, my comfort blanket, even though I would never admit it. When I finally find him, I can only see him for long enough to watch as he shakes his head and slips through the front door. Without checking on me, without dragging me along with him per usual. He leaves me here. I really fucked up this time. Something inside me squeezes, and then cracks. Shit. Maybe I am an asshole, after all. Maybe Phil is right.
"Fuck me," I rake my hand through my hair so hard it almost hurts. Suddenly the lights are too flashy and the music is too loud and the smell of beer and cologne is fucking mind numbing.
"What's the matter Dan? Where'd your little girlfriend go?"
Dalton's still laughing, smiling and laughing and looking at me fondly, but with a hint of something else in his eyes that I can't quite decipher. As far as he's concerned, we're friends, we've been friends since I got here. He took me under his wing when I was new and had no one else, brought me to parties, got my name out there. Introduced me to Phil, which is without doubt the only completely admirable thing that he's ever done for me. He paid for my first tattoo, he even forced a damn stud into my fucking eyebrow. He pierced my lip, himself. Everything that I am, every part of me that shows on the outside has been created and tweaked to stereotypical bad boy perfection by him over the years. It's not that I haven't always been that person, I absolutely have been. I've been fucked up since long before I met him, but until Dalton came around I never felt the need to look the part. I've always been an asshole, but until I came here, I was an asshole with shaggy curly hair, a closet full of nerdy t-shirts and sweaters, and a little bit of extra tummy. I'm still an asshole, but now I'm one with a wardrobe that only comes in black, hair that's short on the sides and long and straightened over my eyes in the front. I'm pierced in so many places that I probably wouldn't be allowed to be buried in quite a few cemeteries, and I got tattoos without my mother permission. Tattoos that she doesn't know about, because I haven't been home since I came to college. Every time I leave the country, I get flagged by airport security. The difference between Dan then, and Dan now, is I stopped trying to fight whatever it is that makes me so angry, and I've learned to use it as a tactic to portray myself as hot and angsty and get into girls pants with it. And that isn't something I learned alone. Dalton may say to all of our friends when I'm not around that he made me, and it's true, but part me knows that we are not friends, not like Phil and I, and he will never give up a chance to belittle me or ruin my successes.
I rip at my hair again, my head hurts like it usually does when I spin out of control. I can no longer feel my feet on the ground. That's different, usually they get so heavy that I can't imagine ever being able to move them again. But this time I can't imagine staying still. I feel like I want to run. My whole body feels heavy, and everything in the room starts to black out except for Dalton's stupid face. Dalton, who doesn't know when to keep his fucking mouth shut.
I dig my finger nails into my arm, trying with everything in me to keep my balled fists down; I've already failed my attempts to keep them from balling up in first place. I can feel my blood heating up inside me and my mind spinning out reach, away from where I can control out. Out into fucking space, until I'm incapable of thinking like a rational human being.
The whole thing was my own fault, of course. I'm the one that lied. But that doesn't stop my anger from taking over. From boiling over the edge of the fucking pot.
Maybe I really am as mad at Dalton as I think I am, or maybe I'm just plain pissed at myself. Whatever it is, it brings my fist to his face pretty fucking quick.
I get a few more hits in and feel a decent crack before I'm pulled off by about five different sets of hands.
"Dan, take a walk, mate,"
I can't tell who's talking because all I can hear is my blood boiling in my ears. I push everyone of me and force myself outside without looking back at Dalton, I don't need to see how bad I hurt him. In reality, I know that I only hit him because I can't hit my own fucking self and get the same reaction. He's not the one that I'm most angry at.
I walk for as long as I physically can before I fall on my ass on the pavement. It's so cold, the ground, but I'm so hot, I feel like I'll explode any minute. The contrast is fucking nauseating. My chest is heaving so hard that I have flashbacks to when I was younger and asthmatic.
I wipe the blood on my knuckles off on my jeans, but I don't realize for a few more attempts that Dalton's isn't the only blood on my hand. Three split knuckles. Nice job, Dan. You fucking tool.
I stay sitting until I can calm myself down. I can't tell how long it takes for everything to stop spinning. Sometimes it takes half an hour, sometimes it takes two. When it does, I dial Phil.
He's silent on the other end, but I know that he's there. He always is, after all.
"It happened again,"
My voice is quieter than usual, full of embarrassment. I hate how fucking pathetic I sound. I've been doing so good up to this point, all of my progress is for nothing.
"I'll come get you in twenty minutes. Calm down a little more first."
I say nothing. He knows that I heard him.
"And Dan? We're going back to Dr. Emery's tomorrow."
My mouth opens, but no words come out. Humiliation slowly replaces all of the anger in my body.
And then the phone starts to beep and he's gone.
What the fuck have I done.

// Alex //

Tillie isn't home when I get back to the dorm. Tyler went home after he dropped me off, to give me some space. I pretended that I wanted it.
My calls to Tillie go to voicemail, and I can't help but cry to her answering machine. I've never felt quite as alone as I do right now; even my best friend isn't here when I need a shoulder. I pace the room, I open drawers, but I don't know what I'm looking for. I lay down, cry, stand back up, pace some more. Before I can consider calling my mother or doing anything equally as awful, there's a light knock on the door. I'm humiliated enough at this point, and I don't even bother to clean myself up before pulling it open.
On the other side stands Phil, looking flustered and a bit red. Red on the ears, on his neck. I push the door closed, hard, but he catches it and steps in before I can slam it all of the way. He's stronger than looks, unlike Dan, who demands attention simply by being.
"Alex,"
He closes it behind him, and looks at me, as if seeking permission to speak. I start to cry again.
"I'm sorry, I'm being stupid I know,"
I start, trying my best to defend myself. I should not be crying over Dan, this much I know. But for some reason, I can't stop. I've been here less than a month. This is not what I expected to happen to me here. This isn't fun.
"You're not,"
Phil steps forward until he's close enough to wrap his arms around me and rest his chin on my head. We stand like this for a few minutes, and I almost forget that I hardly know Phil at all. Besides, he's the only one here. My friends aren't here, Tillie isn't here, but Phil is. And that's not nothing.
"Thank you,"
I mumble into his chest, relaxing at the feeling of him squeezing me a little more. I concentrate on the feeling of his hand on my back, rubbing circles, and eventually the tears stop.
"I'll be back in an hour or so, love, please don't be hard on yourself."
I nod, and then he's gone. And I'm alone again, and I'm pacing again. This time, I make proper use of myself and flick on the kettle, make my bed, get changed and take my makeup off. I settle into my bed with tea and my laptop, and I start to email my parents, to tell them I love them and because I feel alone and secretly need attention.
I try to think of what I can say to Phil when he gets back, should I ask him if he knew about what Dan was telling people about me? What if he did? I surely shouldn't trust him anymore if he did know, even if he is a good guy.
Before I can decide whether or not I want to give Phil the benefit of the doubt and let him sit here with me all night while I cry or tear him apart limb by limb, Tillie finally makes an appearance.
Drunk, with her purse flats on and heels dangling from one of her hands. Her other hand is lost in the messy hair of some dude. Some dude that's wearing board shorts even though it's autumn and a shirt that says 'cool story, bro'. And I start to cry again. Because I got fucked over and Tillie hasn't noticed me yet and if I don't say anything she's definitely going to sleep with this dude. I really don't have reason to cry, but I do because this guy looks like a fucking idiot and he smells like too much axe and Tillie looks so trashed and I'm baffled that so many terrible things could happen in one day.
And because Phil Lester is a fucking good guy.

lol im not gonna edit this till later sorry
i love you guys! also we hit 500 so that's super cool, i can't even believe it! next chapter will be better, but at least shits startin to go down. please comment and say hi and vote and all the good stuff.
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-t