Dan and Phil Imagines (Requests CLOSED!)

Cuts ↣ Dan {Requested}

HUGE TRIGGER WARNING. SELF HARM OBVIOUSLY. PLEASE STAY AWAY IF YOU'RE TRIGGERED AND STAY SAFE BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY STAY ALIVE.

Requested by AshlynGarrett. I hope you enjoy!

These thoughts and descriptions of self-harm are completely based on my own experiences. I'm not trying to romanticize self-harm or use it just as a plot for a story. This is all me. It's serious. Please don't self-harm, ever.

The darkness surrounds you, taunting you. Screaming.

He's not here. You know what that means.

It feels like you're simply drifting away at the edges, the shadows pulling you farther and farther from reality.

We are.

You stand in the middle of your pitch black bedroom, silent tears pouring out of your eyes. You're clenching your fists so hard your fingernails dig into your palm. The darkness somehow feels better than the light, to you, right now. Though you can't see it, you stare straight ahead at the dresser you know is in front of you.

That last drawer, at the very bottom, hidden under piles of clothes, is a blade. Two, in fact. Maybe three. You don't know. You haven't checked in a long, long time.

Walk forward. Open the drawer. Die.

Shivers run up and down your spine. You shake your head repeatedly.

You're not shaking your head to say 'no', you're shaking your head to get those things out.

But they don't get out. In fact, they seem to bury themselves into your brain even more.

You take a deep breath as you, ignoring the tiny part of your brain that's screaming for you to stop, take a step forward.

Your eyes are wide, and your mouth is slightly agape. You reach out your hand and take another step, as if you're Sleeping Beauty about to touch the deadly spinning wheel. You might as well be. Same fate.

Your entire body is shaking as you kneel down in front of the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Before touching the handle, you look around the bedroom one last time.

You can't see anything, but you know they're there. You tap your fingers on your thigh as you stare in horror at the dark.

Open it.

You let out an audible noise, but you don't know exactly what it is. Something between a gasp, a cry, and a scream.

You squeeze your eyes shut and put your hands over them. The end of your palms press into your closed eyelids. Your head pounds, as does your heart.

You can't take it anymore. You feel as though your life is slipping away anyway, so might as well-

You slap yourself, right across your face. Your cheek stings.

Now why'd I go and do that?

But you know why. You had to stop yourself from thinking these thoughts somehow.

It's true, though. No matter how much you deny it. You don't feel alive anymore. You don't feel your fingers, your toes. You can only feel the pounding migraine in your head.

Someone taps on your shoulder. At least you think they do.

Turn around.

You don't. This has happened before, long ago. You know it's no one. No one except your own fear, your own demons.