Friend, Please: Phan

7

Dan's POV

After texting Phil, Dan spent the next few hours scrolling mindlessly on the internet. Sites like Tumblr and YouTube filled the dreadful and dreary free time he had with memes and stupid internet trends that were somehow entertaining. It was quite the classic case he'd admit. 'Depressed teen spends his lousy days cutting and on the internet'. It almost fueled the untrue statements of every teens parents who thought social media was the cause of depression. But it's not like his parents would notice. They didn't even care where he went or what he did, only that he was a waste of space and a target.

Almost as if on cue to Dan's thoughts, he heard his father's car pull into the driveway, and prepared himself for the shitstorm bound to come.

"Dan come downstairs now." He heard his father shout from presumably the living room. He stayed silent and double checked that his bedroom door was locked. He knew that if he left his room, he would only be yelled at or worse. Suddenly banging started to sound from the other side of his door. Yells could be heard calling him things like 'useless' and 'a fuck up' until it all just became a background sound. He was used to it.

Eventually the yelling stopped and his father left, presumably to drown away his problems through the completion of another bottle. Dan quickly grabbed his backpack and cell phone, opening the small window from his bedroom to the side of his house. There was no tree, nor extra roof for him to minimize the jump, so he simply just hung onto the windowsill until his feet were as low as they could get, before dropping to the ground. Once his feet his the surface, he bolted- not wanting any chance of his father seeing him through a window.

He turned the corner and began to slow down, panting as he came to a full stop. Once regaining his lost breath, he began to make his way toward the public library. It would be a quiet, safe place for him to get some homework done for next Monday.

The library was a small, pale blue building with cute artwork done by some first graders decorating the front entrance. Inside, students studying last minute for quizzes, young children picking out picture books, and a plethora of other types of people, could be found. Dan was far to familiar with this atmosphere, as his father became drunk and violent often. However, it meant he knew the building well enough to know the most secluded spot to spend his time in.

He quickly made his way to the back corner of the nonfiction children's section, finding a small red beanbag to sit in and dropping his bag next to it. It was the perfect place to seek refuge, as most children yearned to read fantasy or comical fiction, rather than nonfiction, which they often found boring. Dan opened his black and white school bag and pulled out a cheap pair of earbuds, plugging them into his phone and turning on his playlist of songs. As the sounds of alternating guitar chords and meaningful lyrics filled his ears, he pulled out his homework from his bag and began to work.

Hours passed, and Dan managed to finish most of his work. Being as lazy as he is, he decided to take a break to watch some YouTube on his laptop. He was midway through a Smosh video when his dad called. Fearing the consequences of ignoring it, he answered the call with hesitation.

"Hello?" Dan said meekly.

"Where are you!?" his father replied impertinently.

"I'm on my way home right now," Dan lied, quickly shoving all of his things into his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. He hung up and ran out of the library's door, clutching his phone tightly in his hand. By the time he was a few blocks away from his house, he began feeling exhausted so he slowed down, taking a minute to catch his breath before continuing quickly to his house.

He knew his father would be drunk, and he knew his anger would be taken out on his skin. Punches, kicks, broken bottles. Just an average night at Dan Howell's house. When he reached his front door, he slowly turned the handle, ready to dash upstairs to his room. However his father had other plans.

"Where have you been fag," he grumbled, pushing Dan into a wall once he entered the house. Dan, too afraid to say anything, stayed silent. "Too fucking useless to talk? Maybe this will clear your throat. It's what you deserve." A fist came swinging into Dan's face, he felt himself being pushed onto the floor, a heavy rubber boot repeatedly slammed into his side. All he could feel was burning, stinging, and a constant weight of guilt. Years ago he would've had nothing to feel guilty over. The rational part of his mind would tell him it was his fathers fault, not his. However after years of the same treatment, he now believed every punch, every blow, every piece of verbal abuse, to be his own fault.

"Fucking useless," his father spat, kicking him one last time before grabbing a bottle and falling back onto the couch. Dan tried to stand, but fell back down immediately from the pain in his legs.

He slowly crawled across the floor and pulled himself up the stairs to reach his room. Unfortunately, it was still locked, meaning he needed to stand up to reach the paper clip he kept above his doorframe to pick the lock. He grabbed the doorknob and hoisted himself up, straining greatly on his arms. He reached up, trying to grab the paper clip, or at least knock it off the top of the frame. Luckily, his long lanky form allowed him to reach it rather quickly. He quickly unlocked his door and crawled in, closing it behind him.

He made his way over to the mirror hanging on his wall, and began to examine his injuries. Bruises had begun forming on his ribs and arms, and his cheek had split from the impact of the punch. Punches, kicks, and broken bottles. Just an average night at Dan Howell's house.