The Way She Is

Chapter 10 ~ "It'll Be Okay, I Promise."

Chapter 10 ~ "It'll Be Okay, I Promise."

Phil's P.O.V

My eyelids fluttered open, albeit reluctantly and heavy with tiredness. What met my sleepy and blurred vision was a bright and unfamiliar room. Instinctively, I sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake and alert, looked around at my surroundings, relaxing slightly after realising it was Pj's apartment. However, that meant that the past few weeks hadn't all been a horrendous and terrifying dream, and Dan really was angry beyond the point of no return with me.

Checking my phone, I saw no new messages or missed calls, evidently they were much happier and better off without me around. Sighing, I swung my feet out of the warmth of the bed and onto the cool wooden floor, heaving myself up to stand. Shuffling to the bathroom, I closed the door gently behind myself and stumbled to the sink. 

The hot tap turned on and plug in place, I watched silently at the sink filled with warm water, wispy swirls of steam rising from it. It felt refreshing to splash the water on my face, somewhat soothing I'd say, the warmth melting and mingling with my skin. The only way I could improve it, would be to give it the ability to wash away all of my problems that had suddenly surfaced. But we all know that can't happen, so I straightened up and caught a blurred glimpse of myself behind the layer of condensation on the mirror.

Using the back of my hand, I wiped it away so that I could see my reflection more clearly. A crucial error on my behalf. The longer I stared at myself in the mirror, the more numb I became. His eyes took on a darker blue gleam that almost toyed the line with black, and his lips remained unsmiling and emotionless. After 5 minutes of staring at the guy in the mirror, the guy that I barely recognised as myself, I realised what I'd become was a mere empty shell. So numb in fact, that I felt void of all emotions ... For a split second that is. 

It all flooded back in one sickening tsunami that overwhelmed me beyond any means of control.

The pain.

The anger.

The frustration.

All the negative emotions and issues coming in one huge wave that threw me out at sea, and this time, I was a goner ...

No one's P.O.V

With tears streaming down his cheeks, the ebony haired boy fled from the bathroom, sprinted out of his bedroom and across the living room, until he found himself flinging open the pantry door in the kitchen. Frantically tossing things aside, he finally reached what he was searching fervently for.

Alcohol. 

A six carton of red wine bottles to be precise. Grabbing it and resuming a standing position, he glanced around, blindly attempting to see through the torrents of hopeless tears still staining his cheeks red. One last thing was snatched off of the side before he ran desperately back to his make-shift room. 

Throwing the bottles onto his bed, loud sobs filled the room as the silver blade was dragged across his bare, left forearm, leaving a long, open wound rapidly filling and overflowing with his own dark crimson blood. Repeatedly, the knife was pulled across his arms, leaving more and more marks and cuts. Between each, a long glug of wine was taken. 

He stopped however, dropping the bloody blade, when he could no longer even see his arms with the amount of blood dripping from them, pooling on the floor. But still he wasn't satisfied with his destructive path. His own emotionless face kept appearing in his mind. 

Feeling light-headed and dizzy, he struggled to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom again, opened the cabinet and grabbed every bottle of pills his blurred vision could find. Even before he reached the war-zone that was his room, he'd unscrewed the cap of one bottle and poured the whole contents into his mouth. Once inside, he fumbled for the wine and lifted it to his lips, swallowing the unknown medicine and bitter alcohol. 

Collapsing almost instantly to his knees, he was still numb and void of the physical pain he desired, so another bottle of wine was opened, followed by more tablets ... 

Pj's P.O.V

As Chris and I walked back up the immense flight of stairs leading to our apartment, I began to wonder if leaving Phil alone was such a bright idea. I mean, it's not like I didn't trust him with himself or anything, but he did seem awfully upset and incredibly distressed the previous night, and that worried me.

Chris assured me it'd be fine, and that he probably wouldn't even be awake when we got back from  town, and I'd understood that. It was early hours in the morning when we finally got Phil to calm down, turn his laptop off and go to sleep. He was like a brother to me, and that's the reason I cared for him as one. He may be slightly older than myself, but he'd always be a kitten at heart.

Finally we reached the door and Chris handed me his bags while he searched his pockets for the keys, which he found whilst muttering about food and hunger. Rolling my eyes, I followed him inside and started for the kitchen, freezing as I saw the complete disarray it was in. 

"What the..?" I muttered, stepping around the packets and tins scattered about the floor. Bending down to pick up a jar of marmite, I heard Chris knock on the door to the spare room. Phil's door.

"Phil, mate, are you up yet? We were going to start lunch now." Standing up, I ganced over to him, raising an eyebrow at the sight of him with his ear to the white door. "Phil?" He called again, knocking and resting a hand on the brass handle. When no reply issued, the grin slipped from my face and I walked cautiously around the breakfast bar. Chris pulled the handle down and pushed the door open. "Shit! Pj call 999!" His tone was panicked and fearful, causing my feet to break into a run, to the door of the room. 

I wasn't sure if what I was looking at was even real. Empty pill bottles lay strewn across the floor, as did several equally empty wine bottles. But more shocking and stomach turning than that was the large pool of blood and motionless body lying among them. As cliche as it sounds, it was like something out of a horror movie, like someone had brutally murdered my friend and left his bloody body for us to find and cry over. 

Tears stung my eyes as I fumbled for my mobile. Tearing my streaming eyes away from Phil, the blood, the knife, the wine and the empty tablet containers, I keyed in the number and called for an ambulance. 

"They said they'd - That they'd be here in - soon." I told Chris in between sobs. I was still in total shock. How could this have happened? What even did happen?!

"Right, he's still alive. Just. Literally. Holding on by a thread." Chris muttered, glancing down at the train wreck our friends arms appeared to have endured. 

Slowly, I stepped further into the room, counting the empty wine bottles.

Five.

Then the empty tablet containers.

Seven.

How did he even manage seven before passing out? The next thing my eyes wondered to was the blood, knife and Phil's bloody arms. There really was only one possibility, that he'd done it himself. That he'd done all of this himself. The pills, the alcohol, the knife.

But surely Phil wouldn't attempt suicide? 

Chris stayed kneeling next to Phil's seemingly lifeless body, up until the paramedics arrived and whisked him away, us with him.

Now all we could do was wait until they gave us their verdict, which who knows how long that'd take. But as we sat in the waiting area, strong smell of disinfectant in the air, Chris patted my crying form and whispered. 

"It'll be okay, I promise."