Please think about why you can't sleep in the evening
and please don't be afraid of what your soul is really thinking.
***
WARNING: MENTION AND SLIGHT DISCRIPTION OF SELF HARM
***
He had given me his number after he dropped me off at my house. He had told me that a couple of years ago an elderly couple had lived here, but now is housed in the retirement home. Nursing case, he had said.
With a few gestures he had told me where he lived. Two streets above, left side of the street, next to the orange painted house. If I just wanted to come by. He smiled softly before turning and walking down the street.
For a few seconds I had looked after him before turning to the house, which I hated so much. It was weird to come home alone, without Addy. In Wokingham I was always with her. At that time I had taken care of her and not the other way around. It had changed so fast.
The house was quiet when I entered it. With a look from the living room window, I realized that my dad was working in the garden. For a second I thought about helping him, whatever he did there, but something was holding me back. That's why I just knocked briefly on the glass, whereupon my father turned around and gave me a short wave.
He nodded to me to come outside, but I only shook my head. I faked a short smile and went upstairs.
What was it? I'd been out all day, maybe made friends, found someone to help me, to understand me, not to label me right away, and yet something was wrong.
A few days passed.
It was a quiet, pleasant summer night.
That's how beautiful stories start, right? With a good environment, something positive. Quiet summer nights, in which it felt like you were one with everything around you. As if everything made sense for a moment.
Well, not for me.
Nothing had changed. At school I didn't stand alone, but ran with others over the small sports field. Maybe we just sat on the grass and talked about plans for the weekend or about the new teacher that nobody liked. Phil didn't make a big deal out of what he had seen and didn't talk about it anymore. He didn't act as if he had to take care of me, but I think he did. Or did I just want him to do it?
My dad looked okay too. He distracted himself with work in the house and I didn't know what he would do if he had done everything. Maybe he'll buy a new house then. My room still looked the same as the first day.
Addy was out all the time and didn't come back until late at night. We sat together for dinner in the evening and talked about life. At least Addy and my dad.
Actually, everything was okay.
My heart hurt. As if it would break apart at any moment, but wouldn't know how. As if the last shock was missing. It was unbearable.
I rolled around in my bed and had an incredible need to shout.
What was it? What did hurt so much?
As if I just needed to know the reason and then I could let go, work on it, do anything. Or did I know what the problem was, but just couldn't let it collapse on me?
"That was a very traumatizing experience for your son." That's exactly what my therapist said to my dad.
Suddenly I started to cry. Not like normal people cry, but like a waterfall. As if I drown in it.
It broke. Thousands of small items that felt like they were boring into me. I could feel my brain burn. As if every nerve, every single cell burned. No part of my body knew what it should do.
My legs carried me through my room, from end to end. I clenched my hands in my hair and pulled at them. It felt like my whole body was shaking. My first intuition was to climb out the window and smoke one, but I wouldn't be able to do that.
In the end, I was sitting on my bed. The floor was full of blood.
For a second, I wondered how the hell that happened, but I knew for sure: I'd taken my book off my shelf, sat on my bed with it, and put the blade in my arm. After that everything went really fast.
I had no plan, I didn't want anything, except that it stops. And it did.
It was a quiet, pleasant summer night.
My brain realized what had happened. Slowly I noticed that the blood was still dripping on the floor. I looked at my forearm, which showed nothing but blood. It was a deep wound. Not life threatening, but not normal either.
I had never cut myself so deeply and I was shocked by myself. I think I was too tired to feel anything. It was all so quiet when your brain shut up. It was so quiet when your heart calmed down.
From that moment I knew that everything was just in my head. That it had only been so terribly loud to me while it is just a night to everyone else.
Drop after drop.
Somewhere, very far away, I heard my name. Slowly I looked up, whereupon I only saw my father in my room.
He said something, but I didn't listen. I didn't want to know. I was too tired to worry about him seeing me like this. That it was an open secret.
~~~
vote and comment, please?
also, if you have problems: you are not alone, you never are. there are always people, that want to help. always, okay? i love you all.
YOU ARE READING
Untold. // Phan
Fanfiction"Did you ever look at someone and asked yourself, why are they like this? What is their story?" A sad fanfiction about Dan and Phil, two characters with two different stories.
