One Million

Time can be measured. In one million seconds there are 11 days, 13 hours and 46 minutes. In one million hours there are 111 years. Numbers are easy. The answer is right or wrong, the meaning always the same.

There have been 11 days, 13 hours and 46 minutes since Daniel Howell hit one million subscribers on youtube. Maybe you would think it somewhat ironic, in fact, that this was the precise moment in which he was filming his thank-you-for-one-million-subscribers-video. That at this moment there were exactly one million grains of sugar in his tea. That there were one million tiny water particles settled on his body. That his parents were one million centimetres away, 10km South and peacefully oblivious.

One million seconds before

His squeal rang through every corner of the flat, reverberating off the walls. I had mere seconds to fling my laptop out of the way and brace myself before he burst through the door and launched himself into me. The air was knocked from my lungs and I gasped out a laugh, wrapping my arms around his squirming body.

“Congratulations,” I mumbled into his tussled hair, squeezing him tight. “I’m so proud of you.”

He lifted his head, his shining eyes peeking through mussed hair. “It’s all thanks to you though. I couldn’t have done it without you. You deserve it more than me. You’re the best.”

“Oh shut up,” I laughed. “Today is all about you. You made every single video and I’m sure you would have done it eventually without my help.”

He pulled himself up to bring his eyes level with mine. “No I mean it. Thank you, for everything. For getting me started and for being there ever since. For being my best friend. I’d never have got past five subscribers if I was still the depressed, cocky little twat I was before I met you.”

A grin spread across my face. “Oh come here you soppy idiot.” I giggled, pulling him back into a hug.

I could feel him smiling into my shoulder; his happiness was infectious - pushing away all strains of bitterness. “Okay get up, I have a present for you!”

~

“Can we just stay here? It’s really warm in your bed. And I actually love innocently sleeping in the same bed as friends. I mean you already know that, but since we started living together we just haven’t and it’s one of my favourite things.*”

I tried to suppress my grin. “Sure, of course, why not. We can spoon.”

He laughed and curled into me. “You said it!” he snickered, pulling my arm to wrap it around his waist.

We’d both agreed we were platonic lovers; the cuddles and the little kisses were just friendly. We had feelings for each other sure, but so did most best friends at times. Sometimes, you can be talking and laughing and suddenly have the urge to just lean forward and kiss the person opposite. Like you would with a little brother. And that was me and Dan, most of the time. Sometimes; I thought we had a little more. Sometimes I wanted to kiss Dan and go on kissing him right into the night. That part of our relationship had slipped away for a while, but as I lay with my face in his warm neck it was hard to imagine anything else. I sighed. My breath tickled his neck and he squirmed, twisting round to face me.

“Don’t do that you idiot!” he froze for a moment, staring at me; our faces millimetres away from each other. Suddenly, he darted forwards and placed a quick kiss on my cheek – rolling back over in an instant as though nothing had happened.

For a moment, I didn’t say anything.

“Dan..?” I whispered cautiously.

There was no reply. Was he asleep already? Somehow I didn’t think so.

 In the darkness, I didn’t bother trying to hide the huge grin spreading slowly across my face.

One Million Milliseconds before

“I have an idea for my one million video!” Dan announced over the breakfast bar, mug of tea grasped in his hands. “It’s maybe slightly insane and a little bit dangerous…”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yes…?”

“I’m not telling you. Not until I’ve got it sorted anyway.” He frowned. “It’s going to take a lot of organising, but you’ll come with me and help right?”

“Of course.” I smiled. “I’ll go wherever you will go.”

He cringed. “Oh god. Sometimes I wonder why I’m friends with you. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I’ve sent some emails okay?” He jumped up and disappeared into his bedroom, a fervent glaze in his eyes.

“You’ve left your tea.” I called to an empty room.

I shook my head as I drained my own and picked up his mug. I padded barefoot across the hall, slipping into his room and placing it silently on his desk. He continued typing without noticing me. I waited quietly for a moment, trying to read the email without getting any closer. His hand reached out automatically as he paused to read over what he had written, picking up the tea and taking a sip. I laughed quietly, shaking my head again and backing softly out of the room.

~

“It’s sorted!” he burst through the door, a manic grin on his face. “You’ll never guess what I’m going to do!”

“Oh good, you’ll need to recharge the underwater camera then. By the way, did you finish your tea?”

“I’m going to – wait what?” His face fell comically as realisation dawned. “You’re the worst.”

I giggled guiltily. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it. But really, scuba diving in the Thames? Won’t that be a bit… disgusting?”

He scowled at me for a moment, then gave up and sat down opposite me at the table. “Probably. But sometimes you gotta do these things for the fans.” He sighed dramatically.

“Right.” I snorted. “So they’ve said yes? What about all the technical issues - you can’t go too deep or the camera won’t work surely?”

“I thought about that,” He said smugly, “I’ve hired an underwater imaging camera for the day – the type they use for documentaries and shit – and there’s microphones in the suit already. It’s the perfect plan: they get to see me in a tight fitting wetsuit; it’ll make a really good video and there’s a twist.”

“Wait, there’s another twist?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yup.” He said happily. “But this one I will keep a secret from you if it kills me.”

I smirked. “Okay. If you say so. What do you need me to do?”

One million nanoseconds before

The February morning was crisp and cold, a fine white dusting of frost lay over the ground. Dan stood on the riverbank, eyeing the grey water with very little enthusiasm. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” He muttered. “I really fucking hope they appreciate it.”

A small group of people consisting of a pair of driving instructors, a camera technician already in his scuba suit and me and three friends gathered round the small blue boat tethered on the dock. A seagull called mournfully across the water.

 “Come on, time to go. Stop being a pussy and strip.” Ordered the dive instructor.

Dan sighed. I gave him an encouraging smile and he pulled a grimace as he slipped out of his duffel coat and jeans.

Even stood shivering in the grey, dreary light of the morning Dan was beautiful. His skin still a light bronze despite the long winter; his hair still soft and luscious and carefully straightened despite the water. 

“H-h-help me with this f-f-f-fucking suit, P-phil.” Dan mumbled through chattering teeth.

I tried to rub some warmth into him as I tugged it over his long, trembling limbs. As the diving instructor started to clip him in and fasten all the valves, I stepped back and turned Dan around to face me. His face looked very small and scared encased in the oversized mask and I suddenly felt awful.

Don’t be nervous I mouthed, knowing that he couldn’t hear me with the earplug headphones in. I’ll strip naked and jump in after you if I have to.

He gave me a watery smile before taking a deep breath and turning back to listen to the instructor. It had just gone 7.30am and there was very little shipping traffic out on the murky water. Most of London still asleep, the surface was a smooth, dark grey – rippling only with the slight breeze.

The briefing seemed to pass in a blur, Dan nodding at every pause as the Instructor talked. We had a portable screen and a radio mic on shore, we would be able to see everything filmed so we could communicate with Dan how it looked our end  - if anything needed reshooting and if the angles were okay. The air tank only allowed one hour, so we would have to work fast.

Time is a strange thing. A timespan of less than a second could so easily change the world.

Dan clambered into the boat and set off, the three of us huddling on the bank and cheering our support. Halfway out into the river we could see the camera man helping Dan with his flippers and Dan nodding. I glanced around. Still no sign of his twist. Knowing him, it would be something stupid and ridiculously over the top. I bit my lip, suddenly worried. The oxygen tank looked so small from here, the pipe so thin and flimsy.

On the plus side though, he would be cold when he came out – which meant lots of cuddles and hot chocolate.

His small voice crackled over the radio system. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, his face flickered into focus on the tiny screen. Out on the water I could see the camera man fiddling with the dials and buttons.

“Loud and clear!” I replied cheerfully.

Dan turned his head away, listening again to something being said by the dive instructors.

Time is a strange thing; so little time can mean so much to so many people. One million and more.

 If the shiny white speedboat had arrived a second later, Dan might have been able to dive out of the way. If it had hit the boat any earlier the sharp, expensive prow might not have hit him full in the chest at over 80mph. He might not have been flung straight into the freezing water. The Dive instructor might have still been holding the long orange safety chord.

As it was, the weights in the suit designed to take him straight to the bottom did their job without a hitch. The oxygen tank continued to pump compressed air town the long pipe at 100% capacity, the other end of the pipe floating serenely on the surface of the water where is had been severed from Dan’s helmet.

Time, so often wasted, is all we have.

On the bank, we were silent statues. I did not move. I watched as the teenager driving the boat staggered on deck, still hideously drunk from the night before. A scantily clad woman was screaming, another emerging to join her with a shriek.

Watching as the lifeguards arrived with a blaring of sirens and a fountain of spray. The abuse hurled between the two boats as our instructor and one of the lifeguards prepared to dive for Dan. I couldn’t do anything. Someone was talking to me; another sobbing quietly. I couldn’t hear them. Bryony was talking fast, her words a blur. The impact was brutal, he’ll definitely be injured. When they get him back up they’ll have to be careful, he must have broken a rib - It’ll hurt. He’ll probably have to go to hospital. Phil? Phil listen to me. Phil, they’ve got him – Phil? It’s okay Phil, he’s okay. They’re coming back and the lifeguards have got the bastards in the speedboat. They’re bringing him back to the paramedic Phil talk to me? Look they’re… Oh my God. I think he’s doing chest compressions. It’s CPR Phil. Oh God. Phil. He’s not breathing.

Silence has fallen. I can see their mouths moving; they are screaming and yelling and moving so fast and yet so slowly. Like in a dream. A nightmare.

Before I even hear the words, I know.

Before the paramedic lifts his head to shake it. Before the last chest pump, before, even, he touches his lips for the first time to blow air into Dan’s crushed and bleeding lungs. I know.

I know.

Everything - the world outside my head - slows down.
In this moment, every sense is alert and hyperaware; yet somehow I know nothing with certainty.
It is a moment of contradictions.
My heart pulses erratically, the blood pounding in my ears deafening and drowning the words I already know. I can’t gasp a full breath though my chest heaves as I suck in too much air.

My head, aching from the pounding blood, drifts.

My feet are no longer attached to the ground - they lead me away. Away from here.
I walk two blocks before I collapse.

Everything within me breaks down. The walls of muscle and tendons holding my heart in place seem to crumble and fall away, a vast cavity opening up in the pit of my stomach swallowing me whole. Guttural cries rip through my body, tearing great scars and rifts. Hot tears sting my face and soak my clothes. There are words in my cries, though I can’t hear them. Running feet fill my ears as they come after me, shouting my name. I push away their arms as though I could shove away the pain.
Finally, as the heaving, shaking sobs fade slowly away, an emptiness settles within me.

Sensory overload gives way to numbness.
A dull ache lying broken on the pavement.

One million seconds after

There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain that goes on and on; beneath every small action. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to chew, to swallow, to move just a finger. Something as simple as making a cup of tea is suddenly like climbing a barren, ragged mountain with no hope of ever reaching the top. Every movement requires deliberate effort. Every breath is forced.

I will now lift the kettle. The one he lifted so many times before. The mug has touched his lips. The teaspoons tapped irritatingly against the table when he was lost in thought. Every object holds a memory; every scent, every flavour. The whole world is tainted with his life. Now he is gone, so is it.

An empty chair at an empty table. Here, the idea was born. I can hear his voice. Bright with excitement, his eyes alight. I can hear every word. Daniel Howell.

Daniel Howell.

I talk to you sometimes.

Say the things I should have said while you were alive to hear them.

I wish I’d told you, Dan. That it was me who stole the chocolate out of your bag in Jamaica - not the little brown monkey that you laughed at and fed banana to. That it was me that sent you the Valentine’s card with all the pink confetti in it after your girlfriend broke up with you to try and make you feel better. How one night back when we first met and you were sleeping in my bed you had a nightmare and I held your hand the entire night. How I whispered your name against your lips to calm you down. How you called to me, right then in your sleep. How I kissed you again and again as the tears poured down your cheeks.

How I wished you’d woken up and kissed me back.

I wish I’d told you that when you left at the end of that week I felt so alone and empty that I cried for three hours in my bathroom. Jamie’s death had brought so much pain that I had forgotten what it felt like, to be so close to someone. To hold them in your arms.

I wish I’d told you all these things, Dan.

But most of all I wish I’d told you what I couldn’t even admit to myself.

That I love you.

Because now it’s too late.

~

 I pace back and forth across the empty flat for three days without eating or sleeping.

I think of Jamie. The thoughts that were buried come back afresh to haunt me as if they’d never gone. The blackness consumes me until I can’t breathe. My breath hitches in my throat and my heart is pounding against my ribcage, the sound of my blood rushing through my ears and blurring my vision. Nausea pours over me in waves until I pass out in a pool of my own vomit.                                                        I’m so glad you can’t see me now.

Blackness gives way to white.

They found me on the floor and took me to the hospital. They asked me what was wrong, what I was seeing. I wouldn’t tell them. No one else knows - no one else saw. I have to save them from that, Dan. I will take it with me. I owe it to them.

Your face, Dan; on the little screen. Cradled in my lap. The boat shooting of the quayside with a roar. Your beautiful dark eyes widening in horror. I can hear them now. The last words you ever spoke.

Help me, Phil

Jamie’s broken body bleeding on the rocks. Choking on his own blood. Turning his deep brown eyes too face me, his hand reaching out with what little energy he had left. I can hear them now. The last words he ever spoke.

Help me, Phil

But there was nothing I could do. I swear it Dan, I would have jumped in after you a thousand times over. I would have jumped in after Jamie a hundred times if it would bring him back.

But I didn’t. And still now, I do nothing.

~

Bryony took me to a bereavement support group today. She says we can get through this together. Roger, the counsellor, said that grief was different for everyone - we all felt a different pain and had different ways of dealing with it. He asked us to describe our grief. Some people got really into it, using really long words and snatches of things I’m 99% sure I heard during the poetry segment of GCSE English.

You probably want to know what I said. I’ve never been that good at English, but I tried to put it into words.

I told him that it was like being locked in a glass bottle with no air or sound. The bottle is empty yet somehow filled with excruciating pain. The days and night are the same – time does not pass; or at least if it does then it passes right by me. And yet the world goes on. I watch them through the glass, walking with so much purpose and speed. I don’t understand. It seems impossible to me that people can exist in this way, living in the world when all light has gone from it.
The inside of the bottle is black. I guess the glass must be black too, because everything outside is grey.

Bryony just said simply that it was all consuming. A total eclipse of the entire world; throwing her into darkness and despair. I think that’s a good description; kinda poetic too. Her grief suits her.

I feel that, too. But somehow she still gets out of bed every day and gets dressed, interacting with other people. Eating, drinking, sleeping. I don’t know how she does these things, Dan, when I cannot.

~

Bryony tells me it’s getting better. She says we’re recovering, together. I tell her yes. Sure. Because I can’t bear to tell her the truth. Because I want her to live again.

The light is coming back into her life and I am glad, she doesn’t deserve to be unhappy.

For me, the days are only getting darker.

~

I see your face at the window sometimes, phantom shadows at the door and in the hall. Sometimes I look up to talk to you as though you will be on the sofa opposite; playing guildwars. Browsing tumblr. But you’re not there, Dan. The sofa is empty as if you never were. And then I stop. I stare for a moment. My heart stops. I stop breathing. Then, so slowly, it pulls itself back. Pumps the wave of pain through my body. It has no choice, if it stops it will die. But it is like breaking a mirror into a million tiny shards. They freeze; suspended in the air for an eternity. Then they fall straight into my heart. It takes all its effort not to collapse, to give in. But it doesn’t. It restarts. And it pumps each shard of glass around my body, slicing and scarring with every beat. Every vein is cut open. I am bleeding from the inside, Dan. But I deserve it.

It’s me, Dan. I kill the people I love. Once is terrible enough for a thousand lifetimes. To lose a best friend is to lose half your heart.

And now, with you, the other half is gone too.

But what’s left? I don’t think it’s a heart anymore Dan. It can’t be; one heart can’t feel so much pain. It’s just a black, dead thing in my chest now Dan; all feeling has been ripped away in two brutal chunks. I don’t think it’s just my heart though. I think everything that was me is fading slowly away into nothingness.

And all that’s left is a tiny, fragile shell filled to bursting with pain.

~

The days are so black now sometimes I don’t even try to open my eyes.

~

Forgive me Dan. Oh God.

~

I have locked the doors. I don’t want to see our friends anymore. I don’t want to make them so sad, so worried. I can’t bear being the cause of any more pain.

~

One million minutes after

I killed you, Dan.

I am a murderer. I am a curse. I can’t let this happen again. I can’t have another best friend, I can’t fall in love, I’m not worth it. I can’t risk it. I can’t let another innocent, beautiful person die so young because of me.

Selfish.

What is there left to lose when all your heart is gone? I don’t want to find out, Dan. I’m not strong enough. I can’t do it.

Time, however strange, can be measured. A lifetime is a very long time. A lifetime without love can stretch into eternity.

 

One million minutes after

The night air is cold and fresh. I feel alive for the first time in days. I don’t feel any pain. Not anymore. You’re here, that’s all I need to know. A little fall of rain is cool and light against my skin. Nothing, not even the rain, can hurt me now.

A breath away from where you are.

The night is silent, the stars shimmering in the velvet blackness. I close my eyes. A smile spreads across my face for the first time in 11 days, 13 hours and 46 minutes. I can see you. I can feel your warm breath against my skin. Your soft brown eyes open. A smile lighting up your dimple as you see me. You open your arms.

I fill my lungs with cool air. It is as if all the weight has dropped away and I am a feather.

Just a tiny feather; falling through the night with the rain.

And you will keep me safe. And you will keep me close. And rain will make the flowers grow.