fanart by @xXLolCookieXx

P H I L ' S  P O V

"Morning." I smiled at Dan, kissing his forehead.

"How'd you sleep?"

I yawned. "Great, you?"

"Fantastic," he giggled, running a hand through his hair as he pushed the covers off of him. He stood up and stripped, and I watched as his butt swayed with every step, smiling to myself. "I can feel you staring, perv."

I averted my eyes, chuckling. Dan slipped his boxers on, taking my jacket off the rack and putting it on to cover himself.

My eyes widened. Not that jacket. Please, not that one.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He furrowed his eyebrows, shoving his hands into the pockets before pausing. "What's this?" I sat up as he slid out the picture.

The Polaroid picture of him. The photograph Mason had given me before we killed him.

I walked over quickly, taking it from him.

"Why do you have this photograph?" He asked, his voice shaky. "Only Mason had it. . . D-did he give this to you?"

"Not necessarily-"

Without warning, Dan stomped forward and grabbed me by the hem of my shirt, shaking furiously. "Tell me the truth!" He shouted, tears streaming down his face and fear in eyes. "He took that picture of me! He had it the night he died! You know something, Phil! You know what happened to him, don't you? Don't you?"

"Put me down," I spoke. He didn't budge. "Dan, put me down."

He seemed to snap out of a daze, looking down and dropping me, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Tell me the truth, Phil." 

His body trembled as did mine, our eyes locked. I glared.

"I was desperate to have friends, Dan. I was alone, and I was desperate, and I met people who were anything but good. But I didn't care, I just wanted company. Then came the influence," I explained slowly, gesturing at my tattoos and piercings. "And after awhile, it got so bad that I couldn't get out. I had to do what I had to do to stay alive."

"What did you have to do, Phil?" He whispered, voice raspy from holding back tears.

"I. . . He. . ." I tried, but I gave up. "I killed him, Dan."

"No-"

"I murder people because that's my job," I breathed out, feeling tears run down my cheeks. "That's my way of getting by. I chase them down and take their lives because that's what they tell me to do. I'm stuck and I can't get out, I can't because if I try then bad things will happen. But God I hate what I do, I hate them- I'm terrified. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No. But at least you're not lying."

I thought, he couldn't be serious. He was being sarcastic.

He turned away from me, seeming like he was leaving, before suddenly he walked right up to me and his fist connected with my face. I hit the floor with a thud, groaning in pain as I held my cheek. "Shit."

He climbed onto me and punched me again, this time in the jaw. He shoved me and slapped me, but I felt numb. I was helpless at this point. He would probably call the cops.

Then he grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, leaning his forehead to my chest, his tears seeping through the material.

"Fuck you, Phil Lester."

"Already did," I muttered under my breath. He stiffened up, tensing in anger.

"Fuck you for talking to me, using me as bait, for killing my brother- the only person who understood me, for lying to me, for keeping me alive when you should've just killed me. . . Just. . . for letting me fall in love with you."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"You put my friends in danger, you put me in danger- you put my family in danger! Why didn't you just kill me? Why didn't you just do what you were told?"

"I didn't kill you because I couldn't," I told him. "I couldn't. I grew too close to you."

"God, I'm so stupid," he scoffed, tugging on his hair and pacing the room. "All these hints. All these goddamn hints- the little things that were so big, and I never noticed!"

"You aren't stupid."

"Yes I am! Stop lying!" He cried. "Everybody keeps lying to me! What, are you gonna kill me now? Slit my throat and watch me bleed out like the psychopath you are? I'm calling the cops when I get home, I want you to suffer. I want you to hate yourself for what you've done." Tears streamed down his face.

"I already do."

There was a pause.

"Oh my God, what about Nyla?" He panicked, hurrying to his bags and grabbing his phone. I furrowed my eyebrows and he looked at me. "Nyla met Wirrow! She likes him! What if he kills her, or-"

"She's fine."

He snapped his glare towards me. "How would you know?"

"When I was eating dinner with you and your family, I got a text and that's why I left to go to the restroom. It was Wirrow. Him and Nyla had gone on a date, but he dropped her off," I truthfully told him. He ran his hands over his face, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You know as crazy as it sounds, everything I said has been the truth. I don't want to kill you, even if you're on the list. I'm the stupid one."

"What list?"

"We misread someone else's name as your brother's. We meant to catch someone else, someone who was just as bad as us. But instead we read Mason Howell, and you're in that family, so you're automatically on that list."

"He gave you that picture before you killed him, didn't he?" Dan let tears fall from his eyes. "And you still did it? You still did it even after he begged you not to?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry." I paused. "I didn't mean to fall for you, but I did. I fell hard."

Dan forced a cold laugh. "Don't expect me to catch you. You can crash to the ground, for all I care," he growled, getting up and snatching the photograph from the floor. "Go to hell." 

I laid back down on the floor. "Aren't you gonna do something? Call the cops? Tell my family or yours? Tell Nyla? Beat me up? Murder me? I killed your brother, Dan."

"You can do that all yourself. If you truly are the good person you pretend to be, then you'll come out and admit it. But even when you do, I won't come back." He shook his head, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "I still love you, and that's the worst part. Trust is a whole different story."

After moments of silence, Dan began to search my room for something dangerous. He pulled out my drawers, and tossed around objects. "You ruined my life! You made me build up a wall only to knock it down! I would've been fine without you, I would've been okay- and all this time I thought you wanted to make me feel better. Where's your weapons, huh? Maybe I'll stab you just like my brother! Or did you shoot him? Did you make him suffer?"

"Dan-"

He found a knife in my drawer, stomping towards me and scoffing. "No, you used me! You took advantage of the fact that I was alone and sad," he swung his arm, attempting to scratch me, but I dodged him. "You listened to me rant about how much I missed my brother whilst remembering killing him," he swung and missed again. I backed up. "I was like a goddamn movie to you! Some sick, twisted game! Well, game over, Phil, because next time you'll see me you'll be behind bars and I'll be smiling." He swung again, cutting my cheek then my hand. "I hate you, and I hope you remember what you did to me. I hope you never forget how bad you messed up."

"I'm sorry."

He opened his mouth to reply when suddenly my mother spoke while coming up the stairs.

"Phil? Is everything alright? I thought I heard shouting?"

Dan and I made eye contact as I replied to her. "Everything's fine! I'm just losing this stupid video game."

She replied with a hesitant 'okay', and the two were alone again.

"Do they know about what you do?" Dan whispered.

"No. Nobody knows except you."

Dan sniffled, shaking his head in disbelief. He stabbed my dresser, sticking the weapon into the material before glaring at me. "If you ever come near me again, I won't leave just scratches on you."

He then opened up my window, and I spoke one last time. "Please be careful. They'll hurt you."

He looked back at me. "Oh please. You already did." He then hopped down, and I watched him hurry back home, numb.

I still love you, and that's the worst part.

He still loves me? But why? I killed his innocent brother- he even said he hated whoever took him. So why me? What did I do to make him stay?

The wounds on my hand and cheek from the knife were stinging, but I let them bleed. It was the only thing that was reminding me that this was real. That I ruined everything.

I just wanted to protect them. Why am I so bad for wanting to keep the people I love alive?

How is it that I'm selfish and selfless at the same time? Kind and rude? Caring and careless?

I stood on shaky legs, looked in the mirror, and noticed the bracelet. The black bracelet Dan had given me.

Then, I burst out sobbing.

My hand covered my mouth to muffle my pleas, my eyes squeezed shut while I dropped to my knees. I hugged myself and leaned against the wall. "I'm sorry," I repeatedly said, rocking back and forth.

I wasn't really apologizing to just one person. I was apologizing to everybody. And by everybody I meant all the people I killed, the people I hurt- mentally and physically, to Ryan, to my family, to Dan's family, to Nyla and Dan

I cried, and I cried, and I cried- until the sun had grown tired of my sobs, and the moon had peeked through my window to see what was wrong.

I cried until even the birds had stopped chirping to fly away, and the crickets replaced them to try and block me out.

I cried until the clouds blew away and the stars arrived, trying to shine a little light on the darkness.

I cried until I couldn't cry any longer.

My eyes burned, my throat stung, my body trembled, and my heart ached. It didn't ache from physical pain. It didn't ache from a punch or shove to the chest.

It ached and longed for a short boy with freckles. A boy with curly chocolate hair and flower crowns. A boy with a thing for thinking and swimming. A boy with big pastel clothing, as well as a big heart. It ached for something it didn't deserve. For something that wouldn't and shouldn't come back. For something it couldn't have.

It ached for Daniel Howell.

I wasn't dreaming. My life is a nightmare, and I can't wake up anymore.