I don't cut, I don't scream, I just bleed internally.
Dan knew he needed to get up. Move on. Fucking move on. But every step felt like he was made of led.
Dan walked into the bathroom. He needed to make a new video. He had the script. He had the camera set up. He just needed to do it.
Dan looked into the mirror. At his reflection. Dark circles not only under his eyes, but under his cheekbones too.
Dan let the water pool on his hands and then rubbed it against his face. Trying to wipe away the dead.
Toweling dry, he popped open the bottle of light foundation. Chest heaving, open-mouthed and leaning against the wet sink counter he tried to see better in the harsh white light, but his vision was growing blurry. Sloppily trying to apply the make-up on his face perfectly. Then staring at himself more.
Dan couldn't take away the shadows, but he could take away the blue, purple and red veins. Heavy breathing misted the mirror and Dan stared at the fogged surface blankly. He wiped the rest of the sticky substance slowly on a towel and walked back to his bedroom.
Dan looked at himself in the viewfinder and tried to adjust the lighting better. He still looked sickly. But if he didn't do this now, he would never do it.
He pressed record. But let the memory run out without saying a word. He deleted it and pressed record again.
Eventually the battery ran out. He hadn't said anything.
Dan cried.
The foundation ran down his face and revealed a too pale skin.
"FUCK"
Dan screamed.
Grabbing the closest item to him, he hit the wall with it. Multiple pieces the glass shattered into which he later used to draw blood lines.
"What is wrong with me?"
He cried into a pillow desperately to stop thinking.
Arms wrapped around him, hauled him off the bed.
Screaming and kicking, the strangers were made of titanium.
Dan's legs were light and breakable. Only to be wrapped in white restrains, not to be stood on.
Arms flew around him, needles pricking his skin, white lights and clothes. Throat raw and lips cracked.
Blue pills. Mind numb, but when not, unbearable.
PJ drank slowly from plastic mugs. Water room temperature and stale. Knees going over each other from time to time.
Quiet. Except the clock keeps ticking. The dates keep changing. The tears keep dripping.
Bryony watches in silence and pity. Strokes softly up and down. Ribs rippling beneath her hand.
Lilies are in a plastic vase.
Chris shows him an Oscar Wilde book.
Dan feels like Dorian Gray.
The last time Dan sees the sky is on a Thursday. A hand that isn't real holds his gently, but tightly.
"Not long now"
Is the last thing Dan says.
Plastic mask is put over his mouth, but it won't stop the white pills from permeating into his blood stream.
Dan wishes his friends well and moves on.
To Phil.