"PHIL. GET DOWN HERE, NOW." He heard those same words, every day. That piercing voice filled with rage and disgust. The same voice that insulted him too often, blamed him for matters they caused, the voice of his father.

Phil dealt with a lot for a boy of 15. As the author of this story I know things about him that he doesn't yet know himself, but I'll tell you one thing that will help you understand why these upcoming events occurred. Phil didn't have clinical depression, but he had dealt with things that lead him to feel depressed, I can explain to you about how people or things can mentally affect you if they do certain things over a length of time, but I don't really think you want a science lesson.

Paranoia isn't just when you think you feel a bug crawling up your back, or you think that something is behind you. Phil's friends often got bored of him after time and left him out of almost everything. They often mocked him on his hair or his Buffy The Vampire Slayer obsession. Every time he would try to make a new friend, he would feel sick and nervous after a while and be paranoid that they didn't actually have any interest in him. And in time, this lead to other problems like depression, self-consciousness, self-harm (in fact it tends to develop in that order) and life was pretty shit to be honest.

Phil's father was the only family he had. His mother died when he was 13, and he never got over the way she left him. His mother and him were so very close, almost like best friends. But Phil had a lot of trouble making friends.

"Coming Dad!" Phil tried to say that as casually as possible to cover his fear.

"Look at this. Look at this pile of crap, did I not ask you? I asked you to do the dishes and yet you…" He trailed off when he saw Phil's swollen, bandaged arm. He grabbed it forcefully and ripped the bandage off to reveal a dozen thin, red lines formed on his wrist next to the bruises his father left after seeing his scars the time before. "What the fuck is this? Did I not tell you to get a grip and stop whining about your stupid little life and face it like a man?" He pressed his fingers into the sensitive skin leaving five blue marks after he removed his hand. Phil winced, he knew not to because he 'had to face it like a man.' Phil anted to punch him, punch that smug look out of his face. "Do the fucking dishes you little prick."

Phil walked swiftly over to the sink avoiding eye contact with his father. Ever since his mother died he had been like this, blaming Phi for her death. The hot water made his arms sting, he hissed at the pain. Phil finished the dishes and put them away before quickly heading to his room.

Phil sat on his bed and followed his fingers across the swollen cuts on his arm. He look over to his desk to see the bloody shard of glass which he had been using to cut. He put some E45 on before wrapping it up again. He walked over to his shelves where he saw his ultimate Buffy collection. He put the first episode on and sat on his bed, cuddling his pillow against his sensitive arm.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the short chapter, I wanted to start off by giving you a sense of how he feels, anyway please leave a review and ill upload chapter 2 soon :)

- Anna