CHAPTER TWO – UNCONSCIOUS

Dan and Phil slept in the living room together, Dan on the longer sofa and Phil on the shorter one. After an awkward goodnight, Dan buried his face beneath his pillow but found he was too numb to cry himself to sleep, and too embarrassed and ashamed to show Phil just how weak he really was. He could feel the slightly rough fabric of the bandage on his face as he leant on it, and for the first time in a while he felt cared for – even if Phil had only done it because he pitied him. After the totally stress filled nature of the day, Dan drifted off pretty quickly to the sound of Phil's steady breathing, falling into the blissful oblivion of sleep where he didn't have to think or feel.

Phil, however, remained awake into the early hours of the morning, watching Dan's chest rise and fall from across the room. Asleep, he looked peaceful and happy, a small smile painted on his handsome face. Asleep, Phil couldn't see the pain hidden in those brown eyes. But the bandage on his arm showed how deceptive appearances could be. For the first time since he was a child, Phil cried proper tears that left his cheat heaving and his lungs gasping for air. He cried for Dan, for the pain that Dan had felt and for the pain that he had caused himself. When he finally drifted off, he fell into a troubled sleep where the events of the evening replayed themselves agonisingly over and over: Dan's ruined arm; the scars that proved it had been going on for so long; the clearly fresh blood and cuts; the way he had tried to hide what he had done, and the shame and embarrassment on his face. And the way he was shaking like a leaf whilst Phil held him close.

When Phil woke up the next morning, it was to Dan shaking him awake. Dan was already fully dressed – long sleeves of course, and had his hobbit hair, so he must've been in the shower. Phil blinked sleepily up at Dan and smiled happily, almost forgetting what he had discovered the night before. But a flash of white as Dan moved his arm away brought it all flooding back and Phil sat up quickly, eyes scanning Dan's face. Was he okay? How would he be able to tell if he wanted to cut? Had he been cutting before he woke Phil up?

"Relax, Phil." Dan sighed, feeling his cheeks flush suddenly. He felt so awkward now his secret was out…and there was no way he could hide his desperate weakness any longer. "I'm alright this morning."

"Sure?" Phil didn't know if he should believe him or not. He didn't know if Dan would tell him the truth when clearly he had been lying to him for months, if not even longer than that.

"Yeah," Dan said. "We should head off, or we'll get stuck in rush hour traffic. My parents have gone to work already."

"Okay," Phil agreed, "Give me a few minutes to get dressed."

"I'll be in the kitchen," Dan stated, standing up. Impulsively, Phil's hand suddenly shot out, his fingers wrapping themselves around Dan's unbandaged wrist. Dan looked down, raising an eyebrow, confused. Phil swallowed deeply, breathing quickly.

"Uh, no, please." Phil said. "Can…can you just sit over there and not look?"

"Why?" Dan was looking at Phil like he was insane, but Phil couldn't let him go into the kitchen alone. Because Phil was very aware that the kitchen was a room where there were knives.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself," Phil said quietly, figuring honesty was the best policy as he went over to his bag and pulled out his jeans and a clean shirt.

"I won't," Dan muttered, blushing again.

"That's right because you're not going into the kitchen," Phil told him blankly. "Now turn around."

Dan sighed and turned around, feeling tears spring to his eyes as he stared at the yellow flowery wall in front of him. Phil didn't trust him to be alone. Heck, Dan didn't actually trust himself to be alone. But he felt so out of control now that Phil knew. He had been planning to go to the kitchen and cut…just once, and somewhere Phil wouldn't see. Because he didn't know what was going to happen when they got home, and his panic had reached fever pitch. His head was a swarm of negative thoughts of Phil hating him, calling him names, throwing him out. He didn't know how he would live with that, and he was so afraid. And now he was stood in the living room, a shaking wreck because he needed, needed, needed to cut, to make the fear go away. He could hardly breathe around the intense terror that had enveloped him.

Phil's hand touched his arm, making him jump - he'd been so focussed on the panic and the pain that he hadn't heard Phil call his name.

"Are you crying?" Phil asked in a strange voice, that Dan didn't understand. Revolted? Worried? Confused? It was impossible to interpret.

"Sorry," Dan mumbled, angrily swiping at his face, wiping the traitors away.

"Don't apologise for crying, Dan." Phil said, pulling his best friend into a quick one armed hug. "Right let's go. But we're stopping on the way to get some breakfast because I am starved."

As Phil headed out of the door with their bags, Dan trailed after him with only one thought in his head – I bet you aren't as hungry as I am. He couldn't remember the last time he had kept anything substantial down. Most of the time he had an excuse – 'Oh I ate before I came', 'Sorry, I feel a bit unwell', 'I'm eating out later, better not' – and when that failed he'd just stick his fingers down his throat and get rid of it before it made him fatter. He drank a lot of water to stop his stomach from rumbling because then people would think he was just a greedy pig, and sometimes it worked and stopped him feeling the craving for food. But a lot of the time the hunger was so intense that it was painful, and sent waves of agony through Dan's body. He deserved it though. He was so fat, so hideous. And messed up. There was nothing good there, nothing at all. He deserved the aching, painful hunger. He deserved the blade slicing him to pieces. He deserved to hurt.

Dan hadn't tried to persuade Phil he wasn't hungry – he knew it would just look suspicious if he refused to eat first thing in the morning. So he woodenly swallowed the bacon sandwich that Phil had ordered for him, taking huge swigs of coffee to help the sticky gloop slide down his throat. He ate it quickly, deliberately, so he could finish before Phil.

"I just need to go take a leak," Dan said, stretching and gesturing towards the toilet sign with his head.

"Dan…" Phil sounded hesitant, and unsure. He stared pointedly at Dan's bandaged arm.

"Phil, I don't have anything on me," Dan said. "You can check my pockets if you like." Phil met his eyes for a moment, searching for some giveaway, and then shrugged.

"Fine," Phil said. "But you better show me your wrists when you come back. And if you're more than three minutes, I'm coming in there."

"Whatever," Dan rolled his eyes. "I just need a pee, Phil. Chill."

Phil watched Dan's retreating back uneasily, feeling his appetite ebb away. He didn't know how he was going to cope with being apart from Dan for even a minute…he knew that every single time he couldn't see the boy, his mind would assume the worst. It took all he had not to run after Dan and insist that he come to the toilet with him – that would be weird, and pushing it. And he didn't want to make him cry again.

Dan felt ridiculously guilty as he pushed the toilet door open…Phil had only let him go because he thought he wasn't going to hurt himself…which technically he wasn't. But if Phil found out about this too, he would literally be horrified at what Dan had become. Shaking the image of Phil's shocked face the night before away, Dan slammed his hand onto the hand dryer button, setting it off roaring as he locked himself into a cubicle and fell to his knees, flinging the toilet seat back and sticking his fingers down his throat with practised ease.

As he gagged and brought his gloopy breakfast back up, the familiar acrid taste filled his mouth and he shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch the physical evidence of his own disgusting nature. He kept going until he was bringing up nothing but liquid and he was slightly dizzy. He spat a couple of times into the toilet to clear the hideous aftertaste and stood up, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He pulled the flush and left the toilet, swilling his mouth out with water from the sink and then chewing a piece of the super-strong minty-fresh gum which he always carried with him for occasions like that. He swallowed and stared at himself in the mirror, practising a fake carefree smile that might possibly placate Phil and prevent an embarrassing public wrist checking scenario.

Phil breathed a sigh of relief as Dan exited the toilet within three minutes, running one of his hands through his hair and smiling gently at Phil. Maybe he IS alright today. Phil had quickly paid the bill in Dan's absence so as soon as he saw the boy, he stood up, and grabbed Dan's coat, heading towards him.

But then, without warning, Dan suddenly crumpled to the floor. His face changed, his knees buckled and he fell forwards, smacking his head on the corner of one of the stone tables as he fell. It was like a slow motion action shot in which Phil watched in horror, but knew he would never reach him in time. Heart throbbing far too quickly and hands shaking, Phil ran to him, balling up his jacket and pressing it to the bleeding cut on his head the moment he was by his side.

Around him he could hear frantic calls of 'CALL 999' 'SOMEONE GET SECURITY' '999' but they faded to nothing as he stared down at the unmoving, white face. One thing that Phil did not understand, was how? How could someone just collapse and faint like that? Dan had been feeling fine five minutes before…what could have caused him to faint? Phil felt his heart speed up as he wondered if his friend had suffered a heart attack…or oh god. What if he took something? What if he was trying to kill himself?

I know, I'm such a deplorable human being :) please please leave a review and tell me what you thought, i love to know that people care enough to just let me know what they think. thank you all for reading. xxxx