His eyes flickered with barely contained anger.
I stared at my hands, my shoulders hunched. "You don't understand! It's smashed, now. It's gone! And it's all your fault, Phil!" His words riccochet from all directions, piercing my ears and firing against my skin. I say nothing, but he doesn't notice. "It means so much more to me than any of this!" Dan flings his arm out, gesturing at everything. Our little flat, the photographs. And stops in front of me.
But I'm numb. He just told me a stupid, stupid frame is more important than our relationship. Than me. And to be honest, I'm not sure I disagree. I didn't mean to break the photo, and I wasn't deliberately being clumbsy, but it's in my nature.
I was just walking. But the floor was wet because I'd been cleaning, and my socks were just normal odd socks. And so I fell. Crashing into the sideboard and knocking everything flying. I didn't mean to! Yes, I was stupid not to dry the floor and maybe I should have realised how dumb wearing socks with no grips was, but I was just being me. Stupid, thoughtless Phil.
He's still shouting. "Why, Phil?" He steps toward me, cheeks flushed, those soft peach lips that kissed me so softly only hours before are pulled into a hard line. "Why do you never just think?!"
I stay silent and still, sitting tensely on the edge of my armchair. My hip is throbbing with pain from where I Ianded, and my arms are bleeding slowly, little buds of red blossoming against my pale skin; the scratches from the smashed frame in which I fell.
But again, my lack of reply doesn't stop him - if anything, it just infuriates him further. "Are you listening to me? Or are you just off in Phil-land where you're the most important person and everything revolves around you?" He barks with sarcastic laughter, a bitter grin plastered onto his usually soft-natured face. "I don't know why I bothered with you. You're selfish and careless, and you know what? I can't deal with you any more. You've messed up one too many times now, Phil Lester, and I'm sorry I met you."
And with that the tears I had been blinking back, tears filled with physical pain and emotional agony, spill over my cheeks. Like the blood from my arm, the first seeps out slowly, trickling gently down my face and dripping off my chin. And this is the trigger. Soon, my face is damp and tear stained, my eyes gushing like taps and I'm struggling for breath through the heartwrenching sobs wracking my body.
"Shit."
I keep my eyes glued to the blood which is now staining my white teeshirt, and tuck my legs up to my chest. "Shit, Phil." Soft footsteps approach and I hear Dan's knees crack as he crouches, the way they always do. "Damnit. I didn't mean it. Shit. We can change the frame it doesn't matter. You matter. I'm sorry."
His voice breaks, and even though my head is pressed to my knees, I can see his face in my mind. His eyes filled with apology and remorse, shiny with empathetic tears. It takes everything in me not to forgive him straight away. I can't ever stand to see him hurting, especially when I've caused it. But he needs to learn. Sure, I fucked up, but so did he.
The only difference is that I broke a frame, whereas he has put cracks in our relationship with bitter words.
"Phil, goddamnit, look at me." But I can't. I can't bear it. I feel the chair shift as Dan collapses against it, his own tears leaking from those beautful eyes. "I'm sorry..." He whispers hoarsely, "I'm sorry, Phil. I love you. I didn't mean it."
He links his fingers with mine and carefully pulls my arm out so he can see the scratches. "I hurt you," He breathes running a cool finger across the puffy marks. "I'm so sorry."
And his voice sounds so broken, so agony filled, that I can't take it any more. I raise my head and slide off the edge of the chair onto the floor and tuck myself up against him.
He's so warm and safe and he feels like home, that immediately, I believe him. He didn't mean it.
And with his arms around me and his lips pressed to my injured arm, I realise something. He's mine, and nothing can ever smash us apart.