Chapter Text
It's dark, and Phil's just woken up from another nap that he didn't need to take but he just feels so useless that there's nothing else to do locked up in his room. It's dark, but he has no clue what the time is- and rain has just started pattering against his window in the typical British manner.
He needs to stop this, sleeping too much or too little- it doesn't feel good.
I know you're not a liar,
And I know you could set fire
This day
Go ahead and make me look away
Phil lay on his bed and thought. He didn't think about much in particular, just thinking. He'd checked his phone, and it was nearing two in the morning, yet he could still hear raised voices from the room next door- his stepfather speaking in a hushed, angry tone and his mother crying quietly.
He hated Stephan, of course he did, but he hated his mother too sometimes, like the one time Stephan had gotten so drunk he'd found some broken glass on the way home from the pub and threatened Phil and his sister to cut their throats, and his mother cowered in the corner of the room, not speaking. It wasn't as if Phil didn't love his mum, it's just the way that she'd completely given up on leaving Stephan, and trying to make her family's life better.
Phil tried to close his eyes again, but he was finding it difficult to sleep- he had a fresh start tomorrow at a new school- the school counsellor had noticed that the bullying wasn't getting any better, and when Phil eventually snapped himself and showed her the scars and cuts and bruises that not only Fin and his friends had done. Her eyes were full of pity- which was stupid, because he didn't want her pity, he wanted to be fucking normal. He sat in the office while she made calls home, and suggested he might be happier in a different school.
Strike me down
I am calling your lightening
Down from your dark hiding place
Go ahead and show me
Your face
Stephan had heard about it all of course, and when Phil arrived home with his mother the argument went on for too long. He went straight upstairs and tried not to listen to the screaming coming from downstairs, probably Stephan calling Phil weak and stupid, and how real men got on with their problems, and if he'd been raised by half a good mother he wouldn't be the mess he was now. Stephan was right, but that was none of his fucking business- as if he hadn't left behind an eleven year old daughter of his own to be with Phil's mum. He wished he was brave enough to go down there yell that both of them were fucking stupid, Phil himself didn't even know why people at school thought he was so irritating and weird and easy to mess with.
His old glow in the dark stars held little comfort, although they never made him fail to smile when he was younger. Phil supposed this was because he smiled a lot more back then, and there was no need to mark his arms and legs with trembling fingers holding a harsh blade.
Rain down
And destroy me
Rain down
And destroy me
Rain down
What was wrong with him? Why did his family have to be so fucking dysfunctional, why did people look at him and see an easy target, instead of a funny person, or the person who likes animal, the person who laughs a lot. Not that Phil's had lots to laugh about recently. He turns over, trying to ignore the tears rolling down his cheek onto his pillow, his bad feelings twisting and turning inside him, his breathing like a storm trying to escape his shell of a body.
I mean no disrespect
I am simply very perplexed
By your ways
Why won't you let us
Use your name?
"If there's a God out there, he's doing a shitty fucking job" Phil thought. Why should he be the one with a stepfather who hits his mother, and thoughts that won't let him sleep? Why should he be the one crying in the dark, scared to wake the monster sleeping next door, afraid to talk about how completely terrible he feels.
Rain down
And destroy me
Rain down
And destroy me
Rain down
And destroy me
Rain down
And destroy me
Tomorrow at school is probably going to be hell, he thought.
Rain
Tears are falling faster and soaking Phil's pillow.
Down
He can't stop himself, from pulling open his drawer, taking short, wobbling little breaths in between sobs to reveal an ugly collection of metal.
Rain
The blade his bow, and his arm the instrument. He played a melancholy tune, one of anger and frustration and nothingness all rolled into one.
Down
His sobs were almost inaudible, his hand fluttering over his new red angry marks of shame.
Down
He collapsed onto his bed, his breathing slowing, as he fell asleep, slowly then all at once, and his dreams were nothing to be proud of.