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Icarus, in his foolishness, flew too close to the sun. And so, that was his fall from grace.
Dan was trapped, to say the least. He was suffocating. His knuckles gripped the edge of the sink so tightly, they were the color of the marble countertop. The mirror showed him someone he recognized too well. The mirror showed him a mess, a wisp of a person, an echo of what used to be. Reflected back at him was hair that had not been washed for days, tear tracks three days old, a body heaving, trying to breathe, and eyes bloodshot and lost. This reflection was familiar and strange all at the same time, a ghost from the past, a new bitterness.
The naive boy thought he could, thought he was good enough. How silly.
The last few years played in his head like a silent movie. Oh how he idolized Phil. It was almost pathetic, he thought to himself. He followed him around like a lost puppy. The day he started talking to Phil was the single push needed for the boulder to start rolling down the hill. In the beginning, he told himself to be careful, to not get too close. He reminded himself daily about everything wrong with himself, how everyone he got close to either disappeared or fell apart. But Phil blinded him from everything else and Dan forgot. Dan forgot the reminders to himself, and the voice holding him back ceased to exist when Phil was around. Every problem in the world seemed to dissolve.
You would think he should have had at least enough sense to stop when the one thing holding him together started melting away. Stupid child.
When they met, they were young. Young and in love, a most dangerous combination. Dan was lost and wandering, questioning himself, beating himself up for every flaw. Phil picked up the pieces and helped Dan put himself together. Phil was never anything less than loving. He was the sun in Dan’s life. He was warmth. He was reassurance. But when Dan put himself back together, it was with tape and glue. Tape and glue don’t last.
By the time he realized something was wrong, he was already falling.
It was during the nights when reality seeped through the cracks; at least Dan was pretty sure it was reality. It was what he believed of himself for years, so it must be the truth, right? The reality that he did not deserve Phil. The reality that Phil belonged with someone better. Someone who wasn’t held together by tape and glue. Someone who didn’t need comforting every other day just to ward off the slew of insecurities from the past.
Dan stood in front of the mirror, his vision speckled with red. He couldn’t breathe. These self doubts were no longer from the past. They had crashed into the present after years being stifled under the surface, just barely tangible, chipping away just bit by bit until Dan crumbled. Now they had looped a noose around his neck. They whispered into his ear everything he used to think about himself that Phil had been able to block out temporarily. Everyone is better than you. Smarter, more artistic, more creative, more logical. You will never amount to anything when anything you can do, someone else can do better. Why would anyone love you if they could find someone better just by walking down the street?
Footsteps. A light knocking on the door. A concerned voice.
“Dan, are you alright?”
“I’m fine” he choked out. The words were thorns in his throat.
And as he fell, the water shimmered below him. He pleaded with the gods, but they did not listen.
The bathroom door creaked open an inch. Silence, save for the sound of Phil watching TV downstairs. Dan went to his room and plucked his coat of the floor. He sat at his desk, staring at the wall for minutes, but it seemed hours to him, before picking up a leaking pen.
Phil,
By the time you are reading this, I will be gone. You will come looking for me, I know it. You will run through London, asking every stranger, every cafe employee if they’ve seen me. You won’t find me, you’re not supposed to. Phil, there are not enough words in the English language to express everything you’ve done for me. You pulled me out of my darkest times. You gave me something worth living for. I love you is an understatement. And I know you love me, and I wonder why. You really shouldn’t. I don’t deserve you, and you deserve someone better. Someone who can make you laugh and make you happy and someone you don’t need to worry about all the time. Someone who isn’t so damn broken. These past years I have known you have been the best of my life, but it’s time for me to face reality. I have found myself stuck in limbo. I know you should be with someone better, but I can’t bear to leave you. I can’t bear to see you ten years later, with the real love of your life. It would kill me. The choice is a simple crossroads, but it feels like a labyrinth. I know this is selfish, cowardly even. I wouldn’t survive to see you with someone else, so instead of taking any of the logical choices, I am running. I know you will be heartbroken, angry at me for running, and angry at yourself for not finding a way to get me to stay. It is not your fault. It will take a while, but you will heal. You don’t need me. You will find someone else soon enough, and I will be far away enough to not hear of it. I love you Phil, but this is goodbye.
Love,
Dan
Gingerly, he folded the paper in half and scrawled “Phil” on the front. He left it in the center of his desk. There was finality in the way he looked around the room, stepped out, and closed the door with the faintest click. He tiptoed down the stairs into the lounge. Phil was fast asleep on the couch, an episode of Breaking Bad still playing on the television. As carefully as possible, Dan placed a soft kiss on his forehead, more bitter than sweet. This was the last he would ever see of Phil.
“Goodbye,” he whispered, quiet enough not to wake him.
The front door of their flat closed behind him, the sound sealing his choice. Twilight was setting in, the sky darkening, the air cooling. Dan wandered around London, walking with no destination. He saw the crowds of people filtering into restaurants for dinner. Several hours later, the streets were filled with the laughter of drunk party goers and illuminated by neon pub signs. By 2am there was virtually no one, and most shop windows were darkened. London was so different late at night—it lost the bustle of city dwellers and the excitement of tourists. In the streets prowled only the thoughts of anyone still awake.
The sound of water lured him to the bridge, he wasn’t sure which one this was. Perhaps it was Battersea or the Millenium Bridge. He had roamed too long to know exactly where he was. The River Thames was dark and calamitous, only the peaks of waves glistening under moonlight. Despite his brain telling him how disastrous it would be to do so, Dan climbed up onto the railing. The wind cut through his coat, ice replacing blood. His mind cleared.
Dan had gotten too close to someone too good for him, and now he was falling. He went against every one of his personal warnings, and now he was paying for it. The crossroads, the labyrinth narrowed into one path. He took a breath and prayed to whatever gods would listen to protect his family, his friends, Phil. He prayed for them to mourn as little as possible, to recover quickly. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. The glow of the screen illuminated his face. He sent one last text to Phil: I love you.
He closed his eyes—and jumped. The air was colder than ever, piercing through him. Then halfway down, came the regret. But he was already falling. There was no way to turn back. He plunged into the river, and the water welcomed him like the Devil welcomes lost souls to Hell.
And so the tale of Icarus goes.