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Evan sighed, throwing his phone across the couch. His mind was racing with worry. The rain knocked on the window harder than it was before, reminding him of his situation.
Connor doesn’t like rain.
Connor isn’t answering my texts.
Connor wasn’t at school today.
He turned around and looked out of the window at the grey sky - no silver lining in the clouds today. He got up and slipped his shoes on, not bothering to take the umbrella leaning on the door frame.
Mom purposely left it before she went to work.
She would’ve wanted me to take it.
Evan turned around and opened the door, reaching in and grabbing the umbrella’s handle. He opened it and peered from under it. It was hard to walk with the wind blowing so hard against him. A lightning bolt erupted from the clouds and cracked about a mile from where he was. He gulped, trying to remember what he knew about rainstorms.
Isn’t lighting more likely to strike an umbrella than just a person?
Or was it a car?
Was it both?
He closed the umbrella and stuck it under his arm. The rain poured over him. He found it almost calming, until he remembered Connor. He took a big breath in, closing his eyes and running as fast as he could towards Connor’s house. He felt like he was being attacked from all angles. The umbrella was just slowing him down, the rain was just making him cold, and the thought of Connor relapsing was just too much for his brain to handle. Although, in a weird anxiety-induced craze, it only seemed to motivate him more. He couldn’t let anything happen to Connor.
He turned into Connor’s neighborhood. His house was one of the first, so not too much further. Evan stopped running when he stepped onto the front porch. He leaned onto his own knees, only now realizing how out of breath he was.
Do I keep the umbrella out here or bring it inside?
Connor has a nice house, I don’t want to get it all wet.
If I leave it out here, it’ll blow away.
Connor will forgive me for getting his house wet, right?
I sure hope so.
Evan opened the door and set his umbrella down inside. He knew that the door would be unlocked because he knew that Connor would be here...or at least he hoped he would be. He shouted through the foyer, not wanting to alarm Connor.
“Hey, it’s me!” A moment passed and nobody answered. “Evan! It’s Evan, I’m me, Evan.” He stood there for a second longer, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He sighed and cursed under his breath. He took a few steps forward, turning into the spacious kitchen.
“Connor? Are you, you home?” He kept walking until he reached the bottom of the stairs. His brows slightly furrowed together, making worry lines across his forehead. Fitting name for the situation. The only things upstairs were Connor’s room, a bathroom, and Mrs. Murphy’s ‘yoga room,’ which she hadn’t used in a few months. “I, um,” He sighed and made his way up the first three stairs. “The door! It was unlocked, I assumed you were home?” He paused on the fourth step. A sliver of light made its way out of the cracked bathroom door and rested against the wall opposite.
Evan’s mouth was open, but no sound came out. His tongue was skipping between the roof of his mouth and front teeth. He was trying to think of something to say, but the words escaped him. The thoughts escaped him. His mind was completely blank. He had achieved worry, transcended anxiety, and was now in the grey space of utter vacancy. A bolt of lightning crashed outside, and all of his thoughts came rushing back into his head. In seconds, every terrible scenario was playing like a movie through his mind.
Connor curled against the cabinets, an empty bottle of pills resting in his limp hand. His eyes already rolled back in his head. He’s slightly shaking, and his mouth is foaming around the corners, an obvious reaction to the overdose. It was too late.
Connor leaning over the sink. He’s gulping down Clorox as fast as he could. His stomach was twisting, and he felt the bleach already taking action. The burning in his throat was worse than any alcohol he’d ever tasted. He was corroding from the inside out. It was too late.
Connor hanging from the shower rod. He tied his jacket strings around his neck and stepped off of the side of the bathtub. His neck was snapped in a sharp angle and his feet were dangling just inches from the ground. It was too late.
Connor laying down in the bathtub. It was full to the brim and still flowing out of the faucet, with water pouring over the edge of the tub. His face was distorted under the water. His hair was floating to the surface and whirling around him. The light above the mirror was reflecting in the water, making him look angelic. He would be an angel soon enough. It was too late.
None of those were as terrible as what Evan saw.
He quickly (and silently) made his way up the remaining steps and stood outside of the bathroom. He could hear Connor whimpering from inside, his voice high and squeaky. The thought of Connor being in pain, physically or emotionally, formulated tears in Evan’s eyes. He leaned over and peered through the tiny slit that the open door provided. He couldn’t make out much.
Connor’s crying.
He’s sitting down.
No bottle of pills.
No bleach containers.
No strings on the shower rod.
No water in the bathtub.
Evan was relieved, but only for a second. With the lightest touch he could, he put his fingertips on the door and pushed it open.
Why?
As soon as he heard the door creak open, Connor whipped his head around. The skin around his eyes was puffy and red and his eyes themselves were bloodshot. His lips were chapped like he had been biting and picking at them. His mouth was slightly open, his lips separated and trembling.
Connor was leaning against the wall and the under-sink cabinets. He pushed himself as far into the corner as he could and made himself as small as possible. His legs were up against his chest, with his left arm resting over the top of his knees. He was holding a razor blade in his right hand. His hand was shakier than ever. His left forearm was completely covered in crimson. Evan could make out the deep cuts with blood gushing out. Connor had been in here for a while, since some of the blood was already drying on his arm as well as the blade.
Connor froze. He was stuck in place looking at Evan. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. Evan fell and dropped to his knees next to Connor.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Neither of them said anything. Connor’s fingers opened around the razor blade. It fell to the floor and clattered against the tiles. Evan choked out a sob, clutching his hands around Connor’s shoulders. He pulled him forward buried his head in the crook of Con’s jacket. Though he was holding onto Connor for dear life (literally,) he fell limp in Evan’s arms. Evan held him even closer. Connor didn’t respond like he normally would. Normally he would wrap his arms around Evan, tussle his hair a bit. Connor didn’t move an inch.
Because of me.
I did something wrong.
He hates me.
He wants me to leave.
I need to leave.
No.
I need to save him.
Evan pulled away. His face was red and his cheeks were wet with a mixture of tears and raindrops. He pushed Connor away from the sink and opened up the cabinets underneath. He poked his head inside, looking for bandages.
Makeup.
Acne cream.
Clorox.
He was reminded of his earlier thoughts and a shudder found its way down his spine. Before he could continue looking, Connor grabbed him by his biceps and pulled him close with Evan’s back pressed against Connor’s chest. He situated the two around, finally settling on Evan sitting between his legs and cuddling him. It was the most morbid cuddle that had ever existed, but still a cuddle nonetheless.
Connor wrapped his arms around Evan and nuzzled into his neck. He smelled like dirt and grass. He only now had just realized that Evan was wet, sopping even. He mentally yelled at himself for not paying more attention.
Connor fisted Evan’s shirt, holding him closer. His teeth were clenched and his jaw tensed. If he wasn’t crying on the bathroom floor, he might even look intimidating. Evan traced his hands over Connor’s, trying his best to calm him down. Evan was never the best at helping people emotionally, although he never really had to be. He sighed and made quiet, calm shushing sounds like his mom would do for him when he cried to her.
“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”
His teeth clacked together with uncertainty. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
I love you?
No, he doesn’t love me.
Stop pressuring him.
You’re the reason he did this.
He sighed, rubbing his thumb over Connor’s white knuckles. Connor suddenly let go of Evan’s shirt, smoothing it out with the palm of his hand. He sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking. It came out as a whisper against Evan’s hair.
“I’m sorry.”
The room was completely silent. Neither of them were crying anymore; it was like they had run out of tears to shed. The rain outside had lightened up and it was virtually inaudible. Evan searched for something to say. No words found themselves out of his mouth. Instead, he leaned forward, out of Connor’s grasp. He turned back towards the cabinet and busied himself looking for bandages. After a moment of shuffling through cleaning supplies, he heard a light gasp.
He turned around and saw Connor’s lip quivering. His eyes were red and glassy, the light bouncing off of them from all angles.
“I’m so sorry. I ruined it.”
Evan’s lips parted. He tried to think of anything that was ruined. He only wracked his brain for a moment before deciding that there wasn’t anything that Connor could’ve been talking about.
“What? What are you-”
Connor cut Evan off, snapping at him for nothing.
“Your shirt, Evan! I fucked it up! There’s blood all over it, I ruined it!”
He was waving his arms around angrily, using wide, arcing motions. Evan hadn’t seen Connor like that in months. It scared him. Evan sunk into himself, his eyes widening. He looked down at his shirt, seeing the bright red streaks of blood smeared across his shirt.
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t care.
It’s just a shirt.
Please stop.
Please.
A small whispered string of words tumbled from Connor’s lips.
“I ruin everything.”
Evan acted without thinking.
“No! You, it...um, you’re not-”
“See? You can’t even say that I don’t. It’s true, and I know it.”
Connor looked down at his arm. He traced his thumb over a couple of the gashes before pressing into one. He winced, hissing out through between his teeth. Evan wrapped his hand around Connor’s wrist, pulling it away from his other arm.
“Stop it! Just stop it, Connor!”
He let go of his wrist, pushing it back towards Connor’s chest.
“You don’t get to do this! You can’t just-just make everyone else pay for the things you’re feeling, Connor!” Angry, hot tears fell from Evan’s eyes. It felt like with every word he spat, a weight was lifted from his shoulders - but his heart felt heavier than ever.
“I’ve been worrying all fucking day about you! I thought you were dead! I was imagining all the ways you could’ve killed yourself. Do you know how much that hurt?” His voice got quieter. Connor was speechless altogether. He had never seen Evan this mad, and it kinda scared him. It hurt him.
He knew that Evan wasn’t normally like this. Hell, anybody who knew Evan for five minutes would know that he wasn’t normally like this. Something must’ve set him off. Something must’ve made him sad. Angry. Messed-up.
Messed-up.
Screwed-up.
Screw up.
Fuck up.
Freak.
Voices rushed through Connor’s head, each louder than the last, overlapping into a blur.
“Loving the new hair length, really looking school shooter chic.”
“God, you’re such a freak.”
“That Murphy kid is such a fuck up, I heard he went apeshit and tried to kill his sister.”
“He’s so screwed up, doesn’t he act out like that way too often for it to be, like, normal?”
“He’s just doing it for attention.”
“I’d kill myself if I were him.”
He shouted, shushing Evan.
“Stop it! Stop it, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not doing it for attention, I promise. I promise, I’m sorry.” He collapsed into broken sobs, tears rushing out of his eyes. They cascaded down his flushed cheeks and dripped, one by one, off of his jaw.
Evan wrapped his arms around Connor, pulling him into his chest. He held him close and tight and rested his chin on the top of Connor’s head. He soothingly ran his hand up and down his back, making small, imaginary, abstract patterns. The two sat like that for a long time, although neither of them could tell exactly how long they had been there. Evan’s eyes found their way to Connor’s arm. The blood was completely dried; cracking and flaking off in some areas. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke softly.
“Let’s get you all patched up now. Where are the bandages?”
Connor unwrapped himself from Evan, reaching up to the medicine cabinet and pulling down a roll of bandages. He held it for a second before tossing it to Evan. He turned the sink on and wet a couple squares of the bandage. He gently grabbed Connor’s arm, avoiding his eyes. He gently rubbed the cloth over the blood. Connor’s eyes scrunched up and he sucked in a sharp breath of air.
Evan immediately took the pressure off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Connor sniffled in response.
Evan put the cloth back on Connor’s arm, softer this time. The cold water mixed with the dried blood, somewhat liquefying it again. It was kinda mesmerizing, like something out of a gif on tumblr - then he remembered whose arm he was cleaning off. His lips tightened, forming a thin line. He got most of the blood off though some stray bits still remained. Now, with Connor’s arm cleaned off, he could more clearly see the cuts themselves.
He tried to remember the things his mom told him about cuts, but nothing came to mind. They didn’t look super deep, at least not deep enough for stitches. He didn’t want to prod at them any more. He didn’t want Connor to hurt anymore.
“Y’know, trees grow back.”
Connor furrowed his brows in confusion. “What?”
Evan took a deep breath and sighed. “After a wildfire, a huge terrible event that burns down millions of acres of nature, the Earth will still recover; will still heal.” A moment passed. “You can too.”
Connor couldn’t believe how absolutely nice Evan was being. After every bad thing he’s done, after every mistake he’s made, after everything, Evan still forgives him. He’s still nice to him. Tears lingered in Connor’s eyes but he swiped them away before they had the chance to fall.
“Fuck, Hansen, gonna make me cry.”
Not everything was okay. He still had anger issues. He still needed therapy. He still needed to be nicer to just about everybody in his life. He needed to work a lot of things out with himself, to figure out how he felt. But in that moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered is that he was found.