Messy

Jared

Evan is absolutely insane. Isn't it great? He's absolutely, out-of-his-mind, crazy. I mean, this whole thing was originally my idea, but Evan knows what game he's paying. He knows what we're doing and he knows how to do it.

"The hardest part of this is gonna be befriending Connor. He doesn't exactly like me. Or you." I say.

"We could, you know, just apologize? That's a good step toward being friends."

"That could work..."

"It will work."

"Now for the drug... Do you know which kinds take a long time?"

"Yeah." He says, then under his breath: "They took too long."

Wait. Did Evan...

"So do you want to take care of that?" I ask. I don't wanna talk about anything that's going to make either of us upset.

"Yeah, sure. I'll take care of that." He says. Perfect.

I feel like one of those typical mustache-twirling bad guys. Except, those guys get caught. Evan and I can't get caught. No matter what. Even if it means not going through with the plan. Which is fairly flawed as of right now. We gotta narrow it down.

"I'm gonna have to explain the letter." Evan says. "He has to know what it was for if he's going to believe anything we tell him after that."

"Alrighty."

"You sound like you've done this before."

"Murdered someone? Nah. But I read a lot of books. I know stuff."

"JARED! Why would you read-"

"Don't ask questions." The truth is, I read a lot of the books in eighth grade, directly after what happened. I might have been planning something... Don't tell Evan. Apparently I'm just a psycho as he is.

"But, I-"

"No."

Evan sighs in exasperation and returns to his laptop. He's googling something, but I don't know what. Eventually, he stops typing and turns to me.

"I have evidence for what the letter was for." He says.

"What was it for, anyway?"

"Therapy. Ya know, 'Dear Evan Hansen, this is going to be a good day and here's why' Sort of thing."

"Weird."

"I know. But, wait... If we're just going to explain it to him, we could just not kill him, right?"

"Nope. He'll still spread the letter. Since you're a freak that goes to therapy."

"Okay. Whatever. Just... here."

Dear Evan Hansen,

Today's not going to be good. Stupid therapy. And then another night at home alone.

Because mom works all the time and I destroyed my best friend. I didn't mean to. I was angry. I didn't mean a single word of what I said. Still, he never wants to see my face ever again. Maybe I could give him that. If I don't have him, I don't have anyone. Nobody would care if I stopped existing, and maybe it would hurt Jared a little less. If he knew that there was no chance.

Mom's a doctor. I know how to get away with it.

There's nothing left for me here, is there? I'll never become anything. I can't see myself having a future, even when it seems like that's all anyone else does. Live in the idea of their future. There's no light at the end of my tunnel. Just a bright orange road block indicating that the road ends. My journey is over.

But, tonight, for now. Alone, like I have been for the last week. Sitting in the dark listening to music and doing homework. After therapy. Stupid middle school.

I don't want this.

Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend,

Me

Evan sits, anxious beside me.

"Evan, no. Seriously, no. You can't leave. You cannot go. I will kill you if you go. Got it?"

He seems to be in a daze. He blinks a few times before responding.

"I tried." He whispers. "It didn't work."

"...I'm glad." I have to force the words out, even though they are 100% true. I'm glad it didn't work. I just don't know how to say anything that hints toward forgiveness. I'm close to being able to forgive him, especially now. Knowing he didn't mean anything he said. But there's. Of course, still the part where he said what he said and didn't take a word back for several years. That's got to be forgiven still. And I want to forgive him, I really do. But it won't just happen overnight.

The two of us sit in a borderline-comfortable silence. He doesn't look like he's about to have a breakdown, and I'm not going to freak out. Things feel almost normal, almost like they used to be.

Except for the fact that we're sitting here, plotting murder and discussing past suicide attempts. Not that he knows about mine.

Yeah, that isn't exactly normal.