I think you have the wrong number

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[A/N Before we start I just want to mention:
- None of the header art is mine
- This book will contain strong language throughout
-This book contains things I have little knowledge of e.g. Drugs and being American so sorry if it isn't accurate
-Lower case and spelling errors intentional in some places]

Unknown Number:
Hi (heheheImm high an Issaaid hi) zoeewre cCan yyou pic meup?

:trevan
Sorry, I think you have the wrong number?

Unknown Number:
iIff itsyoure nimver its mot thew wromg on

:trevan
Are you high?

Unknown Number:
Nooo?? UmConnrw

:trevan
I'm going to go now, be safe alright? If you do need help I can try and get in contact with your family, not in a weird way tho.

Unknown Number:
Ajahsukqoxowowlwbvdjd i cqn here theplanrts

:trevan
Bye

~~~

Evan sat up in his bed trying to calm his uneven breathing and shaky hands, normally texting didn't get him this anxious, but the last time he took his meds was over 24 hours ago at this point, he didn't know the person who he'd been texting and they woke him up with their text.

Evan checked the clock by his bed, it was twenty minutes earlier than he normally got up for school, no point going back to sleep. Pulling out his ear buds and iPod he set his 'Calm' playlist to shuffle. He put his phone into his pyjama pants' pocket and began to get ready for the day.

Meanwhile Connor Murphy was high as a rocket. To him it was his escape from it all. And what was the negative? Missing school? It killing him? Sounded awful lot like positives.

He staggered through the front door of the Murphy house completely deluded and having strange hallucinations. He'd ended up walking home from the street he'd been smoking on. He opened up the fridge and grabbed out the milk, becoming slightly aware of how much his hand was shaking and laughing at the observation. "BEGONE DEMONS." He shouted while drinking the little milk that was left in the bottle, as soon as he finished it he dropped it on the floor and started giggling hysterically.

Hearing the shouting Cynthia ran into the kitchen and observing the crying mass on the floor that was her sweaty and milky son she sighed. Parenting wasn't meant be this hard, right? Surely there'd been some memo that she missed, some orientational video, some map, some something.
"Connor, you'd better be ready for school on time. You can't miss your first day of senior year, you'll just have to sleep off whatever this is and go in slightly late. Sound good?"
"Sounds a okay missy!" Connor slurred, making Cynthia realise he must have had a larger quantity of pot in his blood stream than normal. She wondered if it was anything to do with the fight her and Larry had the night before.

She helped her child up stairs and into his bed where he fell asleep almost instantly. She smiled at how peaceful he looked before closing the door softly behind her.

Wrong Number | Dear Evan Hansen | TreebrosWhere stories live. Discover now