Dear Evan Hansen Oneshots

Painkillers-Sincerely Three

Trigger warning: Self harm. (Disclaimer: this is pretty fluffy)

I look around the room. Everything is practically a blur. Pain. I feel so much pain. I need real pain, though, the kind that takes away all of the pain that you feel inside, even if only for a second or two. There's a cheap pencil sharpener on my desk. I grab it, leaving my room and running to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. There's a small screwdriver in a tiny hole in the back of the sink drawer. I should know, I hid it there. I open the drawer and fish it out. With shaky hands, I slowly unscrew the razor from the plastic... They should really work harder to make these things less accessible.

As I hold the tiny, sharp metal in my hand, I feel a pang of guilt. What would Jared and Connor say if they saw me right now? I shake the thought from my head- they didn't find out last time, and they won't find out now. I turn my arm, placing the blade on my skin and sliding it across, watching as tiny beads of blood form where I made the cut. The stinging sensation numbs all of the fake pain. My eyes are burning. I'm crying. I bring the blade back to my arm, just under the first cut- it's bleeding a lot now, but I don't care- and make another one. It hurts, and it helps a lot.

Apparently, I've been doing this for a while now, because next thing I know, my arms are covered in blood, dried and new, and I'm carving self-hating insults into my thigh. I stop, quickly wash off the blade and slipping it into the drawer next to the screwdriver. I reach into the cupboard, taking down the first-aid kit.

Fifteen minutes later, three out of four of my limbs are covered in band-aids. It's the dead middle of summer. It get's pretty hot here, and that's all I can think about as I'm slipping on one of Connor's hoodies. Will anybody get suspicious? Jared might.

After a while of just sitting there on the toilet lid, staring at the ground, my actions finally register in my head. Panic rushes through my body, and my stomach is practically in knots. What the fuck did I just do? Tears form in my eyes, and I would do anything to be able to see them, to apologize, but I can't, because they'll hate me. They'll get mad and think that they aren't helping me and then I'll have to try and convince them that I'm fine and that they are helping, because they are, and that I just had a breakdown, but I won't be able to talk because my thoughts will leave my mouth all mixed-up and shaken.

Even if I could tell them, how would I start? It's not like I can just go up to them and tell them like it's just some normal thing. But I have to tell them, because if I don't tell them, I'll be lying, and I promised myself that I would stop lying.

I know that in reality, they probably won't hate me. My mind is just twisting up worst-case scenarios to make them worse. It tends to do that. I have to tell them. I pick up my phone.

Riiing.

Riiiing.

Riiiiiing.

"Hello?" I don't know if his voice makes me feel better or worse. I take a deep breath.

"Connor," I try to talk normally, but my voice comes out wrong. Quiet and broken. I almost sound like a kicked puppy.

"Evan? Are you okay?"

"I'm-" No, Evan. You have to tell the truth. "I... I d-don't think so." I squeak.

"Do you want me to get you? I'll get Jared and we can go to my house?" He asks. He sounds worried.

"If you..." I trail off. I want to talk to him, but I can't form words. My brain isn't functioning right. I feel drained.

"I'm leaving now, okay?" I try to respond, but nothing leaves my throat. "Evan?" I manage something like a distorted squeak. "I'll be there in five minutes." He hangs up.