U.M. // H2OVanoss

Chapter 10

If there was one thing Evan knew was a trigger for him- besides the obvious things- it was probably a specific shade of red. The same red of the pen that he had used to write his math notes in high school, the same notes he was looking at as so many memories rushed through his head. Mostly the ones of him sitting on the floor in his bathroom, blood running down his arms while he just sobbed.

He remembered just feeling so alone, unable to filter out what had happened or block out all his self destructive thoughts.

Evan, still gripping the pen Scott had lent him, subconsciously led his fingers to where the hair tie around his wrist was, his mind still swarming with thoughts and memories. He was completely space out, not even realizing that instead of snapping the hair accessory against his wrist like usual, he had pulled on it and twisted so much that it would apply a bit of pressure.

Then he realized his scars were itching to be scratched at, yet he kept twisting.

And twisting.

And twisting.

Until finally, there was a tap on his shoulder. His fingers let go of the hair tie and he snapped back to reality.

Books. Lots of books. Library. He turned his head, seeing that it was John once again.

"You sure you're okay, Ev? You look like you're crying." His face shows the upmost concern, and Evan's hands immediately jump to his cheek, ignoring the oncoming headache and sudden inability to breathe easy.

He was surprised to find that his hand came away wet, and gripping onto a red pen.

Upon realization, Evan dropped the pen as if it was poison and stood up, immediately dashing off to the nearest restroom without even responding to John. By now he could feel his breaths becoming uneven as he burst into the empty bathroom (thanking the lord) and going into one of the stalls.

His mind raced, and his wrist began to hurt, but he couldn't tell if it was hurting because of how hard he twisted the hair tie against it or because he was remembering that it used to be the only way he knew how to feel anything.

Evan sat on the seat, attempting to push down all his traumatic memories while wiping away a few stray tears. He also tried not to focus on the fact that he was on the verge of a panic attack while he was in the middle of a study session with his friends.

Not just any friends, either, they were his college friends who didn't know jack shit about him and what happened in high school and the fact that Evan was crying in the bathroom was ruining everything. He rolled up his sleeve, making sure he didn't do damage to his skin- maybe if he pretended like he cares about himself his brain would get the memo.

His scars stared up at him, and he was transfixed, taken back again to when he had pitifully sat on his bathroom floor, wishing that he could feel something. Wishing that the universe didn't hate him. That his friends actually cared. That his mom was home more often. That he wasn't in love with someone who was way too good for him.

Wishing that he had never fucking met Tyler Wilde in the first place. Who cares if without him he would've ended up as some anti-social high school dropout. Maybe that would make him happy, or make him feel like he had some profound purpose.

He wouldn't feel so used. Like he was everyone's punching bag, and they only cared once he was completely broken and even then they didn't fucking care. They only wanted him to live because of the guilt they felt for misjudging him, not because he was their friend.

Were any of them ever really his friends?

Evan felt around his pockets, sensing an oncoming relapse and wanting to call his boyfriend for help, only to find that he had left it in his backpack next to his seat. His sleeve was still rolled up, and next thing he knew had moved to the gray tiled floor of the library bathroom, face in his hands as he broke down for the second time in the past few days. His shoulders hurt and his wrist ached, the only thing that was missing was the warm feeling of blood dripping down his arm, but he had nothing to harm himself with.

When was he going to stop being so fucking pathetic?

—

"Do you think he's okay?" Scott had been trying to ignore Evan's sudden departure, knowing it wasn't his business at all and that his friend was going through something he wasn't comfortable talking about, but it was hard after he had heard John's comment about the boy crying. "Should we check on him?" He put his book down, not even studying in the first place.

The other three looked up, glancing around and barely realizing that Evan hadn't come back yet. "Maybe just shoot him a text?" John suggested, probably the most worried about the older boy as he thought back to how sad his new friend had seemed before he darted off.

Scott pulled out his phone, sending a brief text to Evan only for the group to discover that he had left his phone in his backpack. "Oh."

—

It took a little bit, maybe a bit over half an hour, but Evan convinced himself that he should go back to where his friends (and Craig) were. One, that's where his phone was and he needed his phone if he was going to call Jonathan to pick him up. Two, he was going to have to go back eventually, and it would be better to go back now before he second guessed himself and fell back down his unfortunate rabbit hole.

The whole walk back- his hood completely up to draw the most attention away from his red, puffy eyes as possible- Evan was turning over every possible excuse and answer for any questions that his friends would ask him.

What happened? He didn't feel good.

Why were his eyes red? He got soap in the them while he was washing his hands.

What's wrong? He's just tired.

Are you okay? He's fine.

Perfectly fine.

As he drew closer, he began to hype himself up, attempting to shake off his lingering self-loathing (with no avail, but he counted his attempts as progress). Evan told himself he was going to move on from the incident and continue to study, because he was in college now and that was the responsible thing to do and the best way to move on from his previous tragedies was to work hard and let himself enjoy things (even if they were just boring study sessions).

However, reality really slapped him in the face as he reached the table, hurriedly grabbed his things and left with a quick explanation of "I'm not feeling good, I'm just gonna go home. Sorry." before he proceeded to once again dash off, mentally kicking himself as he dialed his boyfriend's nubmer.

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his hood back down as he utilized his fingers as a comb. Evan brought his phone up to his ear as he reached a random bench, listening as it began to ring with one lasting thought in his head.

"You're such a fucking idiot, Evan."