The warmth of equally returned love
It was fucking carnage. A black eye, a split lip. And Evan would be lying if he said the boy didn’t look downright sinful. One touch of his skin would open up the gates of hell and Evan wanted nothing more. One taste of spit, one clash of teeth, like water to the throat and stomach of a stray.
The ache in his chest crashed as he finally locked gaze with Barty. There were tears welling in his eyes and blood stained orange on his chin. “Bats.” Evan whispered it like it cut his tongue, like it was bleeding from his mouth. And if he hadn’t already expected it, that one word was the last gut punch to bring Barty to his breaking point. He fell into Evans arms like a sinner falls into prayer as one last attempt at a good life.
“Rosie- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Evan didn’t reply. He just led Barty into the house and towards the bathroom. Pandora wasn’t home. Maybe that was a good thing. At least it meant he could have this time alone to figure things out with Barty. He didn’t want to overload the boy with questions but he was more than desperate to know what exactly they were.
Evan helped Barty to the bathroom where he started cleaning him up, applying antiseptic to the scratches and pressing soft kisses to bruised skin. It was quiet, sombre. The only sounds to be heard were whispers of ‘it’s okay’ from Evan and occasional winces from Barty.
“Barty?” He asked while guiding the boy towards his room and onto his bed.
“Yeah?” He had been quiet since he arrived. Evan understood why. He wasn’t going to pry on that matter.
“Can you promise me something?” Evan sat next to Barty at the foot of the best, drawing a hand up and down his spine in slow, comforting, brushes. He could feel the ridge of every vertebrae, and when he closed his eyes he could almost picture them in his head. He loved every part of this boy. He loved his hands to his box dyed black and green hair to the ribs that held his heart.
“Maybe.” Evan knew what he meant. He wouldn’t beg. He only had it in him to ask one more time, and if he got a no he might have to just stop trying.
“Promise me you’ll never go back to him. It’s like– seeing you like this hurts, Barty. It hurts so fucking much, because I can’t do shit to help you. I’m so scared, all the time. I’ve known you for so long and he– it’s his fault you feel like a stranger to me.”
“I told him I wasn’t his son when I left. I’m never going back there Ev, trust me.”
“Oh.” Evan wanted to grab Barty by the shoulders and pull him closer, so close he swallowed the boy. He would keep a hand on his own throat so he could feel him for as long as possible, and he would love him for even longer. He would haunt his own room, hunting down the remnants of his boy. Evan would never get over this, if he lost Barty.
His ways of coping were abusing his lungs and his liver. He missed the gentle touches and the mornings and the grins full of off-white teeth. He missed the heat and the kisses with tongue that led to swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He missed Barty. He had missed Barty since the day he met him, and he would continue to miss him till the day he died.
“Kiss me, please Rosie.” Evan could already taste him. The metallic tang of blood and the cling of desperation. He wanted to say yes. Wanted to grab Barty by the jaw and pull him in and never let go.
But instead, he hummed, shook his head, and whispered, “Split lip.”
“Fuck that. I don’t mind bleeding for you, Evs.”
“I know.” He smiled before finally giving in and kissing Barty. It was soft, too soft. He didn’t dare open his mouth, didn’t dare let this become something more.
“You know I love you, right Bats?” He mumbled. He was scared, like a highschooler confessing to their first crush.
“Yeah. I know Ev.”
“Well?” He waited for Barty to say it back. He wanted him to say it back. Evan had always been so so good at wanting.
“I can’t, Evan. I want to say it, I just can’t. Not yet, but soon.”
“Soon.” He spoke like he was reassuring himself, like he was convincing himself that Barty really meant it.
“Ev– I need to be honest with you, okay?” He watched Barty swallow, watched how his throat swelled. Evan held his breath, waiting for whatever unfortunate news he was about to hear. No good sentence ever started like that.
“I’m not doing good.” Evan knew what he meant, Barty didn’t need to explain himself. “I’m gonna go away for a while, because I don’t want to force you to take care of me when I’m like this.”
He wanted to tell Barty that he wouldn’t mind. He would look after Barty for as long as it took, because he loved him. He really truly loved Barty, not what Barty could give him. He’d be happy to never kiss him again if that’s what the boy wanted. But he knew why Barty was saying this. He was so terrified of being a burden. Barty would drown if it meant not disturbing the lifeguards at shore. He would walk 100 miles if it meant not begging someone to drive him.
“But I’m not leaving. I’ll be back, Rosie. I promise. But I shouldn’t be your responsibility. I don’t want to do that to you.”
“I know, Bats. And I’ll be waiting.”
Evan didn’t bother to put away the medical supplies when Barty left. He didn’t have the heart to leave his room. He couldn't tolerate all the awful reminders that Barty wasn’t there. That he was alone.
He heard the door open and assumed it was Pandora. Lily was visiting family for the day so it was just the twins at the house.
It was maybe five minutes later that he heard a worried voice calling his name, followed by Pandora storming into his room.
“Evan? There’s medical supplies all over the bathroom what the fuck? Did you– What did you do? Evan?” It came out rushed and panicked. Her face was flushed pink and her hands were fidgeting nervously. “Please Ev tell me you didn’t–”
“Pandora?” He didn’t know why the accusation made him so irritated. “Why don’t you trust me? I didn’t do shit. Barty showed up and he needed help. I’m fine.” He knew he was raising his voice. He saw it on his sister's face, how the worry faded to hurt faded to anger.
“Don’t yell at me for being worried, got it? I was scared– I thought you had done something, Evan.”
For just a second he felt remorse. “Well I didn’t. And it fucking hurts that you think that little of me. I’m not some ticking time bomb. I’m not going to go off and fucking kill myself because I’m having boyfriend troubles. I’m not a kid.”
“I never said that okay? I said I was worried. You’ve been so sad and I was scared that it was..” Her voice trailed off and her eyes dropped to the floor. “I was scared it was getting bad again.”
“Leave me alone for a bit, Panda. I don’t want to talk to you right now.” He tried to soften his voice, tried to send her off nicely. He couldn’t shake the bitter tang in the back of his throat, the part that bit, that part that cut into skin like it was softer than overripe fruit.
And with that, Pandora left. Turned tail and closed the door behind her. Evan got a text she was going for a drive.
She would be back soon, is what Evan told himself. She would be back once they had both calmed down and neither would really apologise. He would pretend not to notice the tear stains on her cheeks just as she would pretend not to notice the missing alcohol. Coping took many forms. Evan had collected his favourites and perfected them like an art. He could paint murals with his misery, build empires with his aches.
One day he would sit with someone and tell them everything. He would laugh and make jokes about the thoughts that lived in his head only ever coming out late at night when everyone was asleep or preoccupied with lovers' hands. He would remember fondly the first time he looked in the mirror and hated what he saw or the first time he rolled onto his side and decided it would be better if he was dead, it would hurt less. The thing with those sorts of pains is, they never really leave. He learnt not to listen, not to understand the language, but sometimes bits and pieces broke through. He had never really gotten better, he had just been too distracted to remember he was sick. He’d been walking on bad legs for so long he thought the pain was normal. And maybe it was. You never saw anyone on the street in the day telling you that being alive hurt too much, but other people had to feel it. So he hid. He nicknamed his sickness his best friend and learned to talk back to it.
His own pain held good conversations, quiet debates. It was good to have something to talk to.
His melancholy was ruined by a phone call. The phone call that would hurt more than anything his sister could ever accuse him of.
“Is this Evan Rosier? Your sister is in the hospital. She got into an accident.”
Is it cliche to say his blood ran cold?
“She’s stable, but unresponsive for the time being. In other words, she’s in a coma.”
“A coma? Like in the movies?” He hadn’t thought that happened in real life, at least not to Pandora. Bad things didn’t happen to Pandora. It’s like she repelled them. This was Evans' fault. He was sure of it.
“Sort of like that. We’ve already called her first emergency contact, a girl named Lily Evans. A close friend?”
“Significant other. Lily is her girlfriend.”
“I see. Well she’s on her way. You’re welcome to visit as well.”
When Evan hung up, he was almost certain he could see the walls melting. They were dripping down around his feet in a sloppy puddle. His reflection was mangled and his face was red. His eyes were puffy and his lips were chapped and bloody. Evan had never seen himself cry. He turned the lights off or took a shower. Anything to hide it. Because he wasn’t supposed to cry. He couldn’t let go of any piece of that hurt. Because if he left it around someone else would pick it up and he couldn’t have that happen. So he carried it all close to his heart and sometimes in his liver.
The one person who had ever known about any of it was Pandora. And it was his fault she was in that hospital. His fault she could die at any time.
And maybe those repressed thoughts weren’t as far down as he thought. Maybe it was getting harder and harder to turn them away.
Evan didn’t want to visit Pandora. And maybe that made him a bad person. But if he had to see his sister unconscious in that hospital bed he wouldn’t be able to see her again without remembering that. Lily would take care of her, he was sure of it. Lily would always be there for Pandora.
He slept in an empty house that night. A couple texts from Lily, none from Barty. None from Pandora.
Were things really going to get better? It seemed near impossible now.