Chapter 4
APRIL 14TH 2007
Being quite proud of his room, Evan was always proud to show someone it. Though it wasn’t Barty’s first time there, and hopefully not his last, Evan was subconsciously excited for him to see it.
They had walked straight from school together, Pandora splitting from them to spend some time with Dorcas. A girls night, she had called it. Barty coming over had been planned for only about six hours, but Evan had had quite serious butterflies the entire time. Once both of their bags were thrown through Evan’s window, and Barty had helped Evan up, helped him pull the ladder up some, and helped him shut the window (the wind made it difficult), they were quiet for a small moment. Of course, Barty fulfilled his urge to fill that quiet.
“I always forget how nice your room is.” After kicking his shoes off, he was walking, tracing his fingertips around the walls, but only the bare segments, not where Evan had any posters, or any hanging necklaces pinned to the wall. Even though he was proving he wouldn’t do any damage to Evan’s interior decorating, the blond was watching him with hawkish precision, scouring for any moment Barty might even so much as look like he was going to move something, nudge it, or remove it completely. “Woah, woah, chill, Rosie. I’m not touching anything.” Barty laughed, shoulders moving with him, before doing a full three-sixty spin toward Evan’s bed and stripping himself of his jacket during the few steps walk toward it; letting himself fall forwards onto the covers, face becoming buried in them.
Evan sat, the mattress sinking beneath him, and to minimise the silence, pressed his music player on with a small click, and then the opening of My Chemical Romance’s ‘Thank You For the Venom’ began to play.
“Why have you got MCR playing?” Barty laughed, his head lifting, eyebrow cocked, ready to call Evan an emo or something of the same vein.
“You recognise it. Don’t even act like you don’t listen.” Evan kicked his shoes off, and got himself comfortable, laying on his front in a parallel manner to Barty. “They’re good, it’s good.”
“It’s like, sad shit.” Barty countered, rolling on his side to look toward Evan, who felt a growing sense of rejection in his stomach.
Music was very, very important to Evan. If you asked him, and he was high enough to respond honestly, he’d tell you it held together his entire being. Every aspect of his personality was woven together by the music he listened to. From his clothing choices, down to the way he spoke; his music taste was woven through it. Little eleven year old Evan might not have gotten through half the things he did without his headphones - so he took offence to Barty’s disregard of Gerard Way’s pristine lyricism.
“It’s more than just sad shit.” Evan heard the snapping in his voice, trying to swallow it down. “It’s lyrical, so shut up.” The two held eye contact, for just a few moments, before Barty took up his role of filling every single second of silence.
He just hummed, rolling over a few times so he was lay much closer to Evan’s head. “Fair point. You win, Rosie.” Evan could feel the heat rising within his face, watching as Barty continued to say something and sit up, but Evan wasn’t particularly listening. All of a sudden, the heat in his cheeks flushed, and a nervous knot began to tie itself in his stomach.
Barty was close, extremely close, and Evan was beginning to remember how obvious it had been, up until only the week prior, that Barty had wanted to shag him. Barty sat himself next to Evan, stretching his arms above his head with an inhuman crack , coming from his elbows. His mouth was still moving, but the ringing in Evan’s ears was getting louder, and louder, and louder. He wanted to sleep with him, and Evan had forgotten , and Evan had invited him into his room. Alone. No Pandora to protect him. They were hiding from his parents, who were presumably downstairs, or his father perhaps on some long business trip. Evan wouldn’t know. An all too familiar nauseous feeling began to circle his brain, wrapping itself around him. Unsafe. It told him, despite Evan trying to swat it away and insist that it shut up.
When they were kids, he and Pandora used to have their breathing technique, something Pandora named ‘Flower Smelling’, because she got Evan to take a big deep inhale through his nose, and then exhale it through his mouth. However, as a child, Evan often forgot to open his mouth as he exhaled, too focused on counting the beats of his inhale. So, the exhalation sounded like an ‘mmm’, as if he were pleased with the scent of whatever posy he had sniffed. Thus, ‘Flower Smelling’.
In this moment, Evan couldn’t bring himself to lower his nose to Pandora’s metaphorical flowers in his room and inhale. Couldn’t bring himself to stop and let on to Barty that something was wrong. But Barty was talking, and sitting closer to Evan than he ever had when the two were alone together. Maybe. Maybe Evan was entirely overthinking it. Maybe he was paranoid. Maybe he was just stressed that Barty would try anything at all, that his brain was making it all up. Or maybe he wasn’t . Maybe he wasn’t and maybe Barty really was making a move, maybe he was going to try kiss him, or even more and Evan would have no clue how to respond, he might push him away and tell him to fuck off and maybe Barty would never come back-
“Rosie.” Barty’s voice cut through the purple smog circling around his brain, creating a pathway for Evan to finally breathe. He had space, now, and he realised Barty must’ve moved away without Evan realising. “You alright? Fucking hell, you look-” Barty’s voice hitched, as if he were going to make a joke, and had suddenly realised it wasn’t the right time. “Rosie, what’s wrong?”
Evan was beginning to breathe deeper, in a much more even fashion, holding an iron-clad grip on his bedsheets. Barty was watching, an ever so slightly fearful expression in his eyes that grabbed Evan by the chest and gradually ripped him to shreds with guilt.”I’m fine.” He brushed it all off, attempting to goad Barty into just believing him, but Barty’s eyes stayed fervently sceptical. God, Evan thought he was dumber than this.
Barty hesitated, and then reached his hand out to Evan, only for it to be quickly swatted away. “Don’t.. Just, don’t.” Evan told him, though without any sharpness to his tone, in fact Evan heard how shaky and.. vulnerable it sounded. He kept his eyes down, not even willing to look at Barty, but to his minute surprise, Barty didn’t push him to. He didn’t even try to touch him again.
“Alright.. That’s alright..” Barty nodded, his voice quieter than usual, his hands going to his knees. “Uh, do you wanna.. like tell me-”
“No, it’s alright.” Evan protested, glancing at Barty, and then away again, feeling so many things swirling around his stomach that were going to go unnamed. He wasn’t going to strain himself to match the named emotion to the feeling. “I’m alright, Barty.” It wasn’t a lie, he was beginning to be, breathing coming easier, that tightness in his chest slowly beginning to leave him. Evan did, though, move to sit at his desk instead, putting some distance between the two.
He wasn’t scared Barty was going to push past his boundaries, he knew he wouldn’t dare. He was more scared of the fallout of him telling Barty he didn’t want to shag him. That he didn’t want to shag full stop. Maybe. Maybe he did, God knows; and Evan certainly doesn’t. Barty could quite easily think he’s a freak, could quite easily tell him never to speak to him again, could tell someone. Evan felt that fear festering again, and had to turn his chair away from Barty to take a few deep breaths.
It was quiet, except for the sound of Evan’s breathing, and the sound of My Chemical Romance’s ‘The Ghost of You’. When, finally, Barty stood and went burrowing into his bag, mumbling under his breath about looking for something. And then, the music clicked off, and Evan heard the CD player open, Barty remove MCR, and place something else in instead. He was about to ask what he was doing, not to just touch his music stuff without asking, but then he heard it.
“Fallout Boy?” Evan teased, an eyebrow raised, turning around again to face back towards Barty, who had a sort of sheepish grin.
“It was the only one I had on me.” He laughed. “I was gonna sell it, but, My Chem is too sad for whatever the fuck you’re going through right now.”
The two held eye contact, just for a short moment, and Barty kept his distance. Didn’t move, didn’t ask anything else, just stayed on Evan’s bed. Evan was grateful, despite having entirely forgotten what he was upset about in the first place.
Two hours later, and both Barty and Evan have their backs to the floor, Evan’s light projector showcasing constellations on the ceiling. Maybe they were a little high, just enjoying the music playing, the feeling of the carpet against Barty’s bare arms, Evan’s bare neck.
“You know the other night?” Evan glanced to Barty, feeling a laugh creeping up his throat at how red Barty’s eyes were. “With Regulus.”
“I have a lot of nights with Regulus.” Barty shrugged, but seemingly shuddered at how the carpet made his bare arms feel. “Specify.” Evan felt a sharp twinge across his chest, as if the talons of a mythological Fury were playing his heartstrings like a lyre.
“At the underpass, with Panda. We were drinking.”
“And your deepest darkest secret was that you wanted to longboard, not skateboard?” Barty had shut his eyes, but one of them peaked open to look at Evan now. Just to make sure he was right, and register the nod he got. “What about it?”
Evan hummed, turning his head back toward the ceiling, the moving projections of stars. “It was a lie.”
Barty laughed. A hearty, barking laugh, Evan hit him to remind him to be quiet. “Yeah, no shit it was a lie.” he kept laughing, though quieter on Evan’s command.
“Wanna know my actual answer?” Evan’s voice was a hum, and he slowly turned his head toward Barty again, who was, and always had been, looking right at him.
“Yeah, go on.”
“My parents would kill me if they found you here.”
There was silence, silence so heavy that there was nothing to be said to interrupt it. So, instead, they laughed. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed, gently swatting each other with the backs of their hands, rolling around from side to side, filled with nothing but the pure joy that came from laughing so freely.
It was the weed, of course, and the conversation probably would never have come up otherwise, but it had been said. Evan felt a little weight shift off of his chest.
“Well, mine was true.” Barty arched his back until it gave an ungodly clickclickclick noise from three separate positions on his spine. He let out a small hum of pleasure from the relaxing in his back. He chose not to remind himself, and Evan, of what he had said, but a sense of solemnity fell over the room. Barty visibly grimaced at the thought of it all.
With silencing slipping it’s arms around the two, Barty soon gave up, and sat up, then stood up, and was about to grab his pack of cigs to smoke out the window, when Evan’s bedroom door swung right open.
“Evan Castor Rosier.”
Almost as if she had heard what Evan had told Barty, Letitia Rosier had almost appeared out of nowhere, stood in Evan’s doorway. Her shadow fell over Evan, in his place on the floor, and he could swear down that he’d never sobered up so quickly in his life.
Her voice wasn’t loud. She didn’t yell, she didn’t screech, or scream. She was just.. piercing. Cold. The words, the reality of the situation as a whole, all set themselves deep into Evan’s chest. He was in trouble.
“Dear… who on Earth is this? Are you safe? How did he get in here?” As Letitia took steps closer, Barty took backwards steps toward the window, seemingly not even thinking to grab his bag. “Evan, sweetheart…”
His mother was right in front of him, on her knees, gently tracing her nails over Evan’s cheek.
“Gosh, it smells awful in here..” She murmured, and after a longer inhale, and a few moments to think about it, the hand caressing her son’s face collided much harsher, Evan wincing beneath it. “What on Earth have you been doing?”
Evan could hear Barty stumbling over the starts to some sentences, fumbling to find the right thing to say. It was humiliating. Having somebody else stand up for him. So, Evan stood himself, shifting away from his mother in the process.
“I’m sorry, mother.” He nodded in her direction, though his eyes stayed trained on Barty the entire time. “He was over for a school project. We finished it. He’s leaving.” Evan’s eyes were wide, and he could only pray to any higher being he could possibly believe in that Barty understood what he was saying. Go.
Barty did leave. He grabbed his backpack, stuttered an apology out, and practically dove out of the window. Evan listened to his footsteps dissipate, inwardly cursing himself for inviting Barty over, for forgetting that his mother could just be downstairs, for forgetting to check, for forgetting to be quiet.
Letitia, on the other hand, only wrapped her arms around her little boy, who was stock-still in the centre of his room. “I’m so glad you’re okay, my dear. Oh, gosh, you’re shaking.. Look at you… Did he hurt you? Oh, sweet thing, are you hurt?” She moved to cup his cheeks, despite Evan’s complete stillness, and Evan considered letting himself throw up right then and there on the spot. He would clean it up later, or just get rid of the carpet. Pandora had talked about wanting wood flooring anyways.
Pandora. Fuck, Pandora. She was going to get hell if she came back late, and their mother was in this kind of mood. He was beginning to feel the shaking in his body again, which was a good sign he wasn’t going to just collapse, but that also meant he could feel every touch of his mother’s on his face, the kisses she placed around his skin as if they were wiping him clean of Barty’s influence.
“He’s the one who’s been corrupting you as of late, isn’t he?” She asked him, a mutter, and Evan realised that there was no way for him to warn Pandora, not like this. “Isn’t he, dear? That’s why you’ve been listening to all of this.. This music, and staying out late… Isn’t it?” Evan clenched his jaw, tight, and gave her a nod. That egged on her fussing even more. “I’ll have to tell your father when he comes home.” Shit. Shit. Shit. That wasn’t going to end well at all.
“Mother, there’s really no n-”
“Don’t question my decisions, Evan.”
“Yes, mother. I’m sorry, mother.”
Silence. Just for a few moments. Evan stayed tense, his mother slowly beginning to unravel from him and flatten her outfit. As she walked away, her heels’ clicks were muted against the carpet, so Evan took the sound of heel against floorboards to mean safety.
A breath escaped him, and without thinking any other thought, he reached for his phone to text Pandora. Their code word was simply ‘pineapples’, because both were quite allergic and saw no other conversation where that would come up. She didn’t respond, but she had seen it, and Evan was comfortable enough knowing she would be safe, even if he didn’t know what she was going to do. Would she come home? He wanted her to come home. He wanted a hug, mostly, wanted Pandora to sleep right next to him so he knew she wasn’t going to leave. But he knew that wasn’t smart. Pandora took the blows so much when they were kids, almost every single time. He could take it this time.
He could definitely, definitely take it. He was older now, stronger, and, well, he just could take it. He wasn’t a kid anymore, not a scared little boy Pandora had to protect.
Humiliated, down to his very core. That was the only thing he could think of, feel, understand about everything. He was so very intensely embarrassed of what she’d just done. Not the actions, necessarily, he was used to those, but… in front of Barty. In front of Barty. He felt sick, felt it rising through his throat, felt everything tighten; but out of pure fear of having to clean it up now, with no reward anywhere near similar to throwing up near his mother, he swallowed it down, leaving him leaning against the wall with his chest rattling with every short and shallow breath he managed to grab onto and take.
Pandora and Evan had always understood that the way they were treated was wrong. Ever since they were children, ever since the first time that one of them, Evan has no recollection as to who, was struck. They had cried, together, on top of Evan’s bunk of their bunkbeds, holding hands, holding each other, and promising one another that it would never happen again. It did, but they were there for each other. Took the fall for one another when they could, distracted and tried to please their mother with something else.
Their father, though? An entirely different question. He was barely home, Evan often couldn’t really remember what his face looked like. Not properly, not clearly, he was more of a visage in Evan’s dreams than a father he could sit with, do puzzles with, ask for help on his homework. When he was home, Evan stayed clear of him. An ‘incident’ in which Evan didn’t behave properly at a meeting with none other than the Black family had landed him staying off of school for two weeks. Evan didn’t ever know whether his father was going to bark, bite, or disappear off the face of the Earth for six months.
Evan took a breath, and clicked off his music player, taking out the CD to eventually give back to Barty. He washed his face, finished off the cookies him and Barty had bought, seeing as he didn’t figure he was getting any dinner, and patiently waited for either Pandora, or their father to come home.