Jars were lined up in a row on the counter, each displaying a different color. There was a long assortment of scrumptious things, from gummy bears to taffy, there was nothing missing. There was a machine specifically for jelly bellys. There were suckers of every kind. The store put true meaning behind the phrase "a kid in a candy store."
That's almost how John felt in all actuality, amazed by the many selections placed strategically in front of him.
Evan also seemed pleased, yet slightly overwhelmed. He stood as close to John as possible, the crowds of people making him feel even more nervous than usual. His hand kept bumping against John's unintentionally, but after a while, John became tired of the flow of apologies and grabbed Evan's hand, hoping to make him feel safe.
This sent a rush of feelings in Evan's direction, ones he had never had before, nor was he capable of identifying. His palms were sweaty but that wasn't anything surprising. His heart beat at an accelerated pace, but not because he was anxious. It was an odd occurrence.
Evan filled his clear bag with everything he saw. He simply walked down the aisles, tossing in a little of everything. John was more reserved, however. He was only interested in a select few things, mostly that which was sour.
As they paid, John bought two floats. It was meant to be a gesture, an idea that they could share a sweet drink and learn more of each other.
In all actuality, John felt even more reserved than usual. He had a dismal approach to the world, keeping his emotions under lock and key. He felt a sort of trepidation, most likely because he had shown so much of his real self before and it ended so poorly.
Previously, he acted so openly and been so painfully realistic. He couldn't afford that kind of mistake again. It hurt to drop your facade for someone you now tried to avoid. It was also a lesson that you can never retract previous conversations, and you couldn't completely pull your heart away from someone who once, maybe still, means something.
"Let's take all this back to my house," Evan instructed, gesturing towards all the candy. "If you're okay with it," he quickly added. John obliged, following directions to the house in mention.
It wasn't a long drive, nor was it scenic, and Evan's home didn't stand out much at all. It was white and shabby, taken care of, but obviously not worth As they walked inside and up the stairs to Evan's room, it was made clear that it was currently occupied only by the two of them.
The wall had pictures hung all over, each a different happy scene of Evan and who John presumed was his mom. They were joyful, and obviously very special.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Evan joked, opening the door to his bedroom.
Everything in the bedroom was neatly organized, every object and belonging in its designated spot. It fit Evan's personality perfectly.
They lay side by side on the made bed, neither speaking a word. The silence was uncomfortable, though neither knew how to break it.
Evan let out an exasperated sigh. "I realized I hate small talk, but that's all I know how to do," he paused, a crimson blush rushing to his face. "Sorry, that was a dumb thing to say."
"Stop," John corrected. "I like it when you're confident."
Evan bit his lip, obviously nervous. "My therapist says that I shouldn't worry," he began to ramble. "She said that I need to just say, this is a waste of my effort. But sometimes it doesn't seem like a waste of effort. And sometimes the embarrassment from a social situation is horrible enough to be worthy of my efforts!"
"You go to therapy?"
"I'm sorry."
John looked quizzically at Evan, unsure of what he was apologizing for. "I need to go. Badly. My dad won't pay for it though."
Evan threw himself back on the bed. "After insurance, mine is only $22."
"What's it like?"
"Where does one begin to answer a question like that? Isn't it different for every person?"
He thought back to his first session. He remembered entering and hearing the door let off a chime, an alert that someone had arrived. The room was all neutrals, magazines on mental health and pamphlets discussing depression placed on the table for anyone's perusal. The front desk was left uncluttered, the logo pained on the front in calming colors. There was a white noise going, probably an attempt to calm nerves, but in Evan's case, it didn't work.
He sat there, waiting. Watching people come and go from appointments and he prayed to God that he wouldn't have to go in. Perhaps his therapist would just forget, just chuckle and say she didn't have his appointment scheduled.
She arrived and he was led into a room with her. There was a couch he was instructed to sit on, tissues offered up as a necessity. They're meant to be reassuring, but the notion that you're expected to cry was unsettling.
"You're expected to talk a lot," Evan finally spoke. "I just never have much to say. I don't like to talk about myself. And I get scared that she hates me."
"Why would it matter if she did?"
Evan's eyes filled with tears, but he refused to let them slip. "It wouldn't. And like I said, worrying about it is a waste of my efforts. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," John reassured once more." Would you help me schedule an appointment? I don't really wanna say why, but...." he trailed off.
"Of course!" Evan said with a smile. He placed his hand on John's arm, trying to comfort him. "John, I'm not judging you at all. I don't care about your past, I'm just interested in your future."
It was an odd thing for the timid boy to say, but he didn't retract his statement.
Though the wording was different, the meaning was the same as something else. It reminded him of something someone once said a long time ago, someone he tried so hard to forget.
Perhaps, he never would.
YOU ARE READING
Dead or Destitute (Lams)
Fanfiction(Lams.) This had been the third time. His third time downing pills, his third time trying to meet death. If only he had succeeded. - It had been months since he had last left the hospital. He was bored. He was afraid that he was simply going to die...
