susurrus / dear evan hansen

lie number five

tw: talk of suicide and self-harm

larry still couldn't believe it.

connor wasn't upstairs. he was lifeless and cold, lying in a morgue.

his darling boy was gone forever.

maybe he could've been a better parent. listened to him more.

he pushed away his plate of cynthia's gluten-free spaghetti and traipsed upstairs, a million and one thoughts racing through his mind.

his darling boy was gone.

no more half-hearted jokes. no more scrolling through page after page of google, trying to understand his son better. no more attempts at being a better father.

because he fucked up so bad, he killed his own son.

larry lied down on the bed, his hair greying faster. he was empty. he was strangely empty.

how did this happen? he chuckled quietly as hot tears ran down his cheeks. he thought back to the day connor was born. he was a tiny boy, crying and screaming as he came into the world.

and as soon as larry first saw his son, he vowed to never let anyone hurt him.

but how are you supposed to stop someone hurting themselves?

connor, aged two, tripped over in the garden, and cried until he hiccuped.

connor, aged six, grated his finger making carrot cake and stuck plasters on the cut for three weeks straight.

connor, aged eight, chipped his tooth and hardly cried.

connor, aged ten, didn't cry when his childhood cat was run over.

connor, aged thirteen, hiding his scarred arms in long sleeves.

fourteen: suicide attempt.

fifteen: counselling.

sixteen: hospital.

seventeen: suicide attempt.

and this time it worked.

it worked.

he wasn't coming back.

larry wiped his eyes and exhaled deeply, suddenly realising a devastating truth.

he couldn't have saved his darling boy, however hard he tried. he tried with the half-hearted jokes, the scrolling through page after page of google, trying to understand his son better, the attempts at being a better father.

and why didn't it work?

because of one devastating truth:

connor never loved him.