Step Into the Sun ||Treebros||

chapter 15

Tw: um...self-hate? (I'll add warnings, it's super short) and better safe than sorry

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Connor's POV

I hear the door creak open.

"Hey," a soft voice calls from behind the door.

My heart swells and I smile. "Hey, Evan."

He makes his way to the chair next to me and sits down.

"How was school?" I ask, attempting to break the silence.

Evan's eyes cloud for a brief moment. "It was... Alright." He says.

He attempts to redirect the conversation. "H-How are your ribs?"

I frown. "Fine, they hurt less."

"That's good. Anything bothering you?"

"Not really, but something definitely is bothering you," I note.

Evan looks away, shifting in his seat.
"N-no, nothing is.. Um... Everything's- its all fine," he stutters.

Evan hardly stutters anymore. At least, around me he rarely does. Something's definitely off.

"Hey Ev, it's fine to be not okay," I comfort.

He looks at me, hesitant.

"Go on," I nod.

He looks down. "Well... Um... People-"

My protective instinct kicks in for some reason.
"-Did they do anything to you?" I snarl.

Evan flinches. "No no, it's... About you."

The anger leaves me like a switch was turned off. "Yeah? What about me?" I asked, nonchalantly.

"They... Someone at school saw you here," he informs, "and now the whole school knows you're in the hospital because of drugs.

I clench my fist. Great.

WARNING!!!

Now not only would I have to face my parents, but also kids at school. They probably think I overdosed on weed. 'Too much weed,' they'd say. He never got so high in his life. As expected of the to-be school shooter. He deserved-'

END OF WARNING

"-Connor, please," Evan asks, desperately. 

What? Wait... He's holding my hand. HE'S HOLDING MY HAND.

"Please stop," he begs, "You're hurting yourself!"

I look down. I was clenching my first so tightly that my nails had dug in. My palm was bleeding.

I unclenched it.

Evan reveals one of those first aid antibiotic square-shaped wipes.

Aw, heck no. Those sting a ton.

I wince as he gently wipes some blood away.

"Does it hurt?" He asks, worry etched on his face.

I'm about to lie when he wipes my hand again. It stings as if it were in fire.

"Agg! F*CK!" I scream. He immediately flinches.

"I'm sorry!"

"No no, it's fine," I lie.

He draws the thin cloth near again.

I snatch my stinging hand back, scrambling on top on the bed, standing. "I changed my mind."