noevans

[noevans]

Evan felt relieved. Somehow. It was as if Lev’s voice washed over his body, assuaging every tensed up knot it reached. Yet his nausea hit its last stages; his breathing interrupted by constant swallowing, catching his breath like he was drowning in tension. He couldn’t help biting the inside of his mouth, reaching his lips made him feel fifteen years old again.

Or maybe it was Lev’s fixed stare.

Something made him feel like a fucking child, and he didn’t hate it.

“Yeah, well you’ll excuse me for not remembering it.” He articulates a little too quickly, with a hint of mockery— which he couldn’t help— and a dash of a voice crack. Just enough for Evan to share a half a second eye contact with the other.

He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to see Lev again. They say you start missing your old life when death’s right around the corner. Death was stepping on his fucking heels, breathing down his neck ever since he went to prison. He’d wake up with pain in his neck from looking behind him every second of his miserable existence. He wouldn’t give a fuck if Lev punted him in the gut right there and then. Would be the closest thing to normalcy for Evan.

“I’ve rubbed its fucking balls, man.” What a feat to admit to that while being completely sober. His demeanour became more relaxed. He found an old stir stick in his pocket to chew on; he couldn’t stop shaking his leg. “It didn’t bring them back.” Evan couldn’t even say their name.

He felt sick. He felt stupid. He felt like a fucking child again and he hated every second of it.

[noevans]

@levmovska

Trembling fingers reached down the pocket of his coat. It was balled up and shoved between the wall and the bench facing him. Most importantly, it was made out of expensive cashmere and he was ruining the shit out of its value. His fingers grabbed the tip of a lone cigarette; rolled it on his thumb until the tobacco spilled out.

The rustling and bustling noises of the café he was in came back like a punch in the face. Suddenly, he was too aware of the clinking of the glasses, of the conversations around him, the laughter, and oh god the fucking slurping. He pulled his hand away, sat back down and knocked his beetroot coconut milk whatever the fuck latte. The bright pink liquid submerged all the documents and files on his table…audio transcripts, snippets of interviews, victim’s personal statements,…he couldn’t quite tell, he was just pretending to read them anyway.

He took a deep breath. It dripped on his pants. It looked like dried blood against the darker color of the fabric— gabardine no less. He dumped the wet papers in his folder, grabbed his coat and walked out of the café.

He loosened his tie just a little before hailing a cab. He reached down his other pocket for a piece of paper; on it scribbled battery park and handed it to the driver. The ride felt endless, like every second of it stretched into the next, but he wished it lasted longer as soon as he had arrived to the destination. He glanced at the city behind him as if he’d be able to catch someone glancing back. He chucked his work folder in the trash and walked into the park.

It wasn’t an enjoyable stroll. In fact, his body tensed up at every step; his exhausted eyes struggling to keep a headache away; and the lone cigarette in his pocket was turned to dust due to the anxiety building up in his hands. There, facing the water, a bench occupied by someone with a very recognizable head of hair. Evan had never asked for favours from the Syndicate, so he was surprised by how quick he received an answer. Scribbled on a piece of paper, an all too familiar location name for someone he was trying to find. He was a fucking idiot— he could’ve guessed it on his own had he given it two more minutes of thought.

Again, he pulled on his tie, and he looked like he rolled down a hill with the way his clothes were so lopsided, and finally sat next to his person of interest. He was silent for a minute or two, or maybe it was four or five, his gaze never leaving the horizon.

“I’m sorry, Lev.” Is what Evan would’ve wanted to say. Instead, it came out something like this: “You kinda look like shit.”

[noevans]