#retro ad principium | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jkupchurch · 7 years ago

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retro ad principium

originally posted on ao3 but ya know why not

DESCRIPTION: Evan wasn’t sure how to feel. Everything was falling apart. Jared hated him. Alana hated him. The Murphy’s hated him. Even his mom hated him.

[or he has a second chance to make things right. maybe this time he won't mess up and he'll step straight into the sun]

TW: mentions of suicide, semi-vague descriptions of overdose

PAIRING: potential (very likely) eventual treebros

Evan wasn’t sure how to feel.

Everything was falling apart. Jared hated him. Alana hated him. The Murphy’s hated him. Even his mom hated him.

That last one hurt the most. He had always figured his mom would be on his side, no matter what. Granted he never factored in the possibility of him pretending to be friends with someone who killed himself.

God, she had every reason to hate him. They all did. He fucked up, big time. He should have never let Connor run off with that note. He shouldn’t have lied to the Murphy’s, he should have just told them the truth. He should have climbed higher.

He brought the sleeve of his sweater up to his face to wipe away the tears. He was crying, but not sobbing. He wasn’t sure how. He felt like he needed to, or at least wanted to. That was the appropriate response to this, but something was holding him back. Something was telling him it’s okay to not cry.

Something was telling him he just felt empty. Which, wasn’t a lie. He did feel empty. He had for a while, long before the whole Connor Project situation. Maybe this was his default setting, and anything else was just a side effect of the situation. That made sense. It explained why he couldn’t cry like he wanted to.

Evan glanced at his phone. He had turned it off early in the night after an attempt at apologizing to Jared went south. He didn’t know why he thought it’d go any differently.

You fucked up. You used him. You used everyone. And for what? A life that wasn’t yours. You don’t deserve friends. You should be alone. You should-.

Evan frowned. His thoughts often ran off like that, taking over his mind. Normally he wasn’t able to pull himself out of it so easily. He was usually forced to the backseat, watching as the world passed by around him.

He picked at his cast. His new cast. One he got after a not so friendly shove from someone ended with a tumble down the stairs at school. Connor’s name was no longer staring up at him but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t forget it. The phantom letters only he saw were nice reminder of how he ruined everyone around him. His relationship with his mom. His already barely-there friendship with Jared. His chances with having a normal relationship with Zoe and her family. Hell, wasn’t the whole situation his fault? If he hadn’t written that damn letter than Connor might not have…

You’re right you know. Connor’s dead because of you. It should have been you. He had so much to live for. You? You’re pathetic. You ruined a family. Gave them false hope about their son and then tore it all away.

Evan curled in on himself, clutching his head.

What did you think was going to happen? Did you think they’d forgive you? You’re a monster. No one is going to forgive you.

He couldn’t breathe. Tears were finally blurring his vision, but Evan didn’t want them anymore. He wanted them to stop. He wanted to breathe. He wanted everything to go away. He reached towards his bedside table, blindly feeling around for the bottle of Xanax. It was his emergency bottle in case something like this happened.

He swallowed the pill without any water. It wasn’t easy. He always had trouble taking his medication, the panic attack not helping.

Evan curled on the bed holding his arm to his chest. Sobs shook his body. He tried counting his breathing but it wasn’t helping. The Xanax wasn’t working. Everything was still too much. His chest hurt. He was still gasping for air. It was too much. Too much. Too much. Too much.

You know how to fix it, Evan.

Knowing how to fix it and wanting to fix it were two different things, but at this point he would give anything for the pressure to go away.

Evan looked at the bottle of pills still on open and spilling onto his bed. How much would it take to kill him? It couldn’t be too much.

He stood up. He had to lean against his wall for support, but he managed to make it to his desk. Lying, face up, was the letter that started this all. He turned it over. If he was going to do this, he might as well make it poetic. Evan picked up a pen and started to write.

Dear Connor Murphy, Today’s going to be a good day and here’s why: because today it’s over. The Connor Project. The lies. Everything. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? A letter started this mess and a letter is going to end it. I never meant for it to goes this far. I never meant for you to see that letter, I never meant for you to take your own life, I never meant to lie about it. But sometimes things happen. If I could, I’d take it all back. Not just the Connor Project, but the letters, and the broken arm. I think about that a lot. What if I climbed higher? What if I jumped forward rather than let go? The branches wouldn’t have slowed my fall. I would have hit the ground harder. It might have been enough. Words fail. They cannot express how much I regret everything. I regret using you. I regret lying to your family. I regret thinking that I could have a normal life. Nothing about me is normal. Nothing about me will ever been normal. That’s why I have to do this. I’m giving my mom a better chance at life. I’m taking the eyes away from your family. What’s the afterlife like? I’ll be joining you soon enough. Maybe we can be friends, actual friends. No pretending. No made up afternoons. Just, the two of us. That sounds nice. Sincerely, me

Evan dropped the pen. His hands were shaking but he felt oddly calm. It was like there was someone watching over him, telling him everything was going to be okay.

He wasn’t certain, but he had a feeling he knew who it was.

Evan hobbled back over to his bed. He grabbed the bottle and counted. There were fifteen pills. He frowned. He wasn’t sure how much would cause an overdose, he wanted to be certain this would work. What if the fifteen wasn’t enough? What if he just ended up in the hospital a bigger disappointment than he already was? He had more meds somewhere. Ones that didn’t work out. Sertraline. Evan couldn’t remember where he had put them. In his dresser?

He kept a tight hold on the Xanax bottle as he made his way across the room, like he was afraid it would disappear if he let go. There, in the top drawer of his dresser, was the half-empty bottle of Sertraline. He was only on it for a few months before they all agreed it wasn’t working. He was supposed to finish it off before switching to his new prescription but found himself unable to. It was as though he was worried something like this would happen and he’d need the medication again.

Evan’s eyes were drawn to pile of shirts he knew was hiding a bottle of whiskey. Jared had brought it over sometime junior year and never took it back. Evan looked at the Sertraline prescription. The label read “don’t take with alcohol”. Evan moved the shirts and grabbed the bottle.

He didn’t get back on his bed. He sat on the floor leaning against the foot of the mattress. In front of him were both bottles of pills and the whiskey. Evan didn’t know if it would be enough, but it’s all he had in his room. He wanted to stay in here. Just in case his mom came home early. Just in case she decided to check on him.

She wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get his hopes up.

Sometime between leaving his dresser and sitting on the floor he had locked the door. It wasn’t anything new. He had been doing that a lot lately. Locking himself in. No one had to see the mess that he was that way. He stared at the blank cast as he picked up the first pills.

“Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day and here’s why: because today you’re making amends.” He started with the Sertraline. “You’re letting them go. All of them.” He put two of the pills in his mouth and washed them down with the whiskey. “Your mom can focus on her classes, no longer having to worry about the disappointment you’ve become.” Two more. “Jared doesn’t have to lie for his car insurance anymore.” Three. “Alana can finally drop the Connor Project.” He finished the Sertraline. His throat burned and his vision was fuzzy. “The Murphys can tell the truth. They can let the whole world know about how badly you fucked up.” He felt oddly calm. He took two of the Xanax. “Connor can finally be remembered for who he was and not who you made him out to be.” He was out of Xanax. When did that happen? “When you’re falling in a forest and nobody’s around, you don’t need to make a sound. You don’t deserve to be found.”

Evan wished he had some water. His throat was burning. Everything was hurting. Maybe this was a mistake. He shouldn’t have done something so stupid. He was leaving his mom alone. Who would watch after her? Who would make sure she takes care of herself?

She’ll find someone. Without you dragging her down she might finally start dating again.

Ah. Something that made sense. She had always been so focused on Evan that she never got a chance to do things for herself. She deserved this opportunity.

“Damn Evan. You really did it.”

He blinked up at the voice. How long had he been lying on the ground?

“Wha-?”

Connor Murphy was staring down at him. He didn’t look like the Connor his mind had created back when the You Will Be Found speech went online, the best friend who climbed trees in abandoned fields and got ice cream at À La Mode. He looked like a broken Connor. Like the real Connor.

“You’re an idiot. I hope you know that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Connor crouched down and put his hands on Evan’s face. Evan felt himself moving as Connor turned his head side to side inspecting Evan. “No you’re not. You had everything you ever wanted and you threw it away. You’re not sorry for anyone but yourself.” Connor let go and stood up. Evan reached for him but Connor turned away. Evan would only watch as Connor picked the letter up from his desk. “Did you really write your note to me? I’m dead. Not gonna be around to read it.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I… I couldn’t, not to them. You were the only one,” Evan started coughing.

“I get it. You fucked up your relationship with everyone else. I was the next best thing. Relax. Take a chill pill or something.” Connor’s face twisted into something unrecognizable. Evan didn’t like it. “Oh wait. You already did that.”

Evan felt tired. Connor looked bored by his lack of reactions but what could he do?

“Hurts.”

Connor sighed and sat next to Evan. “Of course it does. Haven’t you ever read about overdosing? It’s the worst pain you can go through. Your body starts shutting down. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult, your body heats up in an effort to save itself. There’s paranoia, hallucinations... Though I think you know that. How else would I? I’m a figment of your dying brains imagination. Your hallucination.”

Evan’s stomach was lurching. He felt sick.

Connor laid his hand on Evan’s forehead. He felt cold. It was a nice feeling, Evan leaned into the touch.

“Just close your eyes, Evan.”

For once, Evan listened.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen fanfic #retro ad principium #jkupchurch #jkwriter #evan hansen #connor murphy

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