[ Denver’s words left Evan’s bones deflating and sagging at the corners. He wishes that he knew what to say, but he doesn’t. He’s left bared and vulnerable, desperately grasping at the fragments of his resolve the best he could.
He wonders if he could ever build himself back up. He spent so long crafting another persona that he barely knew himself, and that was killing him. His father used to say, ‘as long as you know who you are, you’ll be fine’. And l Evan didn’t know who he was, and he was absolutely wasn’t fine.
Evan wonders if he could afford to pretend. Does he deserve to?
His first answer would be no— he doesn’t. He’s been running away from his problems for so long that now when it’s looking him in his face, all he could do was cry. It was pathetic. ] When I started workin’ here, I thought I could—afford to pretend.
[The laugh that escapes him is more sarcastic rather than genuine, but it makes him feel better nonetheless. He’s rambling and he doesn’t know how to stop. Doesn’t know if he could. ] I thought it would be easy to act like everything would be okay, ya know?
[ Evan was desperate, and he was tired of being desperate.
Ya right, I don’t know anythin’ about ya and I kinda wish I did. [Evan rubs the back of his neck, slowly rocking on the back of his heels. Things felt too real for Evan’s comfort and he didn’t know how to handle it.] Ya know my name…no one knows it, ‘cause no one cares to know it. It’s a whorehouse for christ sake. But ya did—
[Evan doesn’t know if Denver really cares about any of what he’s saying, but he knows that he has to. If anything it was more for him than it was for Denver…maybe it could be for the both of them.] Maybe in a weird, fucked up way I do think you’re a hero. [Evan pauses] For me anyways. ‘Cause ya wanted to know me and it meant something. I wasn’t just a whore, I wasn’t Taz…I was Evan —and I’m not allowed to be that.
[He knows he waits too long. Caught up too much in the swing and crash of the moment, and unwilling to close his door in this boy’s face. He’s encased in the moment, twisted and tangled in his own truths and how they are choking the life out of what surrounds him.
This isn’t Evan’s choice. To let Denver ruin him. Evan had no idea what he was consenting to, the first moment Denver’s lips touched his skin.
The least he can give him is the courtesy of illusion. As hollowed out as it makes Denver feel, as much as he clings to the denial of an impossible happy ending, the least he can do is let Evan absorb himself in it. Let Evan pretend, if he wants to.
Denver hasn’t taken a breath, feels the knife grate against the bones of his ribs as he inhales.
It’s full static up his spine when Evan laughs, chilly and wet. And he turns, finally, unable to keep the distance that his back affords them. He’s across the threshold of his own apartment, Evan hovering on the other side, pulled tight and shivering. He could close the door if he could get his arm to bloody move. His hands are clenched so tight on the frame he can feel the wood grain setting into his fingertips. But he’s transfixed by that slim tipped nose, the watery bright tracks across mole-dotted skin.]
You’re better off than most. [It’s a whisper, shadow light, and he doubts Evan even hears it under the next tight wave of words.]
[He can’t take his eyes off him. And yet, he knows his own go cold. Flecks of flint and arctic sea glass. To be a hero for this?] You deserve more than that rubbish. Someone who sees through the gossamer nonsense of ‘Taz’ is a foolishly low bar to set. Don’t paint me a hero for giving you basic human decency.
[He folds his arms, closed off, standoffish, the word ‘whore’ echoing like tin in his head. Not out of disgust, but the knife is slipping out and he can feel his blood dripping on the floor. He’s too sentimental.
He’s slipping. Grits his teeth. He can’t teach him. He can’t tell him more. All he can do is leave the boy with some semblance of wisdom he hopes he’s gleaned from his own ashen life.]
If you’re going to pretend… you owe yourself a better fairytale.
The words play themselves like a mantra over and over in his head until he starts to slowly get a grasp of his emotions. Closure wouldn’t come for him—not that he expected it, but there was still the little voice in the back of his head that hoped for it. That hoped for the happy ended that was never meant for him to have —that hoped he deserved it.
There was an annoying nagging reminder of how much of a fucking idiot he was. He didn’t think; he never does and that was his main problem. Evan always thought that he was fucking invincible and that nothing could ever hurt him, and that simply wasn’t the case. Had Evan just fucking thought about what the hell he was doing then maybe all of this could have been avoided.
He eyed the way Denver’s arms crossed themselves, almost as if he was tired of dealing with their trainwreck of a conversation. And maybe he was, Evan couldn’t exactly blame him.
When Denver’s words came, rejection left an acrid taste on his tongue and Evan just wanted to sleep. To slide under the cool sheets of his bed and act like nothing ever happened. Denial was always there when no one else was.
His lungs felt too tight, causing Evan to open and close his mouth twice before he could find the words he wanted] ...Yeah, I get it. I’m just bein’ stupid, yeah?
[He trailed off with a shake of his head, a hand coming up to tug at the chestnut strands of his hair, pulling until they prickle. Evan was trying to save face; trying to save himself from going through anymore embarrassment.]
Ya don’t owe me anythin’. It’s not my place to ask that of ya.
Leave. Now, you’ve made a big enough arse of yourself already.
Evan kicks at the carpet and he shoves his hands in his back pockets, inching away from Denver.] I’m sorry Master Denver for ‘causing all of this [Evan motions to the space between the both of them and for the first time since he’s met Denver that Evan allowed Taz to take over.] it won’t happen again. It’s not professional [His voice gets lower and his words were nearly inaudible – his own personal surrender. ]
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