Trigger warning: If you have had/have thoughts of suicide or self-harm, and the subject makes you uncomfortable, this story is not for you. Don't read on if you are triggered by events that involve depression and/or suicide.
The same goes for drugs/overdoses. I don't want to hurt anybody!
Here's a reminder: I write things similarly to what I've been through. If it's poorly written (compared to the rest of the story, which all of it probably will be), I probably haven't experienced it myself! Which means any scenes that involves drugs, overdoses, etc., will not be very easy to follow (imo).
(And for those of you who aren't leaving, I hope you enjoy!)
Ps, this will also be uploaded on ao3. My acc is "Itsadrienbitches"
The Failed Attempt
Evan Hansen walked down the street, his bag slung over his shoulder, filled with his normal drawing supplies.
It was a beautiful day. You wouldn't expect anything bad to happen; peaceful; calm...
You would think on days like this he would be basking in the sun, or sitting at home in the luxury of air conditioning.
But not today.
He held his phone in his hands as he walked on the pavement, not even sure how he was going to go about this. He stared down at his phone, its blank screen. The pace of his walking was slow. Maybe he wanted to seem busy, maybe it was a way to bide his time, really think about what he was planning here.
He mumbled a few things to himself. Did he have his notes? Did he even need his notes? Wasn't this a plan to fake it, wouldn't notes make it seem not like an accident?
Deep breaths, Evan. He wasn't even to the orchard yet; he still had time.
He grabbed onto the first branch, pulling himself into the air, using the small amount of strength he had.
He hooked his leg around the branch and tugged himself upright.
One foot after the other. It was simple; he had done it a million times before, just do it like he does every time. Breathe in the fresh air, feel the wind, and just... climb.
There was nothing to it. All you really needed was awareness. You didn't even need your hands to stop shaking; if anything it added to the adrenaline.
Small gusts of wind blew against him, giving him small moments of relief from the hot weather.
Maybe it was a good thing that he chose to do this today.
The world would be better without him there, ruining everything.
Evan's breathing got faster and louder the higher he got. The moments that he paused, he would look down, checking if he was high enough.
The way he was climbing would look normal to many people. People who would look up at him and say, "Oh, look, there's a kid climbing a tree," then go about their day. Unfazed. Then there may be other people who would see other things. People who would notice the tears falling down his face, people who would notice just how high he actually was.
Despite that, everyone who passed by were completely indifferent about seeing him. And that reminded him that he would have to wait until there was nobody around if he wanted to do this. He didn't want help.
He just wanted to disappear.
Evan grabbed onto the next branch and hoisted himself up, looking back down at the ground for a second. It was high, but not high enough. He felt like he couldn't go on for much longer, though. The branches were getting thin.
There were a lot of things he should have been feeling right now. Resolve, terror, fear, but no. All he felt was numb. A dull, empty aching. He was fortunate he would be able to get rid of it soon. Maybe on the other side he would be able to feel things, anything other than anxiety and nothing.
Thinking back on it, it shouldn't have been too surprising that he was about to do this. His life had been filled with bad things up until this point. His dad left while he was seven, his mom, the only person in his life that actually cared, was never around. She barely talked to him because she was always so busy.
It was selfish that he would feel this way. After all, the reason she was gone so often was so she could help them get by. Without that they would probably be homeless right now.
When you think about it, things would be better this way, after he was gone. She wouldn't have to care about another person. It would be easier for her to get by. And he wouldn't get in the way of her aspirations; she could pursue whatever she wanted.
As he climbed, his feelings shifted more towards resolved. It would spare her feelings as well. He had set up his own little story of how it happened.
His phone had the camera opened, and it was sitting in his pocket. Once he got high enough, he would take his phone out before letting go, making it look like an accident.
His drawing supplies was all nice and set up at the bottom of the tree. Making it look like a freak accident; a reckless kid that climbed a little too high trying to get the reference he needed.
A few more branches, until when he clamped his hand around the one above him, he heard a snap.
Who would have thought.
Evan was now dangling.
This was the sort of circumstance you would expect to happen in a work of fiction. The protagonist goes to do something horrible, but gets stopped halfway and doesn't have the chance to.
He was aware he wasn't high enough. The place he was in was too close to the ground and the way he would fall wouldn't kill him. Could he at least try? Sure, yeah, but it wouldn't work. All it would do was hurt him.
Evan looked down at the branch that had just fallen and saw it hit the ground, snapping in half. It was his fault for thinking a branch like that could hold his weight. Then again, it was his choice to come up here.
He let go of one hand and glanced around, barely mustering up the strength to hold on. He had to fall now. That would be the only way to get down at this point.
You can't do this, a voice inside him said. Why was he getting second thoughts now, in the moment he didn't have a choice?
What about your mom? it said. He had come to this conclusion earlier, she would be fine, even better without him.
His other hand was slipping.
Grab another branch. There were none to grab.
Find a foothold. There were no footholds left.
All he had time to do was to close his eyes.
You would think, after all this time, all he had been through, he would be used to pain.
But hitting the ground like that was one of the most painful things he had experienced in his life. Blinding pain.
His eyes filled with tears and he let out a loud cry of pain, clutching his arm.
There was no one around.
Or, so he thought.
"Holy shit," he heard, not even a minute after he hit the ground. He didn't have the willpower to look up at whoever had said it, struggling to try and get back to his feet so he could leave.
When he tried to get up, his left arm collapsed under his weight, making him yell out again.
"Are you okay?" whoever it was said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you need an ambulance?"
"N-no!" he smacked his hand away and scrambled, finally getting to his feet, and leaned against the trunk of the tree.
He probably looked crazy right now. Some stuttering kid that had just fallen out of a tree.
"I- -Uh, I'll be fine," he said.
The guy looked at him for a second, the look of 'did he really just say that?' and said, "I'm taking you to the hospital."
He opened his mouth to object, but he was given a look that told him he wasn't going to leave him alone.
Evan knew where he recognized this guy from.
Connor Murphy. He threw a printer at Mrs. G in first grade.
He didn't know him very well at all, he was almost never in school, and even then, he was always high. This might have been the very first time he had seen him somewhat sober, and he seemed... tame. Weirdly calm about this whole ordeal, while Evan had been failing to fight back tears this entire time.
It didn't feel like he wanted to do anything else right now; he just wanted to go home now; he didn't even care about his arm anymore. The only thing stopping him was Connor.
He was ditched in the waiting room, after Connor made sure he was getting taken care of. It was almost like he knew he would just leave if no one was paying attention.
Heidi, Evan's mom, hospital scrubs and all, came in when he was getting his cast on and freaked out. She asked why he had been climbing a tree when she thought he was at home, he said that he was drawing and wanted to get a picture of the area from up high, that it was all an accident.
He hated lying.
His mom was called back to work not long after she entered the room, and Evan expected he would have to walk the four miles home. Which gave him pretty much free range of whatever he wanted.
All it would take now was to go home and lock himself in his room, cutting away. But he didn't want to force his mom to come home to that. There was a reason he was trying to make it look like an accident.
Evan walked onto the pavement, a new pain medication clanking around in his pocket.
Something he decided was that he wasn't going to use it, in fact the pain somewhat gave him closure, but he knew why the doctor gave it to him.
It was a normal thing to give people medicine... Evan had anxiety medications and antidepressants, himself.
Pain medicine was a whole different story. He just didn't enjoy the numb feeling you get when you take them. It made him so uncomfortable. He felt numb all the time, but this was a different kind of numb. It was like if he took too many, he would get too attached, and that wouldn't be good. Though he understood the appeal of getting hooked on that kind of thing.
Evan was a lot of things, but a drug addict was not one of them.
Given all that, he was probably going to go home and flush it all down the toilet.
He cradled his broken arm, now rested in a sling, against his chest.
Things were not looking great for him right now.
Heat and casts were not a good mix, he was starting school again in a few weeks, and...
There was a car following him.
Connor's car, specifically.
Of course it was Connor.
"What do you want?" he said as the passenger side window rolled down.
He leaned over from the driver's seat to talk. "Do you need a ride home?" he called back.
The question caught him off guard. He had expected to maybe get teased, considering the type of person Connor was. Or at least from what he had seen of him, which wasn't much.
And like he said, he was a lot more tame when he was sober.
Maybe he was like him, in a way, and he just didn't have anything other than alcohol and drugs to give him closure.
"No...?" he said, replying to Connor.
It seemed to surprise him, somewhat. After a few seconds he narrowed his eyes. "You look like you're about to pass out. Let me take you the fuck home."
Oh, there he was. The Connor that swore every other sentence.
He felt every perception of the sober version of him crumble a little.
"I-I really shouldn't," he said.
The window started closing again, and Evan realized just what he meant by "about to pass out". He really was feeling drowsy, and it was a four mile walk home.
"Wai- -Hold on," he said.
Connor unlocked the door without another word, looking back at him knowingly.
Oh god. What was he getting himself into.
Connor's car matched his personality well.
There were random wrappers scattered all over the place, along with cigarette butts and other things.
Evan wasn't sure how he felt about cigarettes. They were really addictive, he'd heard. Like many things were. He had never tried them. Hopefully he never would.
As they drove, he realized he had forgotten his things at the park. His backpack, his phone, his supplies, everything. He didn't want to have to ask Connor to stop by there, but he didn't really have a choice.
"Hey, uh... so I-I left my stuff at the park," he said.
Connor made a left turn without using the turn signal. Reckless.
"It's all in the back. I picked it up while you were in the hospital."
Evan looked into the back seat and, lo and behold, there were his things. Neatly piled on the seat. It didn't even seem like he had looked through his sketches. Then again, he could have just opened and closed it. He wouldn't be able to tell.
He picked at his fingernails, doing everything he could to not talk to Connor besides giving directions, which he didn't seem to mind.
He had a bad habit of doing that, picking his nails. Always picked at them too much, and at some point would end up bleeding in some way.
It wasn't on purpose, though. Just habit.
They were almost to his house, but they were going pretty slow. It was obvious Connor had never been in this area before. He was actually paying attention to the road, making careful turns.
Being unnaturally aware of his breathing, Evan leaned his elbow against the door and gazed out at the passing houses.
Evan's house was... less than perfect.
As he opened the door, he didn't think much of how dark and uninviting it had become to him. Organized, yet unorganized. Much like his feelings.
His mother was almost never home; she had to work at the local hospital. Always leaving Evan to his own devices around the house. That was one of the reasons he was allowed to do virtually whatever he wanted. There was no one around to tell him otherwise.
Evan tossed his backpack down onto the sofa. You would think after all the time he had lived here, he would be comfortable in a place like this. But no. This house held a lot of memories he would rather not dig up, but of course, seeing it from the distance, pulling up into the driveway, would always remind him of them.
He filled a pot with water and started it on the stove. Since his mom was never around, he didn't have many options for dinner. There was always the option of using the money she would leave on the counter to order food, but he couldn't stomach that kind of thing. Talking to the delivery guy and such. He'd rather his health get slowly worse than get an actual meal; top ramen was fine.
Glancing out the window, he noticed Connor was still there. He looked like he was rummaging through his own car, looking for something, getting increasingly frustrated.
Connor didn't see him. He felt like a creep for watching him without his knowledge, but he was in his front yard, so that gave him some pretty good permission to do so.
He watched as Connor finally found what he was looking for, a pen and paper, and started writing something down on it.
Evan lowered himself down a little to prevent being seen, peaking over the counter, where he had a clear view of Connor getting out of the car, paper in hand, and walking up to the door.
He heard crinkling paper for a few seconds, followed by a quiet thud, and watched as Conner walked back to his car and drove away.
Evan yanked the door open after making sure Connor had driven out of sight and looked around for a moment before noticing the scrap paper tucked beneath the doormat.
He slowly picked it up, unfolding it, and on it was...
The number for the national suicide hotline.
He'd recognize that anywhere.
"Shit," he whispered, and looked down the road in the direction Connor had driven off to.
Was he really that obvious?