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Evengy was a liar.
A liar to himself, a liar to his boyfriend, who will go unnamed.
Shoes padded across his hallway rug, and a permanently cold, boney finger pressed play on the voicemail box.
The Homeowner, who's name is also unknown, lets Evengy use the phone to talk to his boyfriend sometimes. And every time, Evengy was getting closer to doing what the blind man did.
Seventeen voice messages.
Evengy sat on the floor, listening to all the things that his partner was saying.
That was a lie.
The visitor was not listneing. He was disassociating through the whole time, making his own head hurt.
"...and you just do these thing.ss....."
Fade in, fade out.
And some things about suicide. Blaming Evengy. He doesn't even know at this point. It's all blurry.
Grabbing the chord to the phone, he unplugs it.
Now, Evengy wasn't much of a smoker. Hell, he rarely liked the taste. When offered, he even says "I don't smoke." But God does he want a cigarette right now.
Getting up from his spot on the floor, the visitor grabs the box of cigarettes and lighter (which he knows he isn't allowed to take) and goes outside.
A gust of warm night wind hits him smack in the face. He shivers, and lights a cigarette with trembling hands.
Evengy doesn't smoke unless it's to remember his mouth. To fill that void.
Or after he's held him.
He remembers telling his boyfriend "If you need to be mean, be mean to me."
And that's exactly how it was taken.
His arm gets leaned on, and his heart gets broken.
Evengy is what's left of them when they were under the moon. When they first told each other they loved one another.
Except he's a liar.
An apparent one as well.
The cigarette suddenly burnt his lips and he spat out ash. At least it was warmer than a blade.
His thighs still hurt with those light purple cuts from the night before. His pants chafing against his skin didn't help either. Neither did the shivering.
He lit another cigarette. Kept smoking and smoking untill he came back in and was forced to shower by the man from the bar, Yesenin, and also chewed out for stealing cigarettes.
For the first thirty minutes in the bathroom, Evengy just sat on the bathtub rim, Yesenin on the closed toilet.
"If there a reason you stole and smoked the whole pack?"
Silence.
Yesenin sighed and ran a large hand over his face.
"Evengy, my good man. You know I care about-"
"I was stressed."
First sentence he's ever said without stuttering.
Yesenin knew it was serious.
He leaned forward. "Evengy. Is this about that boy that you talk-"
"H-he loves me." Evengy choked out. Tears began rolling down his flushed face. "He loves me. A-all relationships are hard. That's how it is. He ne-needs to be angry sometimes and I'm not a good-"
The visitor was tearing at his hair, sobbing hysterically. This wasn't love. And Evengy doesn't smoke.
Yesenin stood up, walked over and hugged him. For a good solid minute, he did nothing but hold Evengy.
Pulling back and holding the smaller mans shoulders, he looked him dead in the eyes.
"My good man, you aren't worth this." He sighed. "Now, I don't know much about relationship advice, but this can't be healthy."
That shattered Evengy's heart, but deep down, he knew it was true. This wasn't love, and he didn't smoke.
A long, nasty voicemail was sent by the visitor in the coat. It was nothing but white hot rage.
The scars still stayed. He hasn't gotten over smoking or cutting, but he was trying.
Oh, he was trying not to smoke.