Evan slept fine until about four in the morning.
That's when the messages started coming in.
When he opened his eyes, he couldn't even figure out why he'd woken up, until he realised there was a buzzing noise in the room.
He sat up groggily, trying to place where it was coming from.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized it was his phone.
No one ever messaged him.
He stood up and walked over to where his phone was plugged in on his desk.
He stared at the screen, blinking in the light.
His eyes widened as he realised what the messages were about.
He unlocked the phone and started reading through them, scrolling slowly as his throat tightened.
He blinked back tears as they kept coming in, some new version of hundreds others, the only thing changing were the swear words and the ways he should off himself.
He turned the phone off, throwing it onto his bed and sinking to the floor as the sobs came in, wave after wave until he was curled into a ball, taking his hands through his hair as he ran and re-ran the emails and texts.
How did they get my number?
His breath caught and he choked on a sob, standing up to look out the window.
The yard was empty, thankfully, but his phone was still buzzing.
He picked it up and realised someone was calling him.
He answered it reluctantly, holding It up to his ear.
"Hello?"
He whispered.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You're going to hell for this, Hansen."
A voice spoke into his ear as tears stung his eyes.
Evan hung up quickly, staring at the screen.
It started ringing again almost immediately.
"Please leave me alone."
He whispered, his voice resonating through his room as tears fell freely down his cheeks.
His mom wasn't home, it didn't matter if he made noise.
He touched his jaw, still tender from being punched, and winced.
The phone was still buzzing.
He threw open the door to his closet and, shoving the phone under a pile of clothes, slammed the door.
He walked backwards until his calves hit the edge of his bed.
He sank down to the floor, head in his hands as he sobbed.
Connor was used to getting texts from strangers at night.
This was an occupational hazard of being someone people loved to hate.
To be fair, he gave them plenty of reason, but the sheer number surprised him.
Did I do something?
He wondered groggily as he rubbed the sleep from eyes and grabbed his phone from his nightstand.
It wouldn't be the first time that had happened, as drugs made you do stupid things and not remember it.
He sighed as he realized what the main focus of the messages seemed to be.
He'd truly had the best intentions when he'd written those emails, but looking back, it was a shitty idea.
He turned the phone off and set it back down, pulling the covers up over his head.
"Connor!"
A shrill voice woke him, probably his mother;
He pushed his hair out of his face clumsily, poking himself in the eye as a result.
He groaned, rubbing his face as he picked up his phone.
The messages were still coming in.
Rolling his eyes, he threw it into his bag and got up to get dressed.
As he pulled on his boots, he could still hear the buzzing through the fabric of his bag.
He slung it over his shoulder and walked out of the room.
Zipping up his hoodie,
He ran down the stairs and out the door before his parents noticed him.
His father had hidden the keys to Zoe's car, so that wasn't an option.
He knew where they were, of course, but he didn't have the energy to go back inside. Instead he walked down the driveway, pulling his hair back into a loose bun.
He almost walked past his mailbox, but stopped when he noticed it was full.
That was new.
Although he could guess why it was full, his curiousity got the better of him and he pulled it out, leafing through the pile.
It's been less than twenty-four hours, what the actual fuck.
He shoved the stack into his bag, bills and all, and pulled out his cell phone, which was still buzzing.
White-hot rage flooded his bodily suddenly, and he threw his phone on the ground, stomping on it repeatedly.
Nodding with satisfaction, he pulled his hood up over his head and started walking.