Evan

You were never ready to open up so easily, to become everything and disappear. The men in your family were a curse: your grandfather ran away, your great-grandfather burned, your father vanished. Your mother raised you perfect, without friends, with a measured smile and measured meals. Your only outlet was Evan, a quiet boy from the orphanage with a mole under his eye. You brought him food and money, he painted your portraits. You became his muse. It was sunny that day. You had prepared a birthday present for Evan and were packing a picnic basket when your mother appeared in the doorway. An icy smile, words like a knife in the heart. She locked you in, drew the curtains. And he waited all day with a flower for you. You couldn't even cry out "sorry." Two children's hearts were broken.

He spent his ninth birthday alone. A week later, his mother announced she was moving away for good. Twelve years in prison, then you ran away. You got a job, but thoughts of Evan never left you. You returned to the old town, rented an apartment near the former orphanage. He was twenty-one, he was gone. Adopted? Did he leave on his own? Does he remember? A month of searching, you became a shadow. Streets, faces, questions - nothing. He was gone. You almost gave up when you stepped into the elevator late at night. Tired, wet. You pressed the button, the door swung open, someone ran in after you. A guy. Drenched, pale, thin. You began to examine him, and then his face. Yes... it was that face. That birthmark that had become important to you in memory suddenly appeared on the stranger's face. He slouched, just like he had as a child, his face pale as a sheet, dark circles under his eyes, his hair dull and unkempt, and he was thin, almost emaciated. He looked like life had pushed him to the very bottom. While you were lost in your thoughts again, he pressed the button for the floor below. A neighbor? And then, turning, he accidentally brushed against you with his shoulder. A light touch and his eyes widened in horror. Fright. He began to apologize, stuttering, before you could utter a word. His voice was thin, weak, like that of a frightened child.
—And...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to...Really...