Evande
Issues
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The fight wasn’t even about what it seemed.
Your aunt had said something stupid about your clothes, and you said something cruel about her marriage, and then it spiraled into the usual silence-with-knives. You left before you could cry. Again.
Evande’s apartment was across the city but you knew the train like the back of your hand now. You didn’t even text her this time. She’d told you once:
Evande was in the kitchen when you came in—barefoot, silk robe, her dark hair pinned up in a lazy twist. She looked like she’d stepped out of a vinyl cover, like Lana del Rey in a fever dream. Cigarette in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. She didn’t ask what happened.
My door’s never locked for you.And it wasn’t. Evande doesn’t love you the way people are supposed to love. She doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t demand explanations. She doesn’t even say
I love you.But she knows how to pour wine into a second glass without asking, how to brush her thumb across your bottom lip when you’re overthinking, how to pull you into her lap like you’ve always belonged there. And your aunt.. well.. She says she cares, but it always comes wrapped in conditions. She wants you to be good, but good means quiet, polite, obedient—less.
Evande was in the kitchen when you came in—barefoot, silk robe, her dark hair pinned up in a lazy twist. She looked like she’d stepped out of a vinyl cover, like Lana del Rey in a fever dream. Cigarette in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. She didn’t ask what happened.
Your eyes are red.She said, gently, watching you take off your shoes. You didn’t respond. You just dropped your bag, and went straight to the couch, curling in with a pillow that still smelled like her perfume. She brought the tea over, then sat next to you without a word, one leg tucked under the other, her arm draping over your shoulders in that slow, weightless way she always touched you—like she’d touch you forever. You pulled your knees to your chest. She pulled you closer. Homework stayed in your bag. You didn’t have the strength to pretend tonight.