Hazelthorn

by C.G. Drews

what is love if not devouring

That is the ironclad rule: Evander and Laurie can never again be left alone together.

His hate for Laurie is unmanageable, wild and bitter as wormwood on his tongue, and he should have lost all interest in him by now. He shouldn’t watch for him through his window. Or crave snippets of his voice. Or think about his cornflower-blue eyes and the beautiful shape of his wretched mouth.

Seven years ago, Laurence Lennox-Hall tried to kill him in the garden, down amongst the roses. But somehow, Evander is still obsessed with him.

When he fractures, it is in a place so deep inside himself that he cannot begin to collect the shattered pieces.

Two things hit Evander as he lies there, fear collapsing his lungs. He used to eat those storybook pages instead of giving them back. And the person reading to him through the door was Laurie.

All properties, including the Estate of Hazelthorn, along with the sum of my accounts, which amasses to 1.1 billion dollars at this time, is to be given to my sole heir and current ward, Evander. I have signed this document while of sound mind under the witness of these ensuing signatures…’”

Laurie lets his chair legs hit the floor. “What,” he says, “the fuck? He didn’t mention me at all?”

Laurie stands suddenly and turns to look straight at Evander. “You,” he says. Evander doesn’t wait. The sole heir of the Hazelthorn Estate bolts from the study.

Or maybe a small part of him wants to remember that day, the pain, the betrayal. Maybe he needs the reminder of how dangerous Laurie Lennox-Hall is so he can forget those blue eyes and that beautiful mouth.

He wishes he wasn’t like this, wishes he could stand even parallel to normal and be someone who fits next to those his age, who goes to school and kisses an appropriate amount of pretty people and isn’t bothered by things like an odd seam in his clothes or the very existence of socks. He wishes his brain moved in one direction, not a dozen all at the same time, and that he didn’t pull apart in a panic if even one thing goes wrong.

At any second, Laurie could crush his fingers around the arch of Evander’s slender throat. Evander almost wants it to happen. This time, he’ll bite back.

“I am not a feral cat,” Evander says stiffly. Laurie raises an eyebrow. “Have you thought about scratching my eyes out at any point in the last twenty-four hours?” “Try the last five minutes,” Evander mutters. “Feral. Cat.” Laurie leans against the sink and tries to flick dirt off his white shirt.

“You’re not very respectful,” Evander says. “I try not to be.” Laurie gives him the most earnest smile that is somehow also unfathomably condescending.

“Great, you’ve found him. Should he be put—” Dawes checks himself as if he’s remembered Evander has ears. “What?” Laurie says. “Put him back in his cell?” Dawes rubs at his temples. “Laurence. I swear, I’m—” “Not in front of the baby,” Laurie says. Evander straightens in his chair, lightning flaring hot in his chest. “I’m not a baby.” “I was talking about me,” Laurie says calmly, “but okay.”

He really needs to pull apart the wicker cage of his ribs and see if he can find the reason he’s so obsessed with that boy hidden amidst the rot. He craves him. He thinks about him all the time. Even when Laurie is at school, Evander still lies in bed and imagines how he must look in classes, tapping a pencil against his lips or reaching to pull books off tall shelves. Laurie is smoldering sin when he tilts his head back in a way that begs to be kissed.

After a few moments chewing the marker cap, Evander adds and is a prick to Laurie’s card and feels satisfied.

What if this isn’t the first time your door has opened at night? you’d never know you have no idea what stares at you from the dark what touches you they make you sleep you don’t have a choice

So far, he has too many assumptions and hunches. And sadly “is a prick” isn’t enough to put Laurie before a judge.

Come here.” She snaps in Evander’s direction. He just gapes at her. “He’s not,” Laurie says flatly, “a dog.”

“Why cover it up?” His voice is hoarse. “What game were we playing? If it was just some stupid mistake, why not run for help? I was screaming and you filled my mouth with dirt.” Finally, Laurie’s smile drops. “Because whenever I fucked up, Grandfather would beat the living shit out of me as a kid. So.”

Another lie. It has to be. He didn’t do that. But suddenly he can taste it again—lurid white tendon caught between his teeth as blood slicks his tongue, lush and wicked. And lovely.

“No matter what happens,” Laurie whispers, blood freckling his round cheeks, “remember your name is Evander and you love me best.”

Good news is she brought along a private chef, so we’re upgrading from frozen pizza. Bad news is, well, Great-Aunt Oleander exists.”

Sometimes he just wants to crawl out of his own skin and peg it on a washing line to air out for a bit while he takes a long nap somewhere cool and dark. But those are not the sorts of things he can explain out loud. No one cares how he feels anyway.

“Evander, wait.” There’s no explaining it, the pleasure of hearing his name in Laurie’s mouth.

He didn’t have a tell before. Now he does. When he lies, he’s going to work overtime to keep his face still. Which is very useful. Evander keeps his smile to himself.

He is not clever; he is not poetry. He is just a boy who speaks too bluntly when what he wants most is to figure out which pretty, magical words will finally make him understood.

“I am not—The absolute disrespect!” Oleander cracks a palm against the table and Evander’s bravery scatters as he withers back against his chair. “You wanted him to talk.” Laurie leans back in his chair, delighted. “Behold, he speaks.”

“I want Hazelthorn. I’ve always wanted Hazelthorn.”

“Did I say at the ass crack of dawn?” Laurie sounds more than a little frosty. Evander remains expressionless. “You didn’t not say it.”

Why did he keep you?” “Because,” Laurie says, with a long-suffering sigh, “no one else wanted me.” “Shocking,” Evander deadpans, “when you have such a charming personality.”

“There were no business trips.” Laurie sighs and rubs the corner of his eye.

But maybe the thing he truly wants to understand is how he, too, can hate this boy and yet long to use his own bones to build a shelter around Laurie’s raw, bleeding heart.

But there’s an ache in his chest, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore. Don’t trust him— But I want to.

He is an autumn leaf, meant to be pressed between the pages of an old book and forgotten.

If he could cut this obsession out of himself, he would.

“When you tried to kill me, who was holding the shovel?” The ghost of that day presses against his spine, the truth like a splinter driving through both wrists until he can’t get away. It replays in his head, the shovel coming down. Byron Lennox-Hall’s hands gripping the handle.

There is something wrong with the garden.

“Who tells you to be quiet all the time?” Laurie’s words are a low, thickened spill of warm honey. “Pain is meant to take up space or else we wouldn’t know how to scream. Fuck making your agony silent to avoid disturbing others. Maybe they should be disturbed.”

unless you’re making everything up because it’s easier to imagine monsters than admit you’re lonely and scared and overwhelmed by inheriting this estate and you miss the man who hurt you even while you pretended he loved you and maybe you’ve got something to hide along with everyone else—

“Unless that changes through marriage.” Evander stares. He’s shaking with rage and fear and soaked to the bone, and he has no idea whose marriage she’s suggesting. “I’m seventeen,” he says. “Oh, well, adoption, then.”

Oh! And he had the cutest imaginary friend. He combined his own names to give it a name. Isn’t that sweet?” “His names.” Evander’s voice is dead. His heart is not beating. He can’t think.

Evan Alexander. Evander's not his name!?

This was cut out of a magazine.

THOSE AREN'T HIS PARENTS!?

Evan Alexander Laurie named his childhood imaginary friend— Evander.

He is just a boy who was once buried alive on an estate full of monsters. And he doesn’t know what else about him is real.

“I—I feel fine.” Evander swallows hard. “I don’t—I don’t need it.” Then he adds, “Thank you,” because he has been taught to be polite, to not rage, to cooperate, or consequences will hit like brands to his skin.

He wonders where his own family is, if he was stolen from them or given up to the Lennox-Halls like an object, if he once had a name that suited him more than Evander. A name for an imaginary friend.

“Hi, Rapunzel.” He is breathless, his eyes the bright, crystallized blue of the entire summer sky. “They’re going to kill me for this.”

“I thought,” Evander says dully, “it was because you wanted Hazelthorn.” “I still do. And that’s why I’m not leaving.” He hesitates and then his voice comes rough and fierce. “I’m not leaving Hazelthorn because I’m not leaving you.”

AHHHHHHHH