suffering rn…thinking about kevin day terrified, sitting in the drivers seat of a car he really doesn’t know how to drive…fumbling one-handed with the keys trying to remember how to get the damn thing started while another part of his mind frantically jumps ten steps ahead to think of directions to where he needs to go next…getting the car on the road and driving with his weaker hand as cars speed past him on the freeway beeping their horns at him for swerving across lanes and driving too fast then too slow then too fast again…desperately trying not to look at the exposed bones of his left hand where it sits in his lap, or the way his fingers are curled the wrong way round, or the way the whole car smells like blood…wanting to look over his shoulder every ten seconds, because he feels like he’s being followed and because a part of him still can’t fathom that he just left jean behind…

If Evan Rosier would be a number, he would be 7