The silence continues even as Dad is pulling his keys from the ignition and stepping out of the car. I slip my backpack on and scramble after him across the lawn, but dread is weighing me down. I thought I knew what I was in for, but now I’m not so sure. It’s still early. I can still have that homework finished by dinner.
“Dad, I’ll go and do it right no—” I splutter as we’re walking through the front door, but my words are cut short when Dad abruptly slams the door shut behind us.
“Get upstairs,” he demands, setting his green eyes on me. Grabbing me by my backpack, he drags me down the hall and then upstairs. His strides are too wide, so I have to fight to keep up or risk being knocked off my feet. Dad shoves open my bedroom door and hauls me inside behind him, then throws me down onto the chair in front of my desk. “One hour, Tyler. ONE,” he states very clearly, his voice raised. He yanks my backpack straight off me, almost twisting one of my arms as he does, and then begins rummaging around inside it. He throws a handful of chewed pens at me. “Disgusting,” he says, still searching through my bag. Finally, he pulls out my math homework and slams it down on the desk, dumping my bag on the floor. He grabs my shoulder, one hand resting on the desk, and he crouches a little so that we are eye level. His gaze is intense, his vibrant eyes piercing straight through me. “Every single one of these questions better not only be done but correct too. Got it? Your mom wouldn’t want to know that you’re slacking, so c’mon. Impress her.”
I nod, already reaching for paper, a pen in my hand. Dad’s grip on my shoulder becomes even tighter, his fingers pressing into my skin. “Got it,” I mumble. An hour to complete this entire worksheet again? I run my eyes over the thirty different equations. There’s no way.
Dad finally lets go of my shoulder and turns away, kicking my bag to one side. “El trabajo duro siempre vale la pena, Tyler,” he mumbles under his breath. Whenever Dad speaks Spanish, the hint of an accent is clear. Grandma is from Mexico, after all. “No lo olvides. Okay?”
I don’t know what he’s saying. I should, because he’s been teaching me since the moment I could talk, and I’m pretty close to fluent now, but my mind goes blank as I try to process his words. I try to translate them in my head, but today, I’m just not getting it. My heart is pounding in my chest. What did he ask?
Dad doesn’t like my silence, and he is obviously waiting for a reply, because he glances back over his shoulder, sees my blank, wide-eyed expression of confusion, then slowly swivels around to face me again. “You don’t even know what I just said, do you?” He shakes his head as though I’ve betrayed him and he places his hands on his hips, narrowing his gaze at me. “DO YOU?”
“No. Lo siento,” I apologize. Saying sorry is all I can do. I’ve messed up twice now today. There’s nothing more I can do. “Lo siento,” I say again, quieter. I don’t even know why I still attempt to appeal to Dad’s better, sympathetic nature these days. I discovered a long time ago that he doesn’t have one.
“God, do we have to go over basic fucking Spanish again tonight too?” he yells, his hands in the air. He’s swearing now. That’s a bad sign. “I was trying to tell you that hard work always pays off. Do you understand that?”
I nod fast and turn my eyes back down to my homework in front of me, but it’s a blur. My hands are trembling. Dad doesn’t like it when I don’t answer him, but I can’t bring myself to open my mouth right now. My chest is tightening, restricting my breathing. I can’t breathe. I can’t.
Dad’s hands are grabbing my shoulders, dragging me up out of the chair, slamming me against the wall. He shakes me. Says something. I can’t hear him. I’m tuning out, focusing on a tiny scuff on my wall at the opposite side of my room, forcing my mind to be anywhere but here. The numbness sets in, my head is fuzzy. Dad is yelling. I still can’t breathe. One second I’m here by my desk, the next I’m over by the door. Then back again. I’m on the ground. Dad’s hold is too tight. I close my eyes.
12
PRESENT DAY
I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my head propped up by three pillows. My TV is on, but I’m not watching it. I have my earphones in, listening to music. Depressing shit. Shit that gets me overthinking. Shit like You Me At Six and All Time Low that I would never tell anyone I listen to. I’m supposed to be heading over to Tiffani’s in an hour, but ever since I got home earlier, I’ve managed to think myself into one of my bad moods. It’s frustrating, because it usually only happens when I’ve forgotten to take my pills, which is often, but I definitely took them this morning.
I do this a lot. The overthinking. Most days, I am fine. Most days, I can bear it all. It’s easy when all I have to do is act. But then there are the days when I’m not fine, when it all spills over for a little while before I force myself to get back in check and continue being the Tyler Bruce.
But I’m okay just being me right now. I am alone in my room with no one to perform to. I can lay here for as long as I want with my hood up and my earphones in, questioning my life and wondering what the fucking point is. And no matter how many nights I spend trying to figure these things out, I am still no closer to finding the answers.
I just wish I knew where I was headed. I’m too scared to think about my future, because I am terrified I don’t have one. I keep on messing things up for myself, because the only thing I can focus on is surviving another day without having an absolute breakdown, and the only way I know how to survive is by distracting myself from all of my fucked up issues.
I tug on the drawstrings of my hoodie and roll over onto my side, staring at my wall. I stare into space sometimes, mostly out of habit. I became real good at zoning out when I was younger, but right now, I am finding it difficult to put my mind elsewhere. It is in overdrive.
I wish I was the Tyler I pretend to be. That guy doesn’t care. That guy is cool. That guy has the hot girlfriend, the nice car, the biggest group of friends. That guy is happy. But what people don’t know is that the hot girlfriend doesn’t care about him. The nice car left him with an empty trust fund. The big group of friends are all fake.
And all that is left is me, the pathetic Tyler. The Tyler who doesn’t know who he really is, the Tyler who hates disappointing his mom, the Tyler who cares too much, the Tyler whose dad ruined his life.
Sometimes, I wonder if there are even words strong enough in the dictionary to describe the hate I have for him. It tears me up inside every day, starting in my chest and spreading through my body, until the anger becomes too much. I lash out at Mom. At my brothers. At Tiffani. At my friends. At teachers. At strangers. I can’t control it. I am an angry, impossible person, and for that alone, I will forever hate him.
Dad is in prison. He has been for almost five years now, and I hope he despises it. I hope he is going insane without anyone who loves him enough to visit. I hope he regrets every single fucking time he laid his hands on me. He lost everything, but so did I. Does he have nights like these too? Where he can’t stop going over old ground, turning everything over in his mind? Where he asks himself where he went wrong—and never finds the answer?
I bet he thinks my life is better now he’s no longer in it. But I wonder if he knows that my life is even worse than it was before. That although he got locked away, his abuse never stopped. It’s always there, ingrained in my mind. It has fucked me up, and I so badly wish he knew that dealing with the psychological damage that he inflicted is a million times harder than putting a band-aid on a cut or waiting for a bruise to heal or a fracture to mend.
I’m worried it will never go away. I’m scared I’m never going to be okay, that I’ll always just be this person whose life is in pieces.
Over the sound of my music, I hear Mom’s voice calling up the stairs. I sit up and pull one earphone out to listen to her, but she’s only calling to let me know that they’re about to leave. They’re all heading out for a meal together, but I’m not going. She knows my mood is low, so I’m grateful that she isn’t forcing me to join, which is why I kn
ow I should at least have the decency to get up and say goodbye.
I force myself out of bed and head for my door, pulling it open, my hood still up and my music still playing. I step outside my room and the very first person I lay eyes on is Eden. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the awkward interaction at American Apparel this morning, and I narrow my eyes at her. She’s wearing a pair of sweatpants. Definitely not appropriate attire for a family meal. “Aren’t you going?” I ask.
“Aren’t you?” she throws back, her tone sharp. I take it that no, she isn’t going. Which means I’m going to be stuck here with her. Fuck.
Immediately, I pull my earphone out and push my hood down. I am such a pro at this whole Tyler Bruce act that I can now switch into character without even thinking about it. And right now, I need to be him. Not me. “Grounded,” I tell her, only because it sounds way cooler than telling her I’m feeling depressed as hell. I press my fingers to my temple, feeling the heat on my face. “What’s your excuse?”
“Sick,” she says, though it’s far from convincing. She spins around and continues downstairs, but I follow her, watching the way her hair swings around her shoulders. I don’t know if she just has an attitude or if she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. “And that’s weird: Being grounded didn’t stop you from going to American Apparel,” she adds, glancing over her shoulder at me from beneath her eyelashes. Thankfully, she keeps her voice low.
Who even is this girl? Does she have any idea who she’s dealing with? “Shut the hell up.”
Down in the hall, the rest of this weird, thrown together, poor excuse of a family is waiting by the front door. Mom and Dave are dressed up nice, and Jamie and Chase are discreetly elbowing one another in the ribs.
“We won’t be too late,” Mom tells us, and her soft gaze locks on mine. I can see the worry in her eyes, but I’ll be fine. I always am. These low moods never last for more than a few hours. “Don’t even think about leaving,” she adds for good measure, just to reinforce the fact that I am still grounded. Though I don’t care.
“Mom, I wouldn’t dare,” I reassure her, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my shoulder against the wall. Gotta play it cool in front of Eden. First impressions are everything, and right now, she is still forming hers.
“Can we go now?” Chase whines. “I’m hungry.”
“Yes, yes, let’s go,” Dave says. Even for a stepdad, he’s pretty shitty. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge my existence as he opens the front door to let Jamie and Chase run to the car. He only frowns at his daughter and says, “I hope you feel better, Eden.”
Eden gives him a tight smile. She’s lying, but he doesn’t see it. “Bye,” she tells him, and I almost laugh at her bluntness. It’s the first time I’ve seen the two of them interact, but there doesn’t seem to be much warmth there.
“Behave yourselves,” Mom adds quickly, though she must know that the warning isn’t actually going to prevent anything, and then they all finally head out the door, leaving Eden and me in the new silence that has formed in the hall.
I’m staring at her, running my eyes over her body as I try to analyze her. At first, she seemed quiet, almost reserved. But she just spoke back to me and she’s lying to her dad? Nice. Not so quiet after all.
She angles her head to look at me, and she scrunches her nose when she realizes I’m already staring at her. “Um.”
“Um,” I mimic, raising the pitch of my voice. This girl is new and I have yet to figure out her personality, so I need to test it while also letting her know who exactly Tyler Bruce is. Or at least who he wishes he was.
“Um,” she says again. It’s clear by the look she’s giving me that she’s not my biggest fan, but that’s okay. I don’t want her to be.
I glance at the clock on the wall behind her. It’s six, and Tiffani wants me over at her place by seven, but I think I may just head over there early to save me from having to stick around here with Eden. It’s already awkward enough. “I’m gonna grab a shower,” I tell her. She is standing between me and the staircase so, putting on my act as best I can, I add, “That’s if you’d get out of my way.”
Slowly, she moves to the side, her eyes still narrowed at me in what appears to be disgust. Whatever. I brush past her, my shoulder hitting hers, and I march back upstairs and into my room. At least I am no longer stuck in my cycle of analyzing my life too much. There is only one thing on my mind now, and that’s Tiffani. She’s good at distracting me. Real good. It’s partly why I’m with her in the first place.
I dither around my room for a while, flicking through TV channels and pulling out a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt, and then I jump into the shower. I imagine the water rinsing away all of the shitty thoughts that have been running through my head for the past couple hours, and I feel much better by the time I’m done. I step out feeling ready to perform, ready to be that Tyler Bruce.
I am just pulling on my shirt when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I pause to listen, waiting to see if Eden is only heading to her room or if she’s coming to talk to me, and I’m kind of hoping it’s the latter so that I can try to push her buttons. But I quickly realize that it’s not Eden at all.
“Jesus Christ,” Tiffani says as she barges into my room. Her cheeks are flushed red and she looks mortified. She pushes my door closed behind her, then throws her hands up at me. “I thought you had a girl over!”
I blink at her, confused. I didn’t know she was coming over. Last I knew, I was supposed to be going to hers. “What?”
“That damn stepsister of yours who came into existence out of nowhere just gave me a damn heart attack!” she explains, shaking her head fast. Her hair is tied up into a high ponytail and it swings rapidly around her shoulders. “Honestly, I was ready to march up here and kill you.”
“Tiffani,” I say firmly, and she stops talking. I step toward her, place my hands on her shoulders, and just look at her. “Calm down. It’s only Eden.”
She is breathing heavily, but she nods. Her blue eyes pierce mine and she cocks her head to one side. “You’re right. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? Because I don’t know what I would do if you ever did.”
I think about Naomi last night, but then I remind myself that I was drunk. It doesn’t count. I was drunk when I kissed Ally Jones a couple months ago, too. And I’m pretty sure I kissed Morgan Young once, but I can’t remember exactly. It only ever happens when I am way too drunk, but still, I don’t want to find out would Tiffani would do if she knew. She once got me suspended from school for cheating by claiming she wrote my English Lit essay all because I forgot her birthday and didn’t make a huge deal of it like she expected me to. And the only reason Mom knows I smoke weed often is because Tiffani told her. Again, all because I forgot her fucking birthday.
I give Tiffani the smallest hint of a smile. She can’t ever find out. “And throw away you? Never.” God, I hate myself so fucking much. I wish I could just tell Tiffani that I don’t care, that she’s hot but I don’t even like her much, that I’m only using her as a distraction. But no, I’m too much of a pathetic loser who has to maintain this bullshit relationship to convince everyone that my life is good, that I’m fine, that I’ve got everything figured out. I started high school with every intention of ensuring no one ever saw me as pathetic and someone to be messed with, and hooking up with the coolest girl back in freshman year was a surefire way to guarantee that. Without Tiffani I’d have to find my own status all over again.
I sling my arm around Tiffani’s shoulders and pull her close against my chest, guiding her back over to the door, but she quickly pushes me away from her. “I’ve been waiting for you to come over,” she tells me, her tone changing. It becomes sharper, back to its usual. “What the hell have you been doing this entire time?”
I follow her down the staircase, and I’m thinking, Here we go again. Demanding Tiffani is back. “Chill out,” I say, rolling my eyes behind her. “I was gonna head over in an hour, like you sai
d.”
“You could have at least answered my calls. You know I need you to always answer them so I know where you are.”
“I couldn’t hear them over my music.” That’s a lie. I saw her calling, but I just wasn’t in the right mind frame to answer. She was the last person I wanted to talk to. It’s not like she would understand, because she doesn’t know the truth. No one does.
We stop in the hall and she turns around to face me, most likely to start another unnecessary argument, but before she can say anything more, I spot Eden. She is on the couch in the living room, her eyes glued to us, watching. It’s all she ever seems to do.
“Now what the hell is your problem?” I ask her.
Eden continues to stare at me, her expression blank. She looks unfazed. “Geez.”
“Shut up, Tyler,” Tiffani says, and I sense her shaking her head from beside me. As if she’s on Eden’s side.
“Whatever.” I turn back to Tiffani, and although she is grinding my gears, I still expect our plans to follow through. “Let’s just get outta here.”
“Actually . . .” she says slowly, and she pushes out her lower lip, something she always does when she knows she’s about to piss me off. That’s why I know that whatever she says next, I’m not going to be happy with.
I heave a sigh. “What now?”
Tiffani turns away and walks into the living room, stepping in front of the TV, much to Eden’s irritation. She’s wondering what the hell is going on, too. It’s obvious from her expression. She’s not very good at hiding her true thoughts, it seems, but maybe she doesn’t realize how readable her expression can be.