PRESENT DAY
I am standing on my own lawn, staring at my front door, wondering how the fuck I got here.
It’s the middle of the night. I’m wasted. I can’t even see, let alone stand. Did I walk home? If I did, then I am impressed with my ability to navigate a two-mile walk while drunk. I glance around me, and thankfully, my car is nowhere to be seen. At least I didn’t drive. Did someone give me a ride? Who? I can’t remember the past couple hours. I was supposed to stay at Tiffani’s place tonight. Where is she?
“Tiffani?” I call out, but no one replies. No one is here. My street is empty, houses are in darkness.
I look down. I’m still holding a damn beer. It’s almost done, so I press it to my lips, wobble a little, then finish it off. I crush the empty can in my hand and toss it away. I should get some sleep or else I’ll suffer for this even more than already necessary.
I reach into my pocket for my keys, but the only keys I pull out are for my car. I fumble in my other pockets, pat myself down, pull out an abundance of lighters and gum and my phone, then realize that I didn’t even have my damn house keys with me in the first place.
“Fuck,” I say. Then again, louder. “FUCK!”
I turn back, tilting my head while I study the house, groaning. There is no life inside, everyone is asleep. Mom would flip if I woke them all up to let my sorry drunk ass in. I could call Jamie to wake him up and then get him to open the door. Or I could break a window around back.
“No,” I tell myself, shaking my head. “No.” I’m not waking anyone up, and I’m not breaking any windows either. That’s stupid. I’ll sleep out here on the lawn for tonight. There’s a breeze, but it’s not cold. I slump down onto the grass, running my hand through the dry blades. Comfy. “What the hell is going on? When did it pass midnight?” I laugh out loud then, because honestly, I know I’m pathetic. I’m sitting on my lawn talking to myself, goddamn.
Suddenly, I hear something that sounds like a hey, but I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or not. I’ve never had hallucinations from alcohol before, and I really doubt we have a neighborhood ghost, so I tell myself I’ve imagined it. Until I hear something again, and this time, it’s louder and as clear as day, a female voice whispering, “Up here!”
I glance around, searching for the voice, until finally my gaze lands on someone peering down at me from the guest room window upstairs. They are so far away and blurry at first, so I narrow my eyes at them for a few seconds as they come into focus. And it’s her, that girl again, that damn girl with the husky voice. My . . . No, I’m not saying it. It’s too weird. Has she been watching me this entire time? “What the hell do you want?”
“Are you okay?” she asks, frowning down at me with those full, plump lips of hers, concerned.
No, I’m not okay, I think. I’m drunk and I’m stuck outside.
It hits me then that actually, this girl has just become my savior. This girl is going to be the one to let me sleep with my head on a pillow rather than a beer can. “Open the door,” I tell her, then quickly push myself up from the lawn and head toward the front door. I feel as though I could throw up, but that’s lame. I can handle the alcohol. At least I think I can, but I am desperate to get inside, and this girl certainly isn’t rushing to help me. I stand by the door for a few minutes, focusing on my breathing so that I don’t hurl, until finally I hear the lock turning.
The door swings open and there she is. She’s pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, her hair piled into a heap above her head, her eyes tired. I can’t remember her name. Emma? Ellie? I know it, I do. It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s . . . It’s Eden. That’s it. Eden.
“You took your damn time, huh?” Oh God, I really am going to throw up any second. I clamp my mouth shut and push my way into the house.
Eden wrinkles her nose at me with disgust, then locks up the front door behind us again. “Are you drunk?” she asks, although I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even need to ask. Isn’t it obvious?
“No,” I answer, just to tease her. “Is it morning yet?”
“It’s 3AM,” she states blankly, her eyebrows furrowed.
Huh, 3AM. That’s still early. I laugh, but then I feel it again, that sickness rising in the pit of my stomach. I quickly turn for the stairs, fumbling for grip as I try to climb them, but I fall several times and almost break my damn leg. “When did these get here? They weren’t here before.” I pat the stairs, and I know I’m talking shit, but it’s funny to me. Everything is funny right now.
Eden stares up at me from the bottom of the stairs, chewing her lip as though she doesn’t know what to do. “Do you want water or something?”
I need water, desperately, but that’s lame. This girl doesn’t know me, and she never will, so I’m going to stick with being the Tyler Bruce I am so used to being. “Get me another beer,” I joke over my shoulder, and then I force my way back up the remaining stairs. It’s such a relief to push open the door to my room, to see my bed still unmade from this morning, to see my bathroom.
I leave Eden behind, close my door and then dive straight for the toilet, only barely reaching it in time before I promptly throw up.
* * *
“Unbelievable,” Mom is mumbling under her breath. She’s been walking around my room for at least five minutes, furiously picking up clothes from my floor and emptying my trash. I think she’s doing it on purpose just to torture me, because it’s not even 9AM yet. “Unbelievable,” she says again. She moves to my window and yanks open my blinds, allowing the morning sunlight to flood my room and set my eyes on fire.
I groan and bury my head further under my pillow. “Mom, please!” My head is pounding, I’m sweating buckets, and I still feel so damn queasy. I can’t deal with Mom right now. I need more sleep, more water. My throat is so dry, I think I might choke.
“Do you think I’m oblivious, Tyler?” Mom stands by my bed, glaring down at me with her arms folded across her chest. “You thought I wouldn’t know that you were drinking last night? You stink of alcohol. Look at you! You’re a mess.” She shakes her head in disgust at me. “Get up. You don’t get to spend the day in bed. Kids who are capable of drinking are also capable of mowing the back lawn.”
“Mom,” I try again, my voice pleading. My body is aching, and I think I would rather die than suffer this hangover. “Please just leave me alone.”
“You know,” Mom says quietly, her forehead creasing with concern as her shoulders relax, “there are better ways than this to deal with things, Tyler.” I know exactly what she’s talking about and I know where this conversation is heading, but right now, I just can’t deal with her attempts at promoting more healthy methods of dealing with the past. “You don’t have to be reckless. Bottling everything up isn’t good for you. Maybe you should talk—”
Right then, my phone rings and cuts Mom off. It vibrates wildly on my bedside table, and Mom raises an eyebrow as she snatches it before I do. “It’s Tiffani,” she tells me, then rolls her eyes at the inconvenient interruption and tosses me the phone. I expect her to leave at this point, but she doesn’t budge. She just stares at me, watching in disapproval. She’s never really liked Tiffani all that much, and I wonder if it’s because she knows me well enough to realize that I’m not even in love with the girl I’ve been with for three years. Mom’s not stupid. I bet she knows the relationship doesn’t mean anything.
I roll over so that my back is to her, then I press my phone to my ear. “What?” I mutter. Is Tiffani insane? Why the hell is she calling me at this time? Did she even get home last night?
“Wakey wakey, baby,” she says, her voice way too cheerful this early in the morning, and I almost throw up again in my mouth right there and then. Isn’t she hungover too? I can’t remember if she was even drunk last night. I can’t remember anything. “I’m picking you up in half an hour. I need to go shopping, and you’re coming with me. I’m thinking the promenade, and then we can go pick up your car too.”
“Are you kidding me?” I groan again and press my hand to my forehead. My skin is blazing with heat and my hair is damp. A cold shower would be amazing right now. “I’m dying, Tiff.”
“Well, that’s what you get for being an idiot,” she says with a bitter laugh, then quickly adds, “See you in thirty!” before she hangs up on me. We are back to normal again.
Aggravated, I throw my phone onto the floor and grind my teeth together. If I didn’t have to suck up to her after our argument last night, then I for sure would not be going anywhere today.
“What now?” Mom asks. I wish she would stop heaving those sighs. It’s all she ever does, and I fucking hate it. It makes me feel like all I do is drive her insane.
“Looks like I’m headed downtown,” I mutter, throwing my sheets off me and sitting up.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re grounded,” Mom reminds me as firmly as she can, but the threat is empty and she knows it. She can’t handle me. She doesn’t know how to. I hate disappointing her, but I don’t know what else to do either. This is just the way I am these days.
“I’m going to the promenade,” I state slowly, and that’s enough for her to finally give up. She releases another one of her signature sighs, shakes her head at me, and then leaves me alone at last, shutting my door behind her. I like that she has never expected me to be perfect, but I wish that I could be. She deserves that and so much more.
My legs feel weak as I make my way over to my bathroom, and when I see my reflection in the mirror, I realize that I really am a mess. I look like I’ve been through hell and back, and my entire body feels damaged. I fumble around in the cabinet, take my antidepressants, pop a couple painkillers, then I force myself under the cold shower until I physically can’t take it for a second longer. I’m hoping it helps wake me up, and it certainly does, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
It’s a mission in itself just trying to get dressed. I have to stop every couple seconds to take a deep breath, and by the time Tiffani is laying on her car horn outside, I’m only just ready. I grab my wallet and my keys, and then I stuff them into my pockets. That’s when I remember something from last night.
I remember not having my keys, and I remember that girl opening the door for me.
Eden.
Eden let me in last night and saved me the humiliation of having Mom find me asleep on the lawn this morning.
I freeze in the hall, stopping right outside the door to the guest room. Or Eden’s room now, I guess. It’s closed, and I don’t know if she’s awake or not yet, but for a very, very split second, I lift my hand and contemplate knocking. I know I should thank her, but then I remember that look of disgust she had on her face last night, and I quickly drop my hand and keep on walking. Tiffani is waiting, and I doubt Eden wants to see me. So far, I don’t think she’s impressed, but no one ever is. I prefer it that way. When people don’t like you, they stay away from you.
Stealthily, I creep my way downstairs, glancing around over my shoulder to figure out where Mom and Dave are, but I can’t see them. The front door is in sight, so I make a clean break for it, throwing it open and quickening my pace across the lawn toward the neon red car that is waiting.
And as soon as I have opened the door and sat inside, Tiffani is running her eyes over me. “You look like shit,” she informs me, which is easy for her to say. Honestly, there is no way in hell she drank enough last night if she was actually able to get up early this morning to do her hair and makeup. She looks good, but I don’t have the energy to tell her. “You want me to walk around with you by my side looking like that?”
“Yeah, well, I feel like shit too,” I mutter. I yank my seatbelt over me and click it into place, slumping down against the passenger seat. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. “My head is pounding, so please don’t talk to me.”
“So boring,” Tiffani says, and I can just sense the dramatic eye roll as she begins to drive.
For once, though, she does actually shut up. She remains silent on the drive downtown, though she keeps the radio on, and I’m sure I’m not just imagining the volume gradually increasing. It makes my headache even worse, and I have to roll the window down to allow some fresh air into the car. I decide then, as I’m feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus twice, that I’m never getting as drunk as I did last night ever again. It’s not worth the blackout, it’s not worth this suffering. Next time, I’ll stop once I’ve had enough. Though that’s easier said than done.
“I know what’ll cure you,” Tiffani says, her voice teasing as we’re parking up. I open one eye and look at her. “My mom’s going out tonight,” she continues, killing the engine and removing her seatbelt. She angles her body toward me and I don’t miss the way she seductively bites down on her lower lip. “And I was thinking that me and you . . .”
I sit up. That’s one way to get my attention. “Me and you could what?” I urge, raising an eyebrow. I already know the answer. I just like hearing her say it. I love the way she blushes when she does.
“Maybe,” she murmurs, leaning in closer, “me and you could continue this?” She bats her eyelashes at me and presses her hand against my chest as her glossy lips find mine. It’s the same old routine. She tries to maintain dominance, but I’m stronger than her, and within a matter of seconds my hands are tangled into her hair and I’m pulling at her lower lip with my teeth. She doesn’t offer too much, because she pushes away from me after less than a minute. “Hmm? What do you say?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
Tiffani’s not all bad. She’s hot, and she distracts me from all the other shit that goes on in my head, and I know that I’m using her, but she’s using me too. We’ll most likely break up next summer after graduation once we’ve successfully dominated our high school for four years, then she’ll move on to college and find some other guy to partner up with to enhance her college experience. We know where we stand with one another and we know exactly what this relationship is, so we’re on the same page.
And I’m cool with that. I don’t want to spend my life with her. In fact, I don’t think I want to spend my life with anyone. It’s not exactly something I’ve imagined, because I try not to think about the future too much. I don’t even know if I’ll still be here a few years from now, and honestly, it all seems way too hard to figure out. I’m not good enough for college. Not good enough to be anyone’s husband or father. Not good enough for anything, really. That’s why I take each day at a time, and I try to cope as best I can in the present.
Still feeling nauseous, I follow Tiffani toward Third Street Promenade, Santa Monica’s second pride and joy after our pier and beach. It’s Saturday and the sun is out early for once, so the promenade is heaving with crowds dodging the freaky street performers and dipping in and out of clothing stores and food joints. Tiffani and I are soon doing the same.
We are hand in hand as she pulls me along behind her down the center of the promenade, her hips swinging in an effort to turn heads, but no one gives a shit. She does this a lot, and I let her, because it’s kind of amusing. I’m exhausted, but getting out of the house for some fresh air is definitely helping me feel a little better.
“What about these jeans?” Tiffani asks. We are in American Apparel and she waves a pair of jeans in front of my face for what feels like the fifteenth time already. I don’t know how they can be any different from all the other pairs.
“I . . . honestly . . . don’t know.” I don’t care, either. I’m leaning back against a rack of discounted tops, scanning the people in the store, because I am bored out of my fucking mind, when I spot some fitting rooms over in the far corner. There’s a sign stuck to the door stating that these fitting rooms are closed, but it’s not exactly clothes that I intend to take with me.
I glance back at Tiffani, who is posing in front of a mirror as she holds the pair of jeans against her body, tilting her head from side to side. I step toward her, reaching for her waist. “Why wait until tonight?” I mumble against the back of her ear as I press my body firmly against hers, and brush my lips over the soft skin of her neck. “Why can’t we continue . . . right now?”
“Tyler!” Tiffani twirls around and whips me with the pair of jeans she’s holding, her lips parted and her cheeks red. I know she’s down, though. I can see the mischief behind the dramatic, horrified expression she’s pulling.
“Come on.” I snatch the jeans from her and toss them onto the nearest table, then reach for her hand and swiftly pull her toward those closed fitting rooms. I need to stay on her good side, and there is nothing she loves more than feeling wanted. Even when it’s for all the wrong reasons.
I glance around us, scouring the store in search of staff, but the coast is clear. No one is around, so I go ahead and push open the door to the fitting rooms, pulling Tiffani with me.
“God, this is a bad idea,” she mumbles, squeezing my hand. “Such a bad idea . . .”
I spin around to face her and press my mouth against hers, mostly just to shut her up before she freaks and backs out. I kiss her hard, both of us fighting for that dominance again, and I push her back into a cubicle, pulling the curtain closed behind us. She hooks her arms around the back of my neck, holding me close while I wrap a hand into her hair. We’re never all that gentle with one another, and if I get the chance to pull her hair, then I’m doing it.
“Stoooop,” Tiffani whispers with a laugh as she pulls away from me. Her blue eyes are glossy and bright, and I know she is enjoying this.
“Babe.” I grab a fistful of her blouse and pull her against me again, and then I kiss the corner of her mouth as I begin to undo the buttons. I trail my lips down to her jaw, and then her neck, where I close my eyes and get to work.
“What is that you’re wearing?” she asks, her voice breathy. She tilts her head to one side and pulls on my hair with both hands. “Is that Montblanc? It smells like it.”
I wish she would stop talking. “No, it’s Bentley,” I say. “Come here.” My mouth finds hers again and I push her back against the wall of the cubicle. Right now, I definitely do not feel hungover. I am kissing my super-hot girlfriend in a damn American Apparel fitting room, and I’m enjoying it. I would be fucking crazy not to.
My hand is under her blouse, my lips are planting kisses all over her chest, we are stumbling. She is grabbing my shirt, one hand still slung over the back of my neck. I can feel her breathing deeply into my hair as she rests her chin on the top of my head.
“What are you doing?”
“What?” I mumble, refusing to tear my lips away from her body.
“Whatever it is that you’re doing right now,” she says. Her breathing is still heavy. “It feels nice.”
I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m just kissing her, just touching her. My hands are all over her body, in her hair and under her shirt and on her hip. “Of course it does.” I pull away for a second, grabbing my T-shirt and pulling it off. I reach for the belt of my jeans, but Tiffani is quick to grab my wrist.
“Tyler!” she gasps. She’s shaking her head at me, but her eyes flash in amusement. “We’re not doing that here.”
I am just about to narrow my eyes at her, just about to ask her why the hell not, when I hear a voice call out, “Eden, are you still in here?”
Instantly, we both freeze. We aren’t the only ones in here anymore.
“Shhh,” Tiffani hisses sharply, and the alarm is written all over her face. Then, she raises her voice and asks, “Who’s here?”
There is a silence. And then, “Tiffani?”
“Rachael?”
Thank God. I would much rather be caught by Rachael than some store employee, and both Tiffani and I exchange a glance of relief. She slides the curtain open and steps out, but I don’t join her.
“Um, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” Tiffani says, and I can hear the embarrassment in her voice. Though at the same time, she’s probably ecstatic that we’ve been walked in on. It’s just the type of gossip she loves. Did you hear Tiffani and Tyler were caught hooked up in American Apparel at the weekend? It reminds everyone that yes, we’re still together, and yes, we must just be so in love with one another that we can’t keep our hands to ourselves.
“What are you doing?” Rachael questions, and then louder she adds, “Tyler, are you there too?”
I grit my teeth, rub my temple, and then finally say, “Yeah, I’m here.” I step out of the fitting room, pulling my T-shirt back on. My hair is a mess, so I run my hand through it in an attempt to tame it. I’m not exactly happy to be interrupted. “Ever heard of privacy?”
Rachael is staring at me with that disapproving, disgusted look of hers that she always, always gives me. “Ever heard of not hooking up in the middle of American Apparel? That’s gross.” Awkwardly, Tiffani begins closing the buttons of her blouse.
Rachael isn’t alone. Next to her, Eden is staring at me with a pile of clothes in her hands. She keeps her head down slightly, but I can see that she’s watching us with curiosity.
“What the hell are you guys even doing here?” I ask, staring straight back at Eden again, wondering what she thinks of me now. Was she in here the entire time? She saw me turn up late for the barbecue yesterday, then she saw me wasted on the damn lawn, and now, she may not have seen anything, but I’m pretty sure she knows I was just getting it on with my girlfriend in a damn fitting room. She probably thinks I’m an asshole. Good.
“Trying on clothes,” Rachael answers with the roll of her eyes, “which is a normal thing to do in fitting rooms.”
Tiffani isn’t too happy about being disturbed either, because she fires Rachael a threatening look and then seems to notice Eden for the very first time. I don’t know if they’ve met yet. She cocks her head to the side and asks, “And you are?”
She is back to being the Tiffani she wants to be. We are both good actors, and Tiffani is quick to establish her imagined authority whenever she meets someone new. That’s why she’s looking Eden up and down in an effort to intimidate her, and I feel a little bad when I see just how uncomfortable Eden looks.
“Eden,” she says with apprehension. God, her voice sounds so good when she says her name like that, all nervous and quiet, bringing out that husky tone again. She glances at me and adds, “His stepsister.”
“You have a stepsister?” Tiffani angles her body to look at me, her gaze sharp. I don’t think I ever mentioned it to her. I didn’t find it necessary. It’s not like Eden lives down here, and honestly, I totally forgot she was even coming for the summer. But Tiffani likes to keep tabs on every single part of my life, so this information is a big deal to her.
All I can do is shrug. “Apparently.”
Tiffani stares at me, blinking. She is annoyed now, I can tell. “Why were you in here?” she demands, turning her glare back to Eden. “Were you spying on us?”
“Chill, babe.” I reach for her arm and give her a look. After Eden helped me out last night, I owe her one. The least I can do is stop Tiffani from grilling her just to fuel her own ego. “It’s not even a big deal. Stop tripping out.”
She shrugs my grip off her and then crosses her arms over her chest. She will be pissed at me for stopping her, but whatever. “I’m just saying,” she mumbles.
“Yeah, well, don’t.” I steal another glance at Eden. She is still watching us closely. “She doesn’t care. Let’s just go. I need to go to Levi’s.” I don’t, actually. I just want to get the hell out of these fitting rooms. I throw my arm around Tiffani’s shoulders and pull her in close, but she doesn’t even budge.
“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” she tells Rachael. “You’re still coming to the beach, right?”
“Yeah,” Rachael agrees, and then she looks at Eden and it’s pretty clear what she’s about to say next. It makes me wonder when the hell Rachael and Eden even became friends. That damn barbecue . . . “Eden can come too, right?”
Tiffani heaves a slow sigh, pursing her lips. She is quiet for a while, making it all the more painful for Eden as it becomes more and more evident that Tiffani doesn’t want her there. Our circle of friends was established in middle school, and Tiffani hates having anyone else around us. She knows she can control not only me, but our friends too, and she doesn’t like that certainty being threatened. “I guess.”
I’ve had enough at that point. Enough of Tiffani’s ego, enough of Rachael’s glances. That’s why I pull Tiffani away again, and this time, she is happy to leave with me. We can continue this later. Tonight. That’s if she doesn’t stay pissed off.
As we head out of the fitting rooms and back into the bustling store, I try to steal one more glance over my shoulder, but the door has already closed behind us. Damn, I think.
I wanted to see Eden’s expression again, because I haven’t had enough of her yet.