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 know 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 said.”
“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.
“New plan,” Tiffani says, and I step curiously into the living room, listening. She is glancing between both Eden and me, and I don’t like it. “Austin’s throwing a last-minute party and we’re going. You too, Eden. It’s Eden, right? You don’t really look the partying type, but Rachael says I have to invite you along. So come.”
“Back up a second,” I blurt. What the hell? Another party? I barely survived last night’s one. The absolute last thing I want to do right now is go to another, where I will have to laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. Where I will have to nod to music I don’t like. Where I will be the one to have to drink the most because everyone thinks I can handle it when I definitely can’t. I just want to relax, to be with Tiffani, to let her distract me. I head over to her, placing my hand on her hip and moving my lips to ear. “I thought we were going to your place. You know . . .”
“Reschedule that,” she murmurs. She moves around me and claps her hands together, moving her attention to Eden, the goddamn stranger who she only met a few hours ago. “Okay, so you’re coming, Eden. And you too, Tyler. You’re coming and you’re not getting wasted for once.”
So I’m not even allowed to get drunk in order to survive the party? “The fuck?” I hate that she always makes decisions for me.
She already has her car keys in her hand, ready to leave. So much for early notice. “Rachael and Megs are already at my place getting ready, so come on, let’s go!”
“Wait,” Eden says, and when I flash my eyes at her, she is getting to her feet. She doesn’t look too enthusiastic about the idea of a party, but she isn’t objecting to it either. If anything, she only looks apprehensive. Like Tiffani, I wouldn’t have taken her for the partying type of girl, but I guess she’s only going to continue surprising me. “I need to get an outfit. Give me five minutes to find something.”
Tiffani laughs out loud, a laugh of pity, but Eden probably can’t even tell the difference as Tiffani reaches for her arm and yanks her forward. “You can borrow something of mine. Now come on! We’re leaving for the party in two hours.” She lets go of her and makes for the front door, car keys jingling in her hand, her chin held high. I follow her, but only because it seems like I don’t really have a choice right now.
“I thought you were grounded,” I hear Eden murmur as I’m leaving.
I stop, turning back around once more to study her. Who even is this girl, really? I figure she must be from Portland, but only because I know Dave is from there. I know she’s only here for the summer. And I know she doesn’t know who I am yet, because she keeps testing me whether she realizes it or not. She keeps watching me, keeps talking back, keeps questioning everything. I know she lies to her dad. And I know her eyes are hazel, because I can see them now, staring back at me without breaking the contact. I smirk at her, impressed. Most people can’t do that. Most people look away after a few seconds. “And I thought you were sick.”
She doesn’t say anything more after that, even when we’re in Tiffani’s car en route back to her place. I’m riding shotgun, and I push my seat as far back as it will go, just to see if Eden will tell me to fuck off or not. She doesn’t, but I wish she would, just so I can hear the way it sounds in her voice. She remains quiet in the backseat instead, staring out of the window, looking slightly more anxious now.
Tiffani, on the other hand, won’t shut up. She is filling me in on the latest petty drama which I honestly could not care less about, so I nod and murmur, “Really?” every once in a while just so she believes I’m listening. I’m not, though, because all I can think about is how much I am dreading this party. They suck. The only reason I bear them is because they distract me. They help me forget, just for a while, so that I’m focused on something else other than how fucking messed up my life is.
When we pull up outside Tiffani’s place, Rachael’s and Meghan’s cars are already on the drive, and I know they’re already inside getting ready. I can picture it all already: I will be subjected to hours of giggling. I will be grilled about my opinion on their outfits. I will be the one to bring them drinks.
“Your mom’s still out, right?” I ask once we’re inside and lingering in the hall, listening to the music that’s already pounding from upstairs. Eden looks way out of her comfort zone as she hangs back behind us, and I quickly glance around. Tiffani’s mom wouldn’t approve of me being here again, and she’s always such a buzz kill.
“Yeah. There’s beer in the kitchen. Kick back down here while we get ready, but take it easy,” Tiffani tells me, and the thunderous look she gives me is all the warning I need. I embarrassed her last night, I know I did. She reaches for Eden’s hand and begins pulling her toward the huge marble staircase that I have stumbled down drunk so many times before, and halfway up, she calls back, “We won’t be long!”
Eden looks terrified as she is dragged away into the hell that is being under Tiffani’s control. Honestly, I feel sorry for the damn girl. She’s been here for—what?—a day? I don’t know what the parties in Portland are like, but I doubt they are anything like ours. She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, and I can already tell that she’s going to regret it tomorrow.
I run my hand back through my hair and make my way into the kitchen. There’s a stack of alcohol already there, waiting to be brought to the party, and I grab the first beer I find. I pop the cap and take a swig, but I can’t even enjoy it. I drank enough last night to last me the entire summer.
I force it down nonetheless as I lie sprawled on the couch in Tiffani’s living room, flicking between sports channels on the giant TV in the dark for what feels like forever. I keep the box of Bud Lights next to me, so that I can easily grab another. And another. And another. Take it easy? I wish I could, but Tyler Bruce doesn’t take things easy.
“We shouldn’t be too much longer,” I hear a voice say after a while, and it startles me a little because the beer is making me drowsy when I’m drinking it alone. I prop myself up and crane my neck. Rachael is hovering at the door, a drink in her hand. “You know, you were really, really wasted last night.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the reminder.” I roll my eyes at her, then purposely take a long sip of the beer in my hand just to remind her that I don’t give a shit.
“I’m just saying,” she mumbles, taking a step into the living room. She glances at the TV for a moment, and then back at me, her eyebrows pinching with concern. “You don’t have to drink that much, you know.”
“Says you, Lightweight Lawson,” I retort, turning away from her. I get bored of Rachael so easily. All she ever does is shake her head at me and comment on everything I do. What is up with everyone in my damn life trying to control me?
“That’s different,” she says. She takes several more steps into the room, standing directly in front of me so that I have no option but to look back up at her, even though I’m not interested in what she has to say. “I get drunk because I’m a lightweight. You get drunk because you want to.”
I sigh and keep my expression blank. “Are you done with your lecture?”
“Not really.” Taking a swig of her own drink, she sits down on the arm of the couch next to me and crosses one leg over the other. “I’m just letting you and that ego of yours”—she taps her index finger against my forehead—“know that you won’t be any less cool if you have a limit. It’s okay to turn down a drink.” She drops her gaze to the empty bottles of beer on the floor around us, and she frowns. “I think you’ve had a lot already.”
“Whatever, Rachael.” I nudge her away, pushing her off the couch, and she doesn’t put up much of a fight. I hope she’s happy now that she’s done her good deed for the day. She doesn’t say anything more, only sips at her drink as she turns and walks away. I listen to the sound of her footsteps on the staircase until they disappear, and then I drink from my own beer again.
I wait around for another half hour, texting Dean and Jake to see if they’re at the party yet or not, before I finally crack up and lose my patience. I have been waiting two entire damn hours for the girls to get ready, and it’s becoming a joke. I finish off the beer in my hand, my seventh, then get to my feet. A wave of dizziness hits me, but I force my way through it and head for the stairs. If the girls aren’t ready, then screw it. I’ll go without them.
I push open the door to Tiffani’s room, and it smells of burned hair and perfume. The music is loud and pumping, and it feels stuffy in here. But, thankfully, the girls are all dressed and with their hair and makeup done. “Alright, can we head over there now?” I ask, stepping into the room and leaning against the doorframe. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Eden as she emerges from the bathroom.
She looks different. She looks like . . . them. Like Tiffani, like Rachael, like Meghan. Like a girl who is trying way too hard to impress. She’s wearing one of Tiffani’s tiny black dresses, and the only reason I know it belongs to Tiffani is because I remember tearing it off her a month ago. It’s tight and it’s short. I try not to look, even though I want to. But that would be weird. Stepsister, I think. It’s still an alien concept to me.
“Dean and Jake are already there,” I add quickly, trying to focus on something else.
“Do I look good?” Tiffani asks, not exactly answering my question. She twirls around in a circle, showing herself off, but she looks exactly the same as she always does. Way too overdressed in too few clothes, on the brink of suffocation, and slightly tacky.
“Baby, you look fine,” I tell her. Again, it’s what she wants to hear. I finish off the beer in my hand and dump it on her dresser, then move closer to her. I’m aware Eden is watching, so I grab Tiffani’s waist. “Real hot.” And then I kiss her, right there and then, because if there’s anything Tiffani loves more than herself, it’s having me kiss her while we have an audience. But I’m not doing it for her. No, I’m doing it to show Eden more of me. More of Tyler Bruce.
I want her to believe that I’m an asshole. A jerk. A moron.