Mom always does this. At least once a week, she’ll check up on me in this serious sort of manner, like she’s my own personal therapist. She likes to check up on my mental state, and usually I understate everything in order to protect her. If I told her the complete truth, then most weeks she’d have a complete breakdown. How do I tell my mom that I wouldn’t care if I died tomorrow? How do I tell her that I hate myself, that my life is all over the place, that I’m not really sure how to make any of it better? I can’t. So I just shrug and divert my gaze back to the ceiling. “It’s been worse,” I say. I would rather lie and keep her happy than tell her the truth and break her heart.
She exhales and keeps quiet for a moment. I can feel her blue eyes studying me. “Are you sure? It’s seemed like you’ve had a pretty bad week to me, Tyler. You’ve been acting out more than usual. What’s going on?” She reaches over and angles my chin toward her, forcing me to meet her eyes again. She looks desperate. Afraid, even, like she doesn’t want to hear the answer. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know, Mom,” I tell her. I do know though, and she does too. I’m like this because of Dad. I wish I was strong enough to move on, to not let it affect me as much as it has, but I think I’m forever going to be this way. I’m always going to be angry, I’m always going to be insecure, I’m always going to be fucked up. I know deep down that I should try harder, I should quit all of these distractions, I should get help. But I just don’t know where to begin. The only peace of mind I have is knowing that I’m already at rock bottom and things can’t possibly get any worse. Only better, I guess. One day.
Mom glances over at Chase. He’s so invested in the TV that he doesn’t even notice us talking. Her gaze meets mine again, and she frowns as the corners of her eyes begin to crinkle. “Please don’t push me away, Tyler,” she begs in a mere whisper. “I’m always going to be on your side. I understand why you act the way you do, but I hate it. There’s other ways to deal with this than to rebel against everything. You were such a happy kid…” She stops herself and closes her eyes, pressing a hand to her mouth as she chokes up.
“Yeah, until you-know-who made me his personal punching bag,” I mutter as I sit up. Chase is in the room, so I have to watch my words. He can’t ever find out. Mom shakes her head, her eyes still closed, my reminder tearing her apart. But it’s the truth, and that’s what she wants. “Do you expect me to be happy, Mom?” I gently ask her, my tone solemn. “After everything?”
“No,” she whispers, opening her eyes to look at me. They are full of so much remorse, so much guilt. “But I just desperately wish you could be.”
My chest tightens. I hate that I can’t give her that, that I’m letting her down. I lower my head and drop my eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare say sorry, Tyler,” she abruptly cuts in, droppingstraight down onto her knees so that she can look up at me. She places her hand on my knee, and her eyes are doing that thing again where they flood with an agonizing pain that only we can understand. “You havenothingto be sorry for.”
“You always say sorry too,” I whisper, my voice weak. Mom does that to me. I love that she cares so much, that she’s so protective, but I feel the exact same way about her. I hate it when she says sorry for what Dad did, because it was his mistake, not hers. I hate it whenever I see the flash of guilt in her eyes, because I wish she didn’t blame herself. She thinks she’s a bad mom for not noticing the abuse I was suffering for years, but I fought hard back then to make sure shedidn’tsuspect anything.
“That’s becauseIdo have something to be sorry for,” she murmurs, then hangs her head low as she blinks at the floor. “I should have been there for you, Tyler. I should have…I should have noticed. You’re myson.” Her eyes brim with tears and her lower lip quivers as she whispers, “How didn’t I see it? How didn’t I see it in your eyes that you were hurting?” But she’s not talking to me. No, she’s questioning herself, and I wish she wouldn’t.
I grasp her hand on my knee. “Stop. Please,” I say, hunching forward and looking down at her on the floor in front of me. It breaks me when she gets like this, and my heart is beating a little too fast. It’s hypocritical of me to expect her to move on when I can’t even move on myself.
“Let me do something,” Mom begs, interlocking our hands. She squeezes tightly as though she’s afraid to ever let go. “Let me get you help. I’ll find you the best therapist in Los Angeles. Please, Tyler, just give it a shot.”
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head fast. We have this discussion a lot, but my answer always remain the same. “I’m not ready to talk about ityet.” I can almost sense Mom’s heart sinking in her chest. She has been fighting for me to seek therapy for years now, and I know itwouldbe for the best, but I just can’t bring myself to open up to anyone yet. I squeeze Mom’s hand back. “But I will one day,” I add, and her gaze lights up through the tears. “I promise I will. Just not yet.”
“Okay, Tyler,” she breathes. “I love you, okay?” I nod, and she clasps my face in her hands and kisses the top of my head before reluctantly leaving the room.
I blow out a long breath of air and release the pressure in my chest as I sit back. My gaze rests on the window, staring out onto the street, and that’s when I notice Jake’s car parked outside. I get to my feet and walk over to the window, peering through the blinds more carefully, and… No.
No way.
Eden gets out of the car. She closes the door, turns toward the house, and pulls her hood up. She’s still wearing last night’s clothes. Has she been with Jake the entire time? What the hell? That asshole.
“Hey! Eden’s back!” Chase says, finally looking up from the TV.
“Yeah, I can see that,” I mumble, grinding my teeth together. Now she’s in trouble with not only Dave, but me too. Itoldher to stay away from Jake. Is she naive? She has to be. That, or she’s an idiot, which I’ve already decided she isn’t. As she heads across the lawn, I quickly stride out of the living room, down the hall, and swing open the front door to meet her. She’s already standing on the other side of the threshold, mouth a small “o” with surprise, and I reach for her arm and pull her quickly inside.
“Um,” Eden says, her voice groggy, like she’s half asleep. As I shut the front door again, she takes a step back from me.
“You’re kidding,” I say as I turn back to face her. Her hair that was up last night is now a tangled, lopsided heap with loose strands sticking out from all over the place. There’s still the smudge of mascara underher eyes. Where did she even sleep?Hasshe slept? Or has she been up all night making out with Jake Maxwell in the back of his car? Fuck. I hope not. “Right? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Eden exhales and tugs on the drawstrings of her hoodie, staring at me in silence. “I could say the same to you,” she finally says, but it’s not the reply I was looking for. I was hoping for some reassurance that sheisn’tunder Jake’s spell. She shoves her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie and tilts her head to one side. “You took me to a party with all your pothead friends and crackhead losers. Are you insane?”
“Shhh. Keep your voice down,” I order, holding up a finger to her. I glance down the hall to the kitchen where our parents are.
“Sorry,” Eden says, though she doesn’t even bother lowering her voice. She presses her lips together, her gaze challenging. Her stance is defensive and her tone is bitter. I took her to that party and then got into a heated argument with her. Yet again, she saw a flash of my absolute worst side, the side of me that I just can’t control. “I forgot your mom has no idea about how pathetic her son is.”
I wish she’d stop saying that word.Pathetic. I know I am, but hearing her say it is a harsh reminder. It’s like she can tell it gets to me, like she knows it hurts to hear. That’s why she keeps saying it. Not because it’s a fact, but because it’s the one thing she can use against me. My own damn weakness. It’s almost cruel of her, so I don’t feel guilty when I yell out, “Dave! Eden’s home.” I even throw in a smile for good measure.
Eden parts her lips, her eyes widening. “Seriously?”
“Face the consequences,” I say, taunting her. Face the consequences for sneaking around all night with Jake fucking Maxwell.
“Your consequences,” she snaps back. She is growing more and more aggravated each second. It’s like I make her blood boil. “You forced me to go to that party.”
“Yet I remember you agreeing to it.”
“I’m surprised that you even remember anything,” she mutters. And then, to get back at me, she decides to become condescending. “Was it a sober night for you? I doubt it.” She pushes her hood fully down and takes a deep breath as we hear movement from the kitchen.
