5. Tyler
5
TYLER
After waking up in Isaac's bed again, too comfortable for my own good, I know I need to leave. No matter what he says, I know I’m bordering on overstaying my welcome. In two short days, I’ve grown a little too dependent on the security of having him around. It's time to put on my big boy pants and face the world. I have responsibilities and my own life to attend to. I can't hide here forever.
I expect to find Isaac on the couch again, so I'm more than a little surprised when I stand from his bed and nearly trip over him on the floor. He startles awake, shooting up with my name on his lips like he was waiting for me to do or say something. Realizing that I’m right there, he steadies me and looks at me, checking me over to see if I’m hurt again.
"Why are you on the floor?"
"You don't remember?"
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "Remember what? Wait. We were on the couch. How did I get in here?”
"I carried you," he admits. He at least has the common sense to be sheepish about it.
"Seriously?" I huff, throwing my arms out. "Why didn't you just leave me on the couch and go sleep in your own bed?"
"And let you sleep on that lumpy old thing? You're in enough pain as it is."
"It's not that bad. Plus, I'm like half your size."
"And you're also healing."
Stubborn ass. "That still doesn't explain why you're on the floor."
His shoulders sag, as though he was hoping I wouldn't bring it up again. "You were having nightmares, or something."
"Ugh." I slap my palm over my eyes. "Did I talk in my sleep, too?"
"Is that normal for you?" He asks, but I give him a look, not letting him deflect. "Yeah, but I couldn't understand anything you were saying."
Thank goodness for small favors. That's an extra layer of embarrassment I don't need.
"I do it sometimes when I'm stressed or overtired. My freshman year, I lived in the dorms. I woke my roommate and started enthusiastically explaining how positive and negative space could influence the visual flow of his designs."
"Seems like helpful information," he snickers.
"He was a sports science major. Very much a typical jock, and hated my guts. I can't really blame him."
"Not like you could help it."
"Well, there was also the time I found a sock on the doorknob. I griped loudly about how disgusting he was, then busted in on him and his girlfriend in a compromising position." I shudder, remembering how I couldn’t look him in the eye again after that. "Who knew the sock was a universal signal for don't come in here ? Not me."
Isaac snorts. "Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone knows that. But no lessons for me. As much as I would have loved to be educated on visual flow or whatever, I didn't get the pleasure.”
He seems genuinely amused, but also really tired. I need to give him his space back so he can get some rest and get back to work. He mentioned last night that he was doing all of this on his own and only had a short window to complete it in. He doesn't need me holding him back.
"Can I buy you a coffee on my way home?" I ask, trying to find the easiest and most polite segue to leave. That, and I really need to stop at The Nook to get my coat and phone, assuming they're still there. I hope they are, and I hope the owners will accept my apologies and let me settle the bill without too much grief or banning me from the premises. The Nook isn't exactly close to my apartment or campus, but I've gotten rather fond of going there. The scenery is nice. And they really do make an amazing chai latte.
"Oh. Yeah. Of course."
Is it just me, or does he seem disappointed? I hope I'm not coming off as ungrateful for all he's done for me. I'll need to think of a way to thank him properly. Maybe a gift basket? What would I even put in it, though? It seems like the coffee shop keeps him pretty stocked in baked goods. Maybe some tools? That’s something to think about.
We get ready in silence. When I come out of the bathroom, teeth brushed and hair wetted down, Isaac has put all my things in a drawstring bag. He escorts me out, and I desperately want to stop and ask him about all the work he's doing, what his vision is for the gym. Much of our conversation last night is muddled, but I hung on to every word about his past, and what a hard worker he is. He seems to have a lot of self-deprecating thoughts about how he grew up, or how hard he's had to work to survive, but I find his tenacity and work ethic incredibly impressive. And sexy. Which is the other reason I need to leave. I'm in danger of my little crush growing into infatuation if I'm not careful.
The look on the owners' faces when we walk into The Nook would be humorous if I wasn't so nervous about apologizing for my disappearance the other night. That, and the way their faces morph from wide-eyed, almost joyous surprise, to concerned horror after doing a double take of my face. The swelling has gone down some, but it’s still ugly. How am I going to get through my classes or see anyone I know without having to come up with some kind of excuse?
The young woman who typically works the counter smiles kindly, but I can still see the worry and curiosity written on her face.
"Hey there, you two…" she greets, looking back and forth between us waiting for some explanation.
The owners, whose names I can never remember, perk up in such an obvious way that it gets my hackles up. Why exactly is it so interesting that the two of us would walk in together? Isaac mentioned something about wishful thinking on their part, but I don't think I really caught on until just now.
Isaac approaches the counter, and although he isn't saying anything, I can tell from the movement of his arm and the facial expression on the girl's face that he's making some kind of gesture. Brenna, I read on her nametag when I can get close enough, looks highly amused about something.
"What exactly is going on here?" I ask. I feel like I'm about to be pranked or something.
"That's what we'd like to know," says the older of the two owners, the one who usually works the dining room. His stern countenance seems put-on, but that could be because I've never seen him be anything other than aggressively friendly to everyone who comes into this place.
I clear my throat. "About that. May I speak to you for a moment, please?"
He side-eyes his husband, then shrugs and gestures for me to follow him. He leads me through the kitchen entrance and back into an office, where he hands me my coat, my phone tucked into the pocket.
"Thank you, Mr…"
"Just Anders is fine. And you're Tyler. I always remember a regular's name."
"Well, thank you for seeing me," I say. "I owe you a huge apology for the other night. I didn't mean to leave abruptly like that, and I certainly didn't mean to walk out on the bill. I promise it was unintentional, and I’d like to settle that immediately."
"Don't concern yourself with that," he says, laying a hand on my shoulder and locking his kind eyes on mine. "We were more worried about you, and rightly so, I see. Are you okay?"
I dip my chin to nod, but find my eyes filling with tears all over again. I'm not sure what I did to deserve this kindness, but I'm thankful they aren't angry. Forcing the tears back, I smile and nod. "I'm fine. I got into an accident."
"Did that accident have anything to do with the gentleman you were here with? I know you had an argument. I worried when neither of you came back."
"Oh. Um—no. It was after that. I’m sorry he was so unfriendly to you. I think he'd had some drinks before he arrived." My cheeks heat, and I feel a surge of anger that I'm having to explain away Guy's behavior. He was rude, demanding, and outright condescending to everyone around him. I never found him to be a particularly pleasant person in the first place, but agreed to the date to appease my father. I thought having the date somewhere I was familiar with might help me feel more comfortable, but it ended up making it worse, because I was embarrassed to have brought him here. If not for leaving my things here and accidentally walking out on the bill, I might never have shown my face again.
"I hope you know we wouldn't judge you for someone else's behavior. It was obvious you were uncomfortable."
"Worst date of my life," I say, chuckling uncomfortably. Never mind that it's the only official date I've ever been on, these poor people don't need to be subjected to any more pity on my behalf. "Even so, there's no excuse for skipping out on the bill." Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet and open it, thumbing through the bills. "I'd like to make it up to you by–"
"Keep your money, Tyler. Like I said, we were more worried about you. I'm just happy to see you safe."
"Please, Anders. It would go a long way to helping me feel better if you'd let me make it right. Otherwise, I won't be able to come back without it hanging over my head. My anxiety can't handle it." He gives me a look, but nods his understanding.
"I'd also like to put some money on a tab or something for Isaac, like a gift certificate we don't tell him about, if that's possible? I know he comes here often, and I doubt he'll accept a thank you from me directly." It's nowhere near enough to pay back his kindness, but it's a start.
Ander's brow furrows, but I don't explain further. Telling him more will only result in me having to tell more lies to cover the lies I've already told. Instead, I place all the cash I have in a small stack of bills on the edge of the desk, and then thank him profusely again.
When I emerge from the back, Isaac is chatting with Ander's husband, who does most of the cooking. I'll need to write all their names down so I don't forget them, but for now, I just want to get out of here. The more people that filter into the coffee shop, the more I’m itching to leave.
Isaac smiles and wordlessly hands me a cup, and I don't have to ask to know what it is. One sip confirms it's the best Chai I've tasted outside of my favorite Indian restaurant in the city, and I smile my thanks as I nod towards the door, gesturing that we should head out.
"You found your coat?"
"Yeah, turns out I left it here. And my phone, too," I say, holding it up. "It's dead though."
He's quiet for the drive to my apartment building. I almost forgot that he already drove me here once. He didn't even need to ask for my address again. He just knew where to go.
Isaac whistles quietly. "It's even nicer in the daytime," he says, looking around at the large, luxury apartment building and surrounding grounds. I'd almost like to take him on a little tour, especially of the exercise facility, but it's probably best to make a clean break here. Isaac doesn't need me hanging off him like a needy friend.
"Thank you for everything. I really do appreciate it."
"It was nothing–"
"It was everything. I'm a stranger, but you took me into your home, fed me, clothed me, bathed me," I add sardonically. My cheeks grow hot at the memory. "More than all that, you made me feel safe. And I can't tell you how much that means to me. I'll never be able to repay you for what you did for me."
"You don't owe me anything. But I hope we can maybe hang out again sometime? As friends?"
Swallowing, I nod, looking at my lap. "I'd like that." Once I'm not around him twenty-four-seven, and not having to look at his hot, half-naked muscles, ink, and piercings, I'll be in a better space to act like a normal human being around him.
After programming my number into his phone, I head inside my building and turn to watch his truck drive away, feeling like I've lost something vital. I ignore the stares from the doorman, who curses out loud at the sight of me, and any neighbors I pass on my way to my apartment. To top it off, there’s a notice stuck to my door about a noise complaint. Obviously, it’s a mistake. I haven’t been here all weekend and the note specifies that the complaint was made after midnight last night.
Letting the door slam shut behind me, I turn the lock and the deadbolt, then lean against the door. I look around the space I once considered cozy and inviting. My safe space. The first place I ever had to just be me without worrying about my father's input.
Surrounded by my books and computer screens, I don't remember ever feeling lonely here. But now, standing in the middle of all the luxury I take for granted, I can't help but wish the crown molding and built-in bookshelves were unfinished walls and random crates. That the sound of silence I once yearned for when I was around other people was replaced with the low tenor of Isaac's voice lulling me to sleep the way it did last night.
Shaking my head at how truly pathetic I am, I go to my desk and open my laptop first thing. If the doorman's reaction to seeing my face is any indication, I don't think going to class or my study groups is a good idea. I don't want to be stared at, or have to endlessly repeat the same story. And I definitely don't want to be reminded of what happened, either. So I send out an email to my professors letting them know I was in an accident and will be keeping up virtually for the next few weeks. I'm an exceptional student and have never missed a class or assignment, so I don't anticipate any issues. I send a similar email out to my study groups.
Once that's done, I plug my phone into my bedside charger and strip out of my borrowed clothes. For a long time, I stand in front of the mirror, staring at a person I don't recognize. My body is a tapestry of blues, purples, and various shades of red from the many scrapes and cuts. The inches of skin that aren’t marked are few and far between. The swelling in my right eye has gone down enough that I can open it, but it's no less ugly.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m only here as a favor to your father. He’s whoring you out for connections, and you have the audacity to walk away from me?”
“As if I'd want anything to do with this scrawny body. You're built like a twelve-year-old girl. Or maybe that's what you want?" Hands touching, grabbing, pinching. “I guess I’d fuck you just to show you who’s in charge here.” Sharp pain when I try to fight him off. “Look what you made me do, you stupid piece of shit. Now you’re going to get it–"
Cold. Pain. Gravel digging into my face. Sharp fear lancing through every nerve ending.
I start the shower and sit on the floor under the spray, arms wrapped around my knees, hoping the water will wash it all away before it runs cold.
* * *
It's dark when I'm startled awake by a distant sound. It was probably just the slam of a car door or something like that, but it triggers a memory that won't let me go back to sleep. If I close my eyes again, I know I'll be back in that alley. Despite taking an extra pain killer before I laid down, in the hopes that I'd be able to sleep through my anxiety of Guy knowing where I live, my head aches, and I can't get comfortable.
My insanely high thread count sheets are doing nothing to soothe me, and there's a flashing light coming from my phone, letting me know I have notifications. It's been over forty-eight hours since I was in contact with anyone.Most of them are likely from my father following up on my ‘date’, but I really don't want to deal with it right now. I know if I don't call him back soon, he'll send someone to check up on me, if he doesn't show up on my doorstep himself.
The incessant blinking only increases my restlessness. I get up to turn the phone over or put it in a drawer, but I’m distracted by my foot hitting something soft. Isaac's hoodie. I pick it up and hold it close, breathing in the comforting scent of sawdust, soap, and clean sweat. I'm distracted enough that I let my eyes roam over the screen of my phone, and I nearly choke.
There are a few missed calls from my father's office, unsurprisingly. The text transcripts of the messages show he was calling to ask how the date went, then devolved into frustration about me being ungrateful—if I want him to continue paying for my phone, I should answer when he calls. He reminded me that tomorrow is the first Monday of the month, which means I’m expected to come to the all-hands meeting at the office even though I don’t technically work there. I’m going to have to tell him I’m sick so I can avoid going anywhere near that office, my father, or Guy for as long as possible. At least until my face heals.
There are a few texts from the study group chat I'm in. Sam checked in separately as well, wondering if we’re still on to play our favorite online RPG this weekend, and another wondering where I am. My stomach flips a little at a few messages from an unknown number.
What sets off the alarm bells in my head and the pit of my stomach are the multiple messages from Guy. They started Saturday morning and escalated through the weekend.
Guy M: We need to talk.
Guy M: I don't know about you, but I barely remember last night LOL
Guy M: We drank too much, and things might have gotten out of hand.
Guy M: Look, I forgive you for leading me on like that.
Guy M: We both said and did some things we shouldn't have.
Guy M: Don't be like this, Tyler.
Guy M: You need to get over yourself.
Guy M: I hope you don't think crying to daddy will accomplish anything.
Guy M: I don't think your dad would appreciate knowing how inappropriate you were last night. Or the dean, seeing as he's a family friend.
Guy M: Are you seriously going to keep ignoring me?
Guy M: Where are you?
Guy M: I'm not playing around anymore, Tyler. Just talk to me.
Guy M: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU TYLER?!
Guy M: ANSWER THE DOOR!
Guy M: Ignore me for now, but we both know you can’t avoid me.
The last few texts were sent after midnight last night.
The noise complaint.
He was here. Was he banging on the door? Yelling? The texts sound like he was enraged. I don’t understand. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s always been pretentious and annoyingly stuck up, but never violent or loud in any way. I expected him to try to talk to me the next time we saw each other. I expected him to act like it was my fault, or give some kind of false apology and gaslight me into making something up to cover his ass.
I thought what happened Friday was because he had too much to drink, but if he’s still acting this unhinged, what will he do to keep me from talking?
Bile rises in my throat when I see the three little dots that indicate he's writing a new text pop up.
Guy M: I see you're finally reading my texts. Good. I'm coming over, and we're going to talk this out.