Chapter 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 for.
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 is 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 that 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 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, I can 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 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 stairs 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.