Just Don't Mention It

  “Because I want the truth,” Eden says.

  “I already gave you the goddamn truth,” I snap at her, and I end up balling my hands into fists by my sides. I am fighting hard against the anger that is brimming. “I do what I do to distract myself.”

  “From what?” she asks, but she raises her voice, unable to hide her frustration. I think this is what she has been trying to figure out the entire summer, and she isn’t going to stop until she finds out the truth. “That’s what I want to know, Tyler. I want to know why you need all these bullshit distractions.”

  “Distractions make everything easier,” I hiss under my breath. I was so calm before, so in control, and I hate that I am now losing that. I’m not angry at her, though. I never will be. I only get angry when I’m forced to face the truth.

  “Makes what easier?”

  I’m grinding my teeth together as I go quiet, and I look her straight in the eye. “Stop, Eden,” I say slowly, my voice firm. I hope she can see the plea in my eyes. I really don’t want to do this.

  “Stop what?” she asks, taking another step toward me.

  “Stop trying to figure me out,” I say, but my pulse is already racing. I look down into her eyes and I pray that she will care about me enough to not put me through this. If she figures out the truth about me, she will know that I’m broken inside.

  “Tyler,” she says, “49ers or Chargers?”

  No fucking way did she just change the subject like that. From asking me why I get high to asking me which football team I support . . . Wow. I will take anything I can get, though. “What kind of a dumb question is that? 49ers.”

  Eden’s face falls and she widens her eyes at me, parting her lips. “I saw a photo in Dean’s house,” she says slowly, her voice low, husky, “of you and him and your dad before a 49ers game. If you’re a fan, how come you looked like you didn’t want to be there?”

  I stare back at her, my expression frozen. I know exactly what photo she is talking about. It’s the same photo I spotted in Dean’s garage earlier this week, the photo that triggered such a turmoil of painful emotions in me. “Dean was supposed to take that down,” I tell her. I don’t know what else to say.

  “Answer the question,” she says, her voice demanding. “What was wrong that day?”

  She isn’t ever going to let this go. I wonder if she looked closely enough into my eyes in that picture to see the pain I was in. It was a much bigger pain than any injury Dad could ever inflict on me. I was heartbroken that night. I felt worthless. I was breaking down inside.

  I can’t look at Eden right now, because those same emotions are hitting me all over again at full force. I am breaking down now too. I walk away from her and pick up her empty glass from the bedside table and tighten my hand around it, squeezing it hard to release some of the fury that is taking over me. I pause by the window, looking out again at all of the lights. My life is a mess.

  “What is it with you, Eden?” I murmur. I keep my head down, my eyes closed, my back to her. “You’re not supposed to figure me out. No one is.”

  “Tyler,” Eden whispers, and my name sounds desperate on her tongue. Slowly, I look back at her over my shoulder, and her eyes are gentle but intense as she stares back at me, her hand pressed to her chest. “Trust me. Please.”

  I look back down at the floor and close my eyes again. She wants to know so badly, but I am terrified of letting her in to my biggest secrets. I have never told anyone before. I have been holding the weight of this secret for five years and I just can’t let it go. It has become part of me. “Don’t make me tell you.”

  Eden edges her body in between mine and the window. She moves close to me, gently placing her hand on my chest, feeling the erratic thumping of my heart. Her gaze meets mine. “Please,” she whispers.

  And I can see it in those sparkling hazel eyes of hers that she cares about me, that she is desperate to know the truth so that she can understand me better. I have always kept the truth about my dad a secret from everyone, because I have worried people would never look at me the same. I didn’t want pity and I didn’t want sympathy. I wanted to move on, to show that I was stronger than everything that I had been through, that Dad wouldn’t define me. I don’t want to leave myself vulnerable again, but there is something about Eden that is reassuring, like she’ll make sure everything is okay, that I’ll be okay.

  “My dad’s an asshole,” I whisper and my words cut me. My voice is cracked and my heart is beating so fast I think I may suffer a heart attack. I’m really about to do this. I’m really about to tell Eden the truth. “I told everyone he’s in jail for GTA. That’s not true.” I can’t look at her now, not when I’m about to say the words that will tear me up inside. My jaw is clenched tight and I stare at the wall, blinking fast to stop myself from welling up. Then, so quietly it’s almost inaudible, I say, “He’s in jail for child abuse.”

  All of the color drains out of Eden’s face, and I close my eyes. My heart is sinking as I hear her sharp intake of breath. “You?” she squeaks. I nod, but I never open my eyes. They are stinging; my throat is tightening. Eden exhales that same breath of air. “Jamie and Chase?”

  “Just me,” I say. I wouldn’t have been able to cope if it had been any other way.

  “Tyler, I . . .” Her voice cracks too and grows huskier as she keeps her hand on my chest, reminding me that she is here with me. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  There it is: Sympathy. I don’t need that.

  “I do a pretty good job of keeping it a secret,” I mutter as I open my eyes again. Eden is pale, and her eyes are wide and brimming with tears, but this is exactly what I didn’t want. I step back from her and she drops her hand. “No one knows. Not Tiffani, not Dean, not anyone.”

  “Why haven’t you told them?”

  “Because I don’t want pity,” I snap. My anger is returning and I can feel it rising all the way up through my chest, tightening around my heart. I walk away from Eden and grab onto the edge of the bedside table for support. “Pity is for pussies. I don’t wanna look weak. I’m done with being weak.” I hate Dad so much. Why did he do this to me? Why did he ruin my life? My rage comes to an explosive head and I throw a punch, slamming my fist straight into the bedside table. My knuckles should ache, but I don’t feel pain that much anymore. “That’s all I ever fucking was. Weak.”

  “You weren’t weak,” Eden says, shaking her head at me. “You were a kid.”

  She’s wrong. I was weak. I should have been stronger, I should have stood up to him, I should have told someone. I storm across the room and lean back against the wall, sliding down onto the floor and inhaling. “You know, I didn’t really get it for a while,” I admit after a moment, after the anger has subsided. I need to tell her more. I need to open up for once, even if it is only a little. I can’t tell her everything, but I can tell her enough. “I never understood what I did wrong.”

  Eden sits down on the carpet in front of me, crossing her legs and remaining silent. She is listening, and I realize that right now, that’s all I really need. Maybe Mom is right. Maybe talking to someone can help.

  “My mom and my dad . . .” I begin, but I’m struggling to find the right words. It’s a complicated story. It’s tough to tell. “They were just teenagers when they had me, so I get that they probably had no clue what they were doing. They both got a little obsessed with building careers. Dad had his dumb company, the one I told you about.”

  “Grayson’s,” Eden says quietly. She remembers.

  “Grayson’s,” I confirm. This is going to take some time to explain, so I clear my throat and lean forward, folding my arms over my knees. My heart is still pounding. “It was great to start with. The business really took off for a few years, but when I was, like, eight, some deal fell through. Dad had a shit temper. He came home one night and Mom was at the office working late and he was super pissed off and he took it out on me. I kind of let that one slide. I thought it was a one-off. But then his employees wer
e all quitting and it stressed him out and he took it out on me again. It kept happening more often. It went from once a week to every single night. He’d tell me I couldn’t do anything I wanted to do, because I needed to focus on school instead. Said he wanted me to get into Ivy League so that I didn’t end up fucking up my career the same way he was. But the truth was, I didn’t want to have a big-shot career or get into an Ivy League school, yet I spent every single night locked in my room trying to study so that he wouldn’t get mad at me. I thought, I’m trying, right? That’s enough, isn’t it? But it wasn’t. Every night, he still came upstairs and threw me around.” For a second, I feel as though I can’t breathe. Talking about this is so hard. Memories of Dad are flashing in front of me. The way he used to look at me, the way he used to grab me, the way he used to tell me he was sorry. “Every single night,” I whisper. “Four years.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eden says again, still choked up. She doesn’t need to apologize.

  “Mom was so busy, she seriously had no idea,” I continue. “She blames herself for it now. She tries to ground me, but it just doesn’t work, because she never reinforces it. I think she’s terrified of trying to be strict, you know? It’s not her fault, though. She did notice sometimes. She’d be like, ‘Tyler, what have you done to your face this time?’ And I just made up some lame excuse each time. I would tell her my face was busted because I was playing football during gym class or that my wrist was broken because I fell down the stairs. When really I broke my wrist three times one year, because Dad just loved to see how far he could bend it back.”

  “Why didn’t you tell someone?” Eden whispers, and it’s a reasonable question. Mom has asked me that same question so many times. “Does my dad know?”

  “Because I was fucking scared of him,” I admit. My voice is so strained. I don’t sound like myself. “There was no way I could tell. The only person who doesn’t know is Chase. He was too young. Mom didn’t want to scare him. The rest of the family all hate Dad now.”

  “When did it stop?”

  “When I was twelve,” I say. Five years ago. Five years ago it all ended. Or at least it should have. These past five years have been hell, and my rage returns. Dad’s actions have caused a ripple effect through my life. “Jamie came upstairs one night and saw Dad hitting me,” I explain as I push myself up from the floor. “Called the cops, even at his age. Dad was arrested that night. It didn’t go to trial, because he pleaded guilty, so it was never publicized. I got to keep it a secret. I get to pretend that I’m fine.” But I’m not fine.

  I begin to pace around the bedroom, trying to keep my anger at bay before it can manifest even more than it already has. “I really fucking hate him,” I spit. “Really, really hate him. After a year or something I started to believe that there must have been a reason for it all. I thought I deserved it for being a worthless piece of crap. I still do. I can’t even move on from it, because it’s impossible to forget, which sounds so pathetic, but it’s true. I’m supposed to be on antidepressants, but I don’t take them, because I want to drink and get high instead, and you can’t do both. And you know what, Eden? You’re right. I’m lost. I’m totally fucking lost in this mess.”

  Eden gets up from the floor too. She stands still, watching me while I pace, unsure what exactly to say to me. There is nothing anyone can say. At this point in my life, I have accepted what happened. My past is a part of me. It has shaped me into who I am today; it has made me the mess that I am. That doesn’t mean that I think what happened was okay. It wasn’t, and I’m furious.

  “I depend on distractions!” I yell across the room to Eden, even though she is only a few feet away. “They make coping easier, because in the hours that I’m drunk or high or both, I forget that my dad fucking hates me!”

  I need to release the fury that’s running through me, and so I stop pacing and grab the empty glass, hurling it at the wall. I love smashing things. It’s satisfying to me, it keeps me calm, and I watch as broken pieces of glass shatter onto the carpet, breathing heavily. Eden gasps.

  All of my energy seems to leave my body. I hate what Dad has done to me. I feel so lifeless, so empty. I sink down onto the bed behind me as my pulse continues to race, and I lock my eyes on the dark sky outside. The moon is full and bright.

  “I hate him,” I growl, swallowing hard. I hate him so much.

  Eden walks over, stepping in front of me. I tilt my head back to look up at her, to meet her eyes which are full of warmth and reassurance.

  Delicately, she reaches out and presses both her hands to my jaw, cupping my face. Her gaze never leaves mine as she sits down on my lap, our bodies pressed together, her skin warm. My breath catches in my throat. She is so close. She brushes her thumbs over my cheeks, then leans forward, moving her lips toward mine. They don’t touch, though. I don’t need them to. It’s amazing just having her next to me, feeling her breath on my skin, knowing that in this moment, she is completely mine. I close my eyes, and we remain huddled together like this for a long time. I don’t want her to ever let go.

  Finally, she breaks the silence, her gorgeous voice whispering, “Thank you for trusting me.” Then, she kisses me.

  And right now, she is everything that I need. She is the only thing I want. My desire to kiss her is overwhelming and I bask in the feeling of her mouth against mine as a new fire rises within me. I have just let her into the darkest parts of my soul, and she is still here with me. She has seen me at my weakest and my most vulnerable. She has seen me. And she’s still here. She’s in front of me, she’s kissing me, she’s holding me, and I am completely in love with her.

  I kiss her desperately as a single tear breaks free from my closed eyes, and I run my hands up her thighs, under her ass. As she presses her chest into mine, I sit up and tighten my hold on her, lifting her up. I never tear my lips from hers, and she is still grasping my jaw in her hands as I lay her down on the bed. I hover over her, kissing her faster, deeper. I need more of her. She is kissing me back with just as much energy and adrenaline, and from beneath me, she manages to shrug off her sweater. Her hands move to my T-shirt, tugging at the material, trying to pull it off. She is struggling, and the only reason the kiss breaks is because I can’t hold back my soft laughter.

  I sit back, swipe off my shirt and toss it onto the floor while she smiles sheepishly back at me. We are in the dark, but she radiates brightness, color. She takes her lower lip between her teeth as she runs her eyes down my chest, but I can’t keep my hands off her for long. I’m back above her, kissing my way along her collarbone. My hand is clasping her waist, the other is traveling up her thigh, under her skirt. She is running her hands through my hair, resting her chin atop my head. She is trembling a little, but so am I. Maybe I’m nervous too.

  I’m exploring her body, touching every inch of her. She is pulling on my hair now, and my face is buried into the crook of her neck as she writhes beneath me, arching her back, grinding her body into mine. She is breathing heavily into my hair and I can’t get enough of her. I place a hand on her cheek, feeling the flushed warmth of her skin.

  I am reaching for her top, pulling at it, but I can feel her growing stiff under me. Protectively, she is crossing her arms over her chest whether she realizes it or not, and I remember what she told me the other night. About what those girls told her. She’s insecure about her body, so quickly, I sit back from her to give her some space for a second. I take her hand in mine, interlocking our fingers as I meet her anxious gaze. She glances down at herself and takes a deep breath. When she looks back up at me again, she gives me a small smile and pulls her top off herself. She reaches for me, drawing me back to her, her mouth against mine.

  We are fumbling around one another. She is undoing my belt, I am releasing the clasp of her bra, my fingers are in her hair, her hands are on my chest. My heart is racing. So is hers. I’m breathing deeply. So is she. My clothes are on the floor. Hers are too.

  She means so much to me, even if she doesn’t know
it. I trust her, and I don’t trust easily. She is there for me, she cares about me, she wants me to be okay. That is the most anyone has ever done for me in years.

  Our hips are rolling together, she is digging her nails into my back, I’m groaning against her ear. It is all so perfect. She is perfect, and I wouldn’t change any of this for the world, even though it is terrifying.

  I may have told Eden my secrets, but now I have a new one.

  55

  FIVE YEARS EARLIER

  My suspension from school over the past week couldn’t have come at a worse time. Mom and Dad have been taking turns to work from home to keep an eye on me, but it’s mostly been Dad. He has been permanently hunched over the kitchen table, pulling at his hair and tearing up sheets of paper. From what I’ve gathered through eavesdropping on his conversations with Mom, things are going really, really wrong at work. More of Dad’s employees have walked out. Money is missing. One of his biggest projects lined up for next year has been dropped.

  Which means that Dad has been stressed this week, and when Dad is stressed, his temper wears thin. I have constantly been around, all day, every day for the past week. The kid who is suspended from school for fighting, the kid who ran away, the kid who has let his parents down. It’s easy for Dad to take everything out on me, and that’s exactly what he’s been doing.

  Every day, I have sat at the desk in my bedroom, trying my best to focus on studying without letting my fear distract me while I wait for Dad to storm into my room. I am in a permanent state of numbness. Sometimes, I forget how to breathe and how to blink.

  It’s Friday afternoon, my final day of suspension, and Dad has stayed home from work again to look after me. It’s been a quiet morning. Dad has been pacing the kitchen back and forth in silence, and I’ve been upstairs studying in silence. The house feels strange being so quiet. Mom is at work, my brothers are at school. They’ll be getting the bus home soon, and just like every other day, I count down the hours until they get here, because I like the noise that they bring with them.