Just Don't Mention It

  I have left my desk, though. I’m in the bathroom now, sitting on the cold tiles with my back against the wall, peeling off old band-aids from my arms and replacing them with new ones. Dad has been careful not to touch my face this week, so the injuries from before have at least had the opportunity to heal. My eye is still a little bruised, but the rest of the swelling disappeared days ago. The rest of my body, however, looks as though I’ve been through a war. Dad has been getting more aggressive. He used to throw me around for a minute or two. Now it’s much longer. He used to stop when I bled. Now he doesn’t.

  The bathroom door swings open and I immediately flinch, unable to hide my terror when Dad walks into the small, enclosed room. He doesn’t shut the door behind him. That’s good.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at the box of band-aids in my hands and the painkillers on the floor in front of me. He stares at them for a second, then his green eyes meet mine. He hasn’t been wearing his shirt and tie this week. He doesn’t need to, not when he’s working from the kitchen, so he’s only been wearing jeans and flannel shirts. It’s confusing for me. Usually, I associate Dad’s casual attire with his good days, when he’s more relaxed. Not anymore. The good days are long gone. “I asked you a question, Tyler,” Dad states after a minute when I haven’t replied. I am staring up at him from the floor, my eyes wide and full of panic. “What are you doing with those? You’re not hurt.” He has his hands on his hips, his lips pressed together.

  “I need . . .” I start, but I can’t finish. Words fail me. My pulse is racing too fast, my heart is beating too hard.

  “You need what, Tyler?” he presses, daring me to say it. I think there’s something wrong with him. Like, he really believes that if he acts like I’m not a damaged mess then it’ll go away; if he convinces himself that he didn’t hurt me, then the pain I’m feeling will somehow disappear.

  “I need these,” I mumble, holding up the box of band-aids. I reach for the painkillers, glancing down at the boxes in my hands, noticing the way I am trembling. “And these. It makes me feel better.”

  “Listen to me,” Dad says suddenly, and he reaches down and grabs my shirt, dragging me straight up off the cold bathroom floor in one swift movement. He pulls me toward him, forcing me to look at him, but it’s so hard to look him in the eye. Not when they are so fierce and intense, not when I don’t recognize them as Dad’s. “You’re fine. Alright?” Dad tells me. His voice is firm and threatening. “You are fine. Man up a little.” With his free hand, he snatches the boxes of band-aids and painkillers straight out of my hand and throws them onto the floor. “Now please get back to studying. You’re suspended. Not on vacation. And last I knew, school doesn’t finish for”—he glances at his watch—“another five minutes.” He pushes me toward the door.

  But I need those band-aids. I have grazes all over my arms, all over my shoulders, all over my chest from where Dad has thrown me into things. They are stinging. So, even though Dad is glaring at me, waiting for me to walk back across the hall to my room, I just can’t. I try to be quick. I try to be fast. I try to swoop back down to grab the band-aids as quickly as I can, but before I can even turn for the door to leave, Dad has grabbed me again.

  “Tyler,” he spits, his voice coarse, his tone sharper than it was a second ago. His hand is on my shoulder, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into my skin, holding me in place as he plucks those band-aids from my grasp again. He squeezes the box in his hand, crushing the cardboard. “Fucking stop it.”

  I don’t know this man. This isn’t Dad. At least before, he would only hurt me when he lost control, when he would suddenly snap and lash out, but lately, it seems as though he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s in control right now. He knows he’s being cruel. That’s the worst part.

  “Dad . . .” I murmur, trying to pull my shoulder free from his painful grip. But in reality I have given up. I gave up a long time ago, actually. That’s the only reason I even muster up the courage to ask, “What is wrong with you?” I don’t care about the consequences anymore. Dad hurts me no matter what. Even when I try my best, even when I stick to being the hard-working, well-mannered good kid. So screw it. I’m not dealing with this anymore. I’m not suffering through this for a second longer.

  “I don’t know. You tell me,” Dad growls. He grabs me even harder. His nails are tearing into my skin. I focus on his eyes instead, at that rage within them. I don’t necessarily think he is angry at me. “You fucking tell me why my company is crashing and burning as we speak. Huh? Do you know the answer? No, I didn’t think so.” He shoves me away again, pushing me hard against the wall, and he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. He looks at the ceiling, clenching his jaw in frustration. He’s mad because of work again. He’s mad at himself.

  “I know that it’s not my fault,” I say slowly, staring at him. Don’t stop now. You’ve already started. I swallow back the lump in my throat. My hands are still shaking, my heart still feels as though it may explode. “It’s not my fault things are going wrong, Dad. So stop taking it out on me.” I finally said it, and it feels like sweet relief.

  Except Dad doesn’t like me challenging him. Dad doesn’t like it when I talk back. So, that relief disappears entirely, almost as quickly as it arrived, and Dad is reaching for me, his large hands grabbing my arms. He throws me straight out of the bathroom and into the hall. I stumble over my own feet, unable to keep my balance and falling to the ground. I hit my head, but I don’t have time to register it, because Dad is pulling at me again, dragging me back up onto my feet. He starts to haul me toward my room, but with all my might, I fight back against him, pushing my weight backward, desperate to escape from his violent hands.

  “STOP!” I scream. With everything in me, I slam my hands into Dad’s chest, shoving him away. I’m not letting him do this. I don’t deserve it. I’m just a kid. I’m good. It’s not my fault. None of this is my fault.

  He stares at me. There’s only a couple feet between us and silence falls over the house again. My breathing is ragged and uneven, and I am fighting back tears that are brimming in my eyes as I look back across at him. His hands are balled into fists by his sides, his knuckles pale from the pressure, and his expression almost goes entirely blank, like he is so stunned by my defiance that he can’t even process it. But then, within an instance, it all changes. Hot, burning fury captures his green eyes in a way that I have never, ever seen before. And then he lunges for me.

  I am dragged into my bedroom. I am thrown across the floor, into my desk, against the wall. Dad is shaking me. His hands are too tight around me, pressing on all of the bruises that already cover my body. My eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on the darkness, numbing myself to the pain I am feeling. It is bad tonight, though. I am bleeding already. Dad’s fist slams into my eye again. Into my jaw, my nose, my mouth.

  I think he’s really losing it this time. For the first time in four years, a terrifying realization hits me, one that’s new, one that’s never crossed my mind before. It never needed to until now. It’s never been this bad. I can feel his rage in his touch. I can sense the lack of control.

  I think Dad might just kill me.

  56

  PRESENT DAY

  I wake before Eden does. She is fast asleep next to me, hugging the pillow, her lips parted. She is beautiful. I write te amo on her bare back with my index finger, then press my lips to her shoulder blade. She looks so peaceful, and I don’t want to wake her, so I leave her to sleep while I slide out of bed and grab our clothes from the floor. I clean up the shards of broken glass that I smashed last night, too.

  Last summer, I hated the beach party. This year, I have replaced those bad memories with good ones, better ones. Last night was amazing. There is a new weight lifted off my shoulders and I feel lighter somehow, like telling Eden my secrets has taken away some of the pressure pushing down on me.

  I shower, pull back on last night’s clothes, then fetch myself a glass of water
in the kitchen. As I gulp it down, I use the remainder of what is left of my phone’s battery to check up on the outside world that I tuned out of last night. I have missed calls from Tiffani and Dean. Messages from them too, asking where I am and if I’m okay and if I’m up to no good. Sure, I was up to no good, but not the kind they’re thinking of.

  Just then, my phone rings in my hand, and it is TJ calling. I clear my throat and answer it.

  “Hey,” he says as soon as I pick up. Before even giving me a chance to get a word in, he asks, “Are you still at my apartment?”

  “Yeah,” I admit. Shit, he knows I’ve spent the night here now.

  “Okay, well, get out,” TJ orders with a laugh. “This girl has kicked me out, and I haven’t slept, so I really don’t want to have guests to entertain when I get there.”

  “Sure. Thanks, by the way,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s only nine, so it’s still early for a Sunday morning. I’ll need to wake Eden, but as I’m hanging up the call, I can already hear her muffled voice calling my name.

  I grab her clothes that I’ve folded for her and head back to the bedroom, slowly elbowing the door open. Eden is sitting up in bed with the sheets hugged to her chest, our eyes meeting.

  “I was just about to wake you up,” I say, smiling at her. I can’t help it.

  “I thought you left,” she says quietly.

  She thought I left? She thought I would really disappear after what happened last night? “I’m not that much of an asshole,” I reassure her, then glance over to the window. I’ve never really done this before, the waking up with someone new thing, but I would never leave. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” When I look back at Eden, I realize she is staring at her clothes in my hands. I walk forward and set them down on the bed. “Here,” I say, but I’m feeling . . . I don’t know. Not embarrassed, but more unsure, anxious.

  “Are you okay?” Eden asks. Her voice is raspy. Should I have gotten her some more water?

  “Sorry. I’m—I’m not really used to, like, this,” I admit, but my cheeks are blazing with heat. The only girl I’ve ever been with is Tiffani, so this is totally new to me. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t know what she wants me to do. I figure, though, that talking would be a good start. “We should probably talk about, uh, last night.”

  Eden blinks at me, then lowers her voice in the most attractive way possible and asks, “Was I bad?”

  “No, no,” I say, rolling my eyes as I laugh. God, she’s so innocent. She has no idea that spending last night with her has been one of the best moments I’ve ever experienced. “I meant more along the lines of . . . you know, where do we stand now?”

  She looks at me, and I look at her. Where do we stand? This is so much more than just harmless flirting and accidental kisses, but can it even go much further? Can this ever develop into an actual relationship? Even if Tiffani wasn’t in my life, it doesn’t change the fact that Eden and I are stepsiblings. What we did last night . . . Maybe it was wrong, but maybe I don’t care. Eden matters to me more than what other people think of us.

  “I’m not sure,” she says after a while. She frowns. “Where do you want us to stand?”

  “I’m not sure,” I repeat, heaving a sigh as I shove my hands into my pockets. Last night meant a lot to me, and I really hope Eden feels the same way. It would destroy me if she didn’t. “Answer me this: Do you regret it?”

  “No,” she answers without missing a beat, and relief fills me. “Do you?”

  “You know I don’t,” I murmur, a smile capturing my lips again. I grab her clothes and bring them to her, placing them in her lap. “We’ll figure all of this out. Eventually. But for now, get dressed, because we really need to go,” I tell her. We need to be gone before he gets here. “Troy-James just called and he’s on his way home.”

  Eden blushes and pulls the sheets tighter around her, hiding her chest. “Can you, uh, give me a sec?” she mumbles.

  “You’re acting like I haven’t seen you naked,” I joke, but I realize that she is clearly uncomfortable, so I nod and head for the door. “Be quick.”

  I head back through the apartment and tidy up the living room, even plumping up the cushions, and then I call a cab. It’s the only way we are getting home today, because there is absolutely no chance of me calling anyone I know for a ride. How damn suspicious would that be? Hey, can you give me and my stepsister a ride home from someone’s apartment first thing on this fine Sunday morning? No way. People would definitely find that too weird, so I’ll stick to the cab. It says it’ll be here in five, so I finish cleaning up, tipping all of the broken shards of glass into the trash can just as Eden emerges from the bedroom fully dressed.

  “I called us a cab,” I tell her, checking my watch. It’s nearing ten. “I know it’s weird, but I can’t exactly ask someone for a ride without having them wonder what the hell we’ve been doing. We can’t look suspicious, remember? The cab driver won’t know us. It should be here any second.”

  “Where are my shoes?” Eden asks, and it’s only then that I realize she’s barefoot. As she runs her fingers through the ends of her tangled hair, her gaze searches the apartment.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I look around too, but I haven’t seen them while I was tidying up. They’re just shoes, though. It’s not the end of the world. “But we need to get outta here.”

  “But my shoes—”

  “I’ll buy you a new pair; now come on,” I cut in. They were Converse, I remember. I will replace them if I need to, if it’ll keep her happy. I head over to the door and pull it open while Eden reluctantly joins me, then I lock up and hide the key under the doormat like TJ asked me to.

  Eden sprints off into the elevator without me, and I quickly join her inside before the doors close. The floor must be cold, because she is bouncing on her feet. We are about to head home, and I already know that we are going to be in trouble. Our parents wouldn’t have wanted us to go to that party, and they wouldn’t have wanted us to stay out all night, and they definitely wouldn’t have wanted us to sleep together.

  “I don’t think we should mention last night to our parents,” I say quietly as the elevator heads down. I can only imagine what would happen if they ever find out. I think we’d be disowned, honestly.

  “I don’t think we should mention last night to anyone,” Eden says with a small laugh, but then she goes silent. The color drains from her face and she stares at the elevator doors. Is she thinking the same as I am? It’s like panic has cut straight through her.

  I slip my hand into hers, offering her reassurance. She looks up at me, her frozen gaze meeting mine, and the smile I give her is true and genuine—it’s mine. We’re in this together. I’m right here. I’ve got her.

  The elevator doors ping open again, and I lead Eden out of the building and into the cab that is waiting for us outside. My hand never leaves hers and we climb into the backseat together. The cab driver doesn’t question us on why Eden is barefoot, or why we look like we’ve been out all night, or why our clothes most likely stink of booze. I think the driver herself is hungover, and she seems to repeatedly make wrong turns, dragging out the dreaded ride home. Eden and mine’s hands are still intertwined in her lap, and I’m rubbing soft circles on the back of her hand with my thumb. Sure, our parents may kill us, but last night is so worth any punishment.

  When we finally get back to the house, we don’t go inside immediately. We are mentally preparing ourselves. “Where did you tell them you were going last night?” I ask Eden.

  “The movies,” she says.

  Oh, she didn’t. Even though I’m anxious about heading inside, I can’t fight my laughter. “The movies? Where’s your originality?”

  Eden purses her lips at me, narrowing her eyes. I love it when she does that. “What was your excuse?”

  “They didn’t get one,” I say. “I left before they could notice.”

  “Well that doesn’t surprise me.”

/>   We take a deep breath, muster up some courage, then head into the house together. It is silent apart from the sound of the TV. Cautiously, we enter the living room. Mom is on the couch, intensely studying a bunch of papers in her hands, and Jamie is watching TV while he rests his fractured wrist on a pillow. He turns to look at us, glowering.

  At first, I don’t think Mom has even noticed us, but then she loudly calls out, “Dave, they’re home,” in a hard tone without even looking up from whatever the hell it is that she’s reading. She’s pissed. I can hear it in her voice.

  Dave comes storming down the hall and into the living room within seconds. It’s early Sunday morning, and he’s wearing fucking sweatpants. He throws himself in front of us and barks, “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “The movie was good?” Eden offers up as an answer. I give her a firm look. She shouldn’t even to attempt to lie her way out of this, because that reply was honestly far from believable.

  Dave grits his teeth and places his hands on his hips, his stance threatening. Or at least as threatening as it can be in those sweatpants. “You two went to that beach party, didn’t you?”

  Mom glances up from her papers. I don’t even waste my breath answering Dave, because he and Mom aren’t oblivious. The entire city would have known about the party, and it is not hard to figure out that we were most likely there.

  Suddenly, Eden bursts into tears by my side, and my gaze flicks over to her in surprise. “My friends took me there after the movies,” she blurts out through tears, though I know her different tones so well by now that I realize she isn’t really upset. I don’t know what she’s doing, but she keeps on going, forcing herself to cry even harder. Is she hoping her dad will take pity on her? “I didn’t even know what it was!”