Did I Mention I Need You? by Estelle Maskame
And by 3AM, I can’t cope.
Dean’s rolled over onto the other side of the bed by this point, his body several inches away from mine, so I easily push the comforter away and get to my feet without him stirring. My eyes have long adjusted to the darkness, so I follow the outlines of the furniture as I search for my backpack, grabbing it when I find it and rummaging through it until I find my phone. I dial Tyler’s number straightaway. It’s on speed dial.
The first time, it goes to voicemail, but that doesn’t surprise me. It’s 3AM. He’s most likely asleep, but I’m desperate to talk to him, so I dial his number once more, hoping that if I’m persistent enough it’ll wake him up.
“Eden,” a voice says down the line as the call is picked up. It’s not Tyler’s, though. It’s Emily’s.
“Emily?” I keep my voice low, glancing over at Dean’s sleeping figure. “Where’s Tyler?”
“Eden, he’s really drunk,” Emily tells me without hesitation, her voice croaky and quiet, as though she’s half asleep. “Like really drunk.”
“What?”
She exhales. “Um, well, he woke me and Stephen up about half an hour ago. He was smashing bottles in the kitchen and he can barely stand.” She pauses for a while and I press my phone harder against my ear, listening to the sound of male voices somewhere else in the apartment. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I do recognize Snake’s thick accent. “What happened between you two?” Emily asks, and she sighs across the line. I hear her moving across the room as the voices grow louder, and she raises her voice in order for me to hear her over them. “He’s been super pissed off ever since you left and now Stephen’s pretty much babysitting him in the bathroom because he can’t stop throwing up.” She draws Tyler’s phone away from her ear for a moment as she murmurs, “Bloody hell, Snake, you’re supposed to keep his head up. Here. Talk to Eden.”
There’s some fumbling as the phone is passed between them, and in the background I can hear Tyler retching in between groans. Emily continues to sigh and Snake continues to cuss. That’s when I start to feel even guiltier, even worse than I did before. I know I’m the reason. I know I caused this.
“I’m coming over,” I say, my voice no longer quiet. I reach for my bag with my free hand and begin to haul out some of my clothes.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Snake says immediately, his voice so firm that I stop what I’m doing. I pause with one leg half slipped into my jeans. “He kinda hates you right now. We don’t need you over here making it worse. We’ve got it. Don’t worry.” Right after he says this, I hear Tyler throwing up. Emily sighs again, and on my side of the phone I can do nothing but run a hand through my hair, a frown upon my lips. “Fuck, man,” Snake groans, promptly hanging up the call immediately after.
For a minute or so, I stare at the brightness of my device in disbelief as I step back out of my jeans, kicking them to one side. Now I really am dripping with guilt, and if the lights were on right now I’m pretty sure I’d look pale. Grinding my teeth together, I throw my phone across the floor in a fit of rage at myself, not even caring that it makes a loud thud. Dean doesn’t even flinch, however, and as I start to break down again, I crawl back into bed next to him. I find comfort once again in his being, so I press my body against his back and reach for his hand. I play with his fingers for a while, twisting them around mine, before I squeeze his hand tight and bury my face into the back of his shoulder. In just three days’ time, I’ll be letting him go. I’ll be telling him the truth, and I can do nothing but hope that both he and Tyler will forgive me for the decisions I’ve been forced to make.
25
By the time I fall asleep, it’s almost 6AM. I don’t end up waking again until after noon, so when I do finally wake I’m slightly disorientated. My head feels heavy, the way it always does if I’ve cried too much, and Dean is no longer by my side. I prop myself up onto my elbows and glance around the room through half-closed eyes. My phone is laying face down on the floor and half my clothes are still spilling out of my backpack. I sigh. Yesterday was a mess.
The suite is silent. No voices. No TV. I can’t blame Dean for leaving. He’s in New York City—he can’t afford to waste time lounging around in the hotel. There are so many things to see and so little time. This doesn’t stop me from calling out his name, however, just to check.
I’m surprised when I get an answer back. Dean’s voice echoes through from the living area, and seconds later he pops his head around the door, smiling warmly at me as he says, “Finally.”
Rolling my eyes, I sit up further and hug the comforter to my chest. “Where are Rachael and Tiffani?”
“Rachael went out for lunch with the lizard guy.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You mean Snake?”
“Yeah, yeah, him,” Dean says. Pushing the door open further, he steps into the bedroom and closes it behind him. He’s still only wearing those navy sweats from last night and it seems like he’s been having a pretty laid-back morning. “Isn’t he like twenty-five?”
“Twenty-one,” I say quietly. If I wasn’t still so in disbelief over what happened last night, then perhaps I’d wonder why the hell Rachael is going out for lunch with him. Ever since Trevor broke up with her during spring break, she’s drilled the idea of being independent into herself. That mindset clearly hasn’t lasted long. “Where’s Tiffani?”
“I don’t know,” Dean says as he climbs onto the bed next to me, lying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow, “and I don’t care.” He reaches for my waist, placing a cool hand on my hip as he pulls my body closer to his. His lips immediately find their way to my neck as he trails slow, soft kisses along my skin. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, voice low. He shifts his body across the mattress, pressing his chest to mine as he delicately runs his hand up and down the side of my ribs and moves his lips to the corner of my mouth.
He kisses me gently, just as I remember, but I can’t kiss him back with the same tenderness. I can’t bring myself to kiss him at all, because out of the corner of my eye I can see my Chucks lying on the floor. They remind me of Tyler. Of course they do. He gave them to me. He wrote on them. He told me not to give up, yet that’s exactly what he now thinks I’ve done. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to make it clear to Tyler that I haven’t given up, that this is all only temporary, just until Tiffani leaves New York. I’m not sure how I can fix any of this.
Frowning against Dean’s lips, I run my hand through his hair and gently push him away from me. “Not today.”
Dean glances up at me with wide eyes, confused. “What?”
My eyes find their way back to my sneakers. The faded white material, Tyler’s scrawled handwriting along the rubber. It’s entirely irrational, but an idea springs to my mind. It’s an idea that only Tyler will understand. “There’s something I gotta do,” I tell Dean. Without even a split second of hesitation, I shove the comforter off me and swing my legs out of the bed, reaching straight for my backpack on the floor.
“What?” Dean says again, sitting up on the bed as he stares at me, as though he can’t believe I’ve just turned him down. For starters, I just woke up. Second, I’ve been sleeping with his best friend. Third, I’m telling him the truth soon, and I think sticking around here and making him believe that everything is fine is quite literally the worst I thing I could do. “What do you need to do right at this moment that’s so important?”
Still wandering around in my underwear, I scoop all of my belongings up from the floor, my bag and my phone and my Converse, and make for the bedroom door. “I can’t tell you,” I call over my shoulder. I head into the living area, darting straight into the bathroom. I hear Dean follow behind me. I lock the bathroom door before he can catch up.
“Eden,” he says through the wood, knocking once. “What’s going on? Is this about what happened last night?”
Ignoring him, I rush to pull my clothes out of my bag again, this time not in the darkness of the middle of the nigh
When I open the bathroom door, Dean’s leaning against the frame. He instantly jumps back, his eyes full of panic as he takes in the expression on my face. Ever so quietly, he asks, “Have I done something wrong?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong, Dean, and that’s the problem!” I groan, shaking my head at him as I squeeze sideways past his body. I’m so angry at myself right now, so furious that I seem to be taking my rage out on him. I feel my heart shattering at the worry in his eyes. It’s so hard to know that I have to hurt him soon, because he’s the one person I never, ever want to hurt. He deserves way better than me.
I’m waiting for him to reply, but he doesn’t. It’s like he doesn’t know where to even begin when it comes to figuring out what I’m thinking right now, and I can’t bring myself to look back at him as I leave the suite. I just pull the door shut behind me and keep walking, and the further along the lobby and the further away from the suite I get, the more my attention shifts from Dean to something else. My current motive and mission. My irrational idea.
As I head down to the main lobby in the elevator, I double-check my backpack to ensure I threw my wallet in there last night, and breathe a sigh of relief that I did. I pull out my phone and weave my way around a group of tourists gathered around the front desk, careful not to bump into any of their luggage, and then thank the doorman again for opening the door for me.
I walk away from him as fast as I can, making my way along the street as I stare down at my phone. I draw up the subway map at the same time as I search for potential studios. With no idea yet which direction I’m going to be heading in, I pause on the corner as I figure it out. The streets are heaving, just the way they usually are, so I step back against the wall of the building nearest to me, adamant that I won’t block the flow of pedestrians.
It takes me no more than ten minutes to decide on the studio and to map out the subway route, and even though I have to head two miles across Manhattan on my own, I feel pretty confident about it.
I expertly slip between fascinated tourists as though I’ve lived in Manhattan for years. The grid layout of the city has become easier and easier to navigate, especially after walking these streets for a month now, so I’ve got my way around Upper East Side memorized. I reach the station in just over five minutes, and luckily I’ve got my MetroCard with me.
Four weeks ago, the subway terrified me. Tyler had to drag me into the station back then, yet now I’m navigating a new station without a worry in the world. That is, of course, until I reach the right platform. There’s a God-awful stench. The station is sweltering hot, made worse by the flocks of people, and I can’t even try to hide my distaste for it all. Before I came to Manhattan, I never expected the subway to be luxurious or even clean, but at least the other stations haven’t made me want to throw up. I hold my breath and come to a stop, jammed between a woman with a stroller and a group of young Asian tourists. If my mom knew I was down here alone, she’d kill me.
The train arrives after a few minutes, but there are so many people gathered on the platform that I don’t even make it on. I’m not bold enough to elbow my way through the crowd, so I hang back as it fills up and leaves, and then I edge my way closer to the platform edge, silently wondering to myself how long I’m supposed to be able to survive down here before the toxic fumes kill me. I’m scared to breathe, so I close my eyes and hold onto my backpack as tightly as possible as I wait for the next train.
It turns up around five minutes later, and this time I do fight for my space. There’s no way I’m sticking around in the black hole that is the Fifty-ninth Street station for a second longer. It’s packed, so I stand, but I don’t mind. I’m only on it for a couple minutes, just until Grand Central, so it’s not long before I’m off the train.
I’ve been to Grand Central Station numerous times over the summer so far, so I transfer straight to the Forty-second Street shuttle with ease. The entire time nerves are building up inside of me, but I tell myself I won’t back out. I might be acting upon a split-second decision and it might be crazy and it might be stupid, but it just makes sense. It just feels right, for some odd reason, and for that reason alone I keep pursuing my plans, taking the shuttle over to Times Square.
Quickly, I head out of the station when I arrive and follow the map I’m looking at on my phone, glancing between the streets of Manhattan and my screen as I check to ensure I’m still on the right route. I make a left onto the avenue and head two blocks south, just past Fortieth Street and the New York Times Building, and that’s when I find what I’ve been looking for.
It’s nestled above a store selling New York souvenirs and next to Subway, and I don’t even take the time to study the studio from the outside before I head inside. I just want to get it over with quickly, rather than allowing myself to overthink what I’m doing. I do stop on the stairs, however, to glance down at my Chucks.
Tilting my foot onto its side, I run my eyes over Tyler’s handwriting. It’s been four weeks since he told me not to give up. All I can do now is let him know that I haven’t, in the rawest possible way I can think of, and by the time I’m pushing open the door to the tattoo studio, I’m smiling.
I’m just making my way down Lexington Avenue when Emily calls. It’s almost five by now and rush hour is upon the city, with the traffic jammed and the sidewalks bustling. I didn’t intend to stay out all afternoon, but after traveling around, suffering through a two-hour wait at the studio and stopping for coffee and lunch for almost an hour, I’ve ended up returning to the apartment only now. So when my phone vibrates in the back pocket of my jeans, I answer Emily’s call as I continue to walk.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m sort of locked out of the apartment,” Emily says sheepishly.
“What?” I accidentally brush shoulders with a guy as I pass him, and he fires me an indignant glare. I can only shrug in return, and then I scuttle away from him, desperate not to piss off anyone else. “How’d you do that?”
“I’ve been over at my own apartment boxing up some of my stuff and I didn’t think to take keys with me because I thought Tyler would be here. Like, he’s been in bed all day so I didn’t think he’d go anywhere, but I’ve been knocking for ten minutes straight and no one’s answering,” Emily explains, sighing across the line.
“Where’s Snake?”
“I’m pretty sure he took your friend out on a date,” she says, and she’s right. Dean’s already filled me in on that, about Rachael and Snake heading out for lunch together. It’s kinda weird. “At least I think that’s what he said,” Emily continues. “I have no idea; I was still half asleep at the time because Tyler kept us up all night.”
“How is he?” Last night was the worst night of the entire summer and Tiffani was the reason behind it all. If she’d never arrived in New York, if she’d let go of her deluded vision of being with Tyler years ago, then none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have told Tyler those lies and he wouldn’t have reverted to his old mindset, where being reckless is the best distraction anyone could ever ask for. “Tyler, I mean.”
“Hungover, but he was starting to feel a little better by the time I left,” Emily answers with a laugh, like she’s rolling her eyes. “You don’t happen to have a spare set of keys on you, do you?”
“You’re in luck,” I say. “I’ve carried the spare with me for the past two weeks. Never used it yet, though.” Tyler finally trusted me enough to give me the spare, just in case I ever did need to get into the apartment when I was alone, and I’ve had it stored in the zipped compartment of my wallet ever since.
“If it’s not too much of a hassle,” Emily
“Sure.” My voice is loud over the buzz of the city. Like a true New Yorker. “I’m on my way back just now, anyway. I’m only a couple blocks away.”
“Perfect,” she says. “Thanks, Eden. See you in a few.”
Ending the call, I slip my phone back into my jeans. As I head along to Tyler’s apartment I can see the building towering over on the corner of the block, just across the street, but my eyes don’t rest on it for long. They end up drifting back to my wrist and I feel the same disbelief I’ve been experiencing the entire way over here. Even on the subway I stared endlessly, twisting my left arm in every position possible as I tried to get the light to hit my wrist at just the right angle. Even as I climbed up flights of stairs and weaved my way back through the stations, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my arm, occasionally running the tips of my fingers over the Saran Wrap just to remind myself that I’m completely and entirely insane. My dad will quite literally kill me when he sees me. That’s if my mom doesn’t kill me first for traveling around New York on my own.
When I reach the apartment building, I sweep past the mailboxes and head straight for the elevator. In the ten seconds that it takes for me to reach the twelfth floor, I quickly grab a hoodie from my bag and pull it on, ensuring that my wrist is covered. I don’t want Emily to question me about it and I really don’t know how Tyler will react when he sees it. I just hope he’ll understand what I’m trying to tell him, without the need for me to even say a single word. Tiffani said I couldn’t tell Tyler what was really going on, but that doesn’t mean I can’t attempt to show him the truth.
Emily’s sitting crossed-legged by the apartment door when I reach her, looking slightly worn out. She gets to her feet immediately, pushing herself up and smiling.
“Hey,” I say, quickly adjusting the drawstrings of my hoodie as I think about our phone call five minutes ago. I didn’t really pay attention to her words then, but now that she’s in front of me it’s like I suddenly remember everything she said. “I didn’t know you had your own apartment.”