Just Don't Mention It by Estelle Maskame
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Mom,” I spit at her, aggressively shaking her hand off my shoulder. She has no idea what sort of hell Tiffani has put me through for years. Tiffani is far, far from innocent.
Mom’s face falls. “Wow,” she says. Her expression is blank and she blinks at me, stunned that I’ve cursed at her like that. I couldn’t help it. My temper is way too short.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m going grocery shopping, then picking up Chase,” she interrupts, walking away from me. She won’t meet my eyes now, either. She only grabs her purse and her car keys from the hall table and heads for the front door. She maintains a hardened expression, despite how much I know I’ve just hurt her. “If you need me, then too bad,” she calls over her shoulder, then slams the front door behind her.
“Fuck!” I finally yell out loud. Why can’t I control myself? Mom doesn’t deserve the way I just spoke to her. I shove my hand back through my hair and sink down onto the foot of the staircase, grinding my teeth as I grab my phone from my pocket. I’m so pissed off that my hands are trembling with rage as I pull up Declan’s number, and I send him a message that I have sent so many times before: Today is getting messy. Keep the good stuff on standby for me.
45
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
I almost forgot just how much bruises can hurt. They decorate my skin in shades of blue and purple, running around my shoulders and my arms, and there’s a large cut along my ribs from falling into the corner of the desk in my bedroom two nights ago. It has started again. Dad is always mad now. I think he always has been but was just able to keep his temper in check for a month. It was amazing while it lasted, but I should have known it was too good to be true. He is back to his old ways now. I think it’s even worse, actually. Every single night for almost a week now, Dad has thrown me around. I have taught myself to zone out again, because every night it seems to get worse. It’s like Dad has a month’s worth of pent-up rage that is finally exploding.
I haven’t been focusing in classes this week. I’ve been acting out again, and Mr. Hayes has already called me back to his office for another talk later this afternoon. I feel sick with nerves at the thought of it. What do I tell him this time? That the only reason I straightened up over the past month is because I was happy for once? And I was hopeful? And I felt safe? And now I’m not happy, nor hopeful, nor safe?
It’s lunch on Thursday, and we are back at our usual table in the cafeteria, and I am back to being the quiet one sitting at the end of the bench. My friends are talking, they are laughing, but I am tuning them out. My gaze is locked on a random spot on the table, my shoulders are slumped low, my breathing is deep.
I’ve decided: I hate Dad.
I trusted him when I shouldn’t have. I believed him, but that was a mistake. If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have broken that promise. Hell, if he loved me, he wouldn’t have ever needed to make such a promise in the first place. He doesn’t love me enough not to hurt me.
So why am I protecting him?
Why am I covering up his mistakes on his behalf? Why do I tell people that I tripped, that I fell down the stairs, that I got hurt playing in the yard with Dean and Jake? Why am I accepting these bruises? These cuts? These scars? Why am I living with them, when I can get it all to stop by just telling someone? Anyone. But would they even believe me? Dad’s the respected business guy, the one in the shirt and the tie. The one with the Mercedes and the charming smile. Would anyone believe me over him? I’m just a kid, but I’ve been lying for so long that I wonder if maybe it’s too late to turn it all around.
My head is a mess. My thoughts are all over the place, but slowly, a new realization sinks in. It’s not Dad that I’m protecting. It’s Mom, and it’s my brothers. I don’t want to tear our family apart, to break us when they are all so happy. Would Mom ever forgive me for that? I don’t want her to get mad at me too.
Mr. Hayes told me that I could talk to him about anything. Would he believe me? Maybe I could tell him that I’m scared to go home after school. Maybe he could figure out why. Maybe that way, I’m not telling.
“Tyler,” someone says, elbowing me hard in the ribs, right into that cut. I immediately flinch away, tearing my eyes up from the table and glancing sideways at Dean. “Did you hear what Blake said? Are you coming or not?”
“What?” I blink fast, my cheeks heating with humiliation as I glance around the table at everyone’s gazes on me. Tiffani even rolls her eyes and exchanges a look with Rachael. I really need to stop zoning out around my friends before they decide that there’s something wrong with me. I look up at Blake Montgomery, hovering by our table with one hand on the strap of his backpack and his eyes boring into mine. “Coming where?” I ask him. When did he even approach us? Crap, I really have been staring off into nowhere.
“Some of us are getting together after school to play ball out on the field,” Blake explains. He’s a friendly giant, and even though he’s an eighth grader, he always says hey to us in the hallways. I think he’s friends with Jake. “So are you in?” he asks with a smile, but then it quickly falters. He pulls a face, glancing at Dean and Jake with uncertainty, and then back to me again. “Oh . . . wait,” he backtracks. “Your dad doesn’t let you play. Forget it. Sorry.”
Instead of disappointment at the reminder, a new emotion floods through my veins. It’s anger, and I can feel it bubbling inside of me, not at Blake, but at Dad. I grind my teeth together, but it isn’t enough to stop my fists from balling together, trembling from the intensity. It’s only a split second, a fleeting moment where everything inside of me snaps like an elastic band that can’t take the pressure any longer, but it’s enough. I rise up out of my seat and swing my fist straight into Blake’s face.
“Tyler!” the table gasps at once.
Blake falls back onto the ground, staring up at me through bewildered, stunned eyes as he reaches up to rub his jaw, but I am enraged now. I am seeing red. I am seeing Dad’s smile in my head, feeling his bruises, feeling his hands on my shoulders. It’s like a fire that lights me up all at once, and I just can’t take it anymore. I throw myself at Blake on the ground, slamming my fists into him over and over again, my eyes squeezed shut.
I hate Dad. I fucking hate him.
I can hear the commotion around me. I can feel my friends pulling at me, touching all of those bruises hidden beneath my clothes, yanking at my arms, screaming my name. Blake hits me back, his fist hurling straight into my mouth as he tries to shove me off him, but I don’t even feel it. I am numb to pain. I am used to pain.
“HEY!” a deep male voice yells out, and suddenly a new set of hands are around me, firm ones that remind me of Dad’s, and in one swift tug, I am pulled straight off Blake. I stumble back, falling into the man behind me, and when I open my eyes, I see Blake on the floor. I see the cafeteria surrounding us in a tight circle, people pushing through one another to get a better view. I see my friends, Dean mostly, staring at me with their mouths hung wide, their expressions pale with disbelief. And when I crane my neck to see who is behind me, to see who is holding me firmly and dragging me away, my heart pounds even faster than it already is when I discover that it’s our campus police officer.
46
PRESENT DAY
I pace back and forth across the hall for the entire hour that Eden is gone. I have the house to myself, and it is so very tempting to hurl my fist into the wall, but I manage to keep both my temper and the house in order. Something is up, I know it. Tiffani is angry at me and I need to fix it. I have tried calling her numerous times, but it keeps going straight to her voicemail. I doubt she’ll reply to any of my texts, either. The longer I am pacing, the more panicked I’m growing. I should have made more effort with her the past couple days. I can’t afford to upset her right now. Not when she has every control over me.
That’s why, when the front door slowly creaks open and Eden steps foot inside the house, I am desperately begg
“What’d she say?” I ask, my voice demanding. I don’t mean to talk to Eden in such a bitter tone, but I can’t help it right now. Tiffani brings out the worst in me, and I hate it. “What did you say?”
There is no color in Eden’s face. She is white, her gaze dominated by fear, and she shakes her head as she steals a glance into the living room. “Where’s your mom?”
“Picking up Chase,” I answer quickly. I just need to know what is going on. “Now what the hell happened?”
Eden is quiet as she deeply inhales, locking her terrified eyes on mine. “Someone saw us last night,” she says, and her lower lip quivers as she glances down at the ground. “Austin Cameron . . . He told Tiffani.”
God, no. Austin can’t have seen us. My windows are tinted for a fucking reason. “Are you kidding me?” Who the hell does Austin think he is? Now I understand why Tiffani is so livid at me, and she most definitely won’t let this go easily. Is that why she took Eden with her? To confront her? I feel sick at the thought of just how quickly this news will spread. Tyler Bruce and his stepsister . . . I throw a punch now, but only at my own palm. What has Austin done? “I will floor that motherfu—”
“They don’t know it was me,” Eden interrupts, offering at least some sort of reassurance. So Tiffani knows I was with another girl last night, but she doesn’t know who. That’s if the guilt in Eden’s eyes hasn’t already given the game away. “She’s devastated, Tyler,” she says quietly.
I fall silent as I think. This has happened before. I have kissed other girls, and Tiffani has heard the rumors, but she has never really believed them. This time . . . I don’t know. She seems to believe it, and the weight of the situation feels much heavier. Those other girls before . . . Those kisses were meaningless. This time is different, and I know that if Tiffani discovers this information, then she will make my life hell.
“I’ll fix this,” I finally tell Eden. My gaze meets hers, and I really hate how uncomfortable and worried she looks right now. With Tiffani in my life, I should have known that I would inevitably drag Eden into a situation like this. “Look, she’s pissed off. I get it, but I can make it up to her. I’ll tell her I made a mistake, I’ll buy her something nice, and then she’ll forget about it and everything will be fine again,” I say. At least that’s how I usually win Tiffani’s forgiveness. “And then we can figure the rest out.”
Suddenly, Eden’s entire demeanor changes and now she is furious at me too. “Everything won’t be fine,” she spits, glaring back up at me as though this is all my fault now. I guess it is. “Nothing is fine, Tyler! This needs to stop.”
I furrow my eyebrows at her. “What needs to stop?”
“This.” She throws up her hands and motions back and forth between the two of us. She looks exasperated as she exhales and weaves her fingers into her hair. “You have a girlfriend, Tyler. I refuse to be a cheater.”
“You won’t be,” I reassure her. If anything, the only cheater here is me. I like that Eden is the kind of girl to be concerned about this, though. The kind of girl who wants to do the right thing. The kind of girl who doesn’t want to hurt anyone. It’s so attractive to me, and I can’t help but step closer to her, reaching out to touch her elbow. When she raises her voice at me, when she narrows her hazel eyes at me like that, she becomes irresistible. I pull her toward me, leaning in closer, desperate to press my lips to hers.
But before I get there, she pulls her arm free and jerks away from me. My eyes flash open and she is retreating from me, her hands on her hips as she stares at me in disbelief. I figure that, okay, sure, maybe it was bad timing. But oh my God, the things she does to me.
“Are you serious?” she asks. “Now really isn’t the time. Even if you could completely guarantee that she wouldn’t find out—which she will—I still wouldn’t do this anyway.” She takes yet another step back, increasing the distance between us, shaking her head at me. “I am not doing this,” she states firmly.
“C’mon,” I murmur, smoldering my eyes at her in an attempt to win her over. It’s such a Tyler Bruce thing to do, and I hate myself for doing it, because she can clearly see straight through me. She wrinkles her nose at me and then storms upstairs. I turn around and watch her, but before she can disappear out of sight, I tell her, “We can figure this out.” I’m being serious. I will figure this out.
“How, Tyler?” she asks, her voice laced with skepticism as she promptly spins back around, stopping halfway up the staircase. She stares back down at me, her hands resting on the banister. “We only have two options.”
“Only two?”
“Two,” she says, and presses her lips into a firm line. “You have to break up with her.”
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I can’t.” Tiffani plays too big a role in my life. She’s toxic and controlling, but she’s also my safety net. It’s reassuring to know that she isn’t going anywhere, that she’ll always be there to keep my mind occupied when life gets a little too hard. I guess I just like that security, even though I know being with Tiffani is wrong. I think maybe I could survive without her, but breaking up with her isn’t an option. Not when she is using my involvement with Declan to blackmail me. Right now, I’m just not in a strong enough mental state to challenge that.
“Why not?” Eden questions.
Do I tell her? I don’t think I can, at least not without explaining that I am more involved with Declan Portwood than everyone thinks I am, and it is a long, long story anyway. My relationship with Tiffani is a three-year-long mess. “Because it’s more complicated than you think it is, alright? Tiffani’s . . . Look, don’t push it.” I narrow my eyes at her, something I always do when I need someone to realize that I am being deadly serious, then I heave a sigh. “What’s the other option?”
“We ignore whatever we have between us,” Eden answers, and her shoulders sink. I hate the sound of that option, and I think she does too. She is coming from the right place, though, and her honesty makes me want her even more.
“So basically,” I say, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms over my chest, “I get to be with you if I break up with Tiffani? It’s you or her, right?” I look softly up at Eden on the staircase, wishing she was closer to me. I hate that we’re having this conversation. This situation sucks. I am being blackmailed to stay in a toxic relationship that I do actually enjoy being in sometimes, but I also really think there’s something different about Eden that I want to explore.
“Why are you acting surprised?” Eden asks. “That ultimatum is pretty obvious. You should have known that it was going to come to this.”
I tilt my head back to the ceiling and run both my hands back through my hair. “Fuck,” I mutter. I can’t talk about this for a second longer, because I will only end up losing my temper over it all, so I decide to leave while I’m still calm. I head through into the kitchen, and a few seconds later, I hear Eden slamming a door upstairs.
Now I am torn. There is no way I am breaking up with Tiffani, but now I’m worried Eden is going to distance herself from me if I don’t. And right now, I can’t even begin to think about which would be worse: breaking up with Tiffani and having her expose all of my secrets, or never getting to figure out what more could have happened between Eden and me. My head is spinning and I know that either way, I can’t win. I’m feeling hopeless and defeated, but also frustrated with a desire to just relax. I will definitely be meeting Declan tonight. I just need something.
I fetch myself a glass of water, send Declan another message, then head upstairs to my room. Eden is in hers, but I decide not to bother her. I think we both need some space right now. Instead, I pace my room and try calling Tiffani again. I listen to the monotonous dial tone on repeat for half an hour, calling and calling, begging her to answer so that I can at least try to explain myself. My heart stops beating for a second when she does finally pick up my calls, but only to
I give up at that point and hurl my phone across my room, only angering myself more when I hear my screen smash. As I’m reaching down to pick it back up to examine the damage, I hear my door open, and I’m disappointed when Mom walks into my room and not Eden. She must have heard the thud, because she leans against my doorframe and frowns at my phone in my hands. She’s still holding her car keys, so she must have just got back.
“Tyler,” she says.
“What?” I snap. Yeah, I’ve added another crack to my phone. I am always smashing the damn thing, but it always feels so good just to throw something. Sometimes, I wonder if Dad felt the same satisfaction when he threw me around. I hate him, but there are moments where I think that maybe I might understand him.
“Okay, so you’re still in a bad mood,” Mom states, releasing a tired sigh.
“I’m not in a bad mood,” I argue, turning to face her directly. I throw my phone down onto my bed and fold my arms across my chest, staring evenly back at her.
“Yeah, sure.” She purses her lips at me and her eyes grow sad. She lowers her voice and softly asks, “Why did you curse at me like you did earlier?”
“Because I’m an idiot, Mom!” I yell at her. I am craving a buzz more than ever right now, and I am quickly losing my patience. I still feel bad about the way I spoke to her earlier, but I really can’t deal with her questioning me about it. I’m already dealing with enough as it is.
We argue back and forth, growing more and more exasperated with each other, until finally, Mom gives up and leaves my room, most likely feeling even more disheartened than she did when she first entered. I do feel bad, and I contemplate heading out right there and then to meet Declan, but dinner is soon, so I decide to hold off. It’s only for a couple hours. I can cope until then.