Author: Estelle Maskame
Category: Romance
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/10329_25
Is Eden still here?
* * *
The hangover I endure the following day is one of the worst I have ever suffered through. It’s why I spend the entire day of Sunday in Tiffani’s bed, sweating buckets, gulping down water, popping painkillers and cursing at myself for being such a fucking moron.
It’s early evening and I am still wrapped up in Tiffani’s sheets, massaging my head and staring at the ceiling. I’ve showered now, so I do feel slightly better. More refreshed, at least. My head, however, is still pounding. I don’t even feel sorry for myself. I’m angry. I passed out at the party, which, honestly, is just embarrassing. Tyler Bruce is supposed to be able to handle his alcohol, not pass out and get dragged home by his girlfriend.
“Are you hungry?” Tiffani asks as she walks into her room, a smile on her face. She’s been checking in on me every half an hour, waltzing into her room in a pair of silk shorts and a tank top. At 8AM, she woke me up to yell at me for embarrassing her last night, for getting too drunk, for acting like a loser. At noon, she was being passive aggressive. By 4PM, she was acting relatively normal. And now, she is being nice. Too nice.
The Devil's Son - ParanormalCheck out the best interactive novels on Whispers: Interactive stories.
“No,” I say. I think I’ll throw up if I eat.
“How are you feeling?” she asks with a sympathetic frown as she joins me on her bed. She sits down next to me on her knees and reaches forward, placing her cool palm to my forehead. Her frown deepens. “Are you feeling better?”
“Not really,” I admit. Her cool skin feels nice against my face, so I press my forehead harder into her hand. I’m burning up.
“I bet I could make you feel better,” she murmurs, and she drops her hand to my chest as she leans in closer to me, pressing her lips to the corner of my jaw. She kisses the corner of my mouth too. Then my neck. Her lips trail along my skin, planting a row of soft, light kisses. She even climbs on top of me, sitting on my stomach with her legs cradling my hips and her hands pressed to my bare chest. She is kissing my collarbone now, and shit, it feels nice.
“Your . . . your mom, Tiffani,” I mumble, my eyes closed, my hands on her waist. I throw my head back into the pillows, enjoying the sensation of her mouth exploring my body. There are not many things I love about Tiffani, but this is an exception. She always knows exactly where to kiss me.
“She just left,” Tiffani says, and she moves her lips to mine.
I wrap one of my hands into her hair, holding her closer to me, and I kiss her deeply and fast, biting her lower lip. Tiffani and I never do slow or gentle. We are always fast, always rough, probably because we don’t actually care about one another. It’s exhilarating, though. We are fighting for dominance, and as I am kissing her, she is grinding against my hips. She tears away from me for only a brief second to pull off her tank top, then her mouth is immediately back on mine. She is kissing me faster now, her fingers intertwining through my hair. My hands are roaming down her body, her breasts, her waist, her hips, her ass. She kisses a path down my chest, all the way down to the waistband of my boxers. She glances up at me and runs her tongue along her lower lip.
But then I remember something.
Yesterday was a blackout. I can’t remember anything from the party, apart from making Kyle Harrison sick, but I remember everything that came before it.
I remember Eden. I remember arguing with her in the house. I remember admitting that I rely on distractions. I remember her lips against mine.
“Tiffani,” I say abruptly, snapping back into the current moment. I grab her wrists, firmly holding them away from my body. I am breathing heavily, and my eyes are wide with panic. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Are you kidding me?” Tiffani says in disbelief, parting her lips. She aggressively yanks her hands free from mine and climbs off me. She is glowering at me with sharp, narrow eyes. “We finally get a free house and you’re telling me not right now? Fuck you, Tyler. Go home.” She grits her teeth and slides off the bed, turning her back on me as she pulls her tank top back on. She heads for the door, muttering something under her breath, probably calling me an asshole.
“Tiffani,” I say quietly, sitting up. I pull the sheets up to my waist and stare at her in silence as she turns around. I am looking at my girlfriend, but I am not looking at a girl I even remotely like, let alone love. When I kiss her, I don’t feel that same adrenaline rush that I felt last night when I kissed Eden. “What is this? Us,” I clarify. “What is it?”
“What the hell, Tyler?” Tiffani says as her expression twists, full of confusion. She looks taken aback that I’ve even asked.
“Just tell me,” I plead desperately. It’s always been at the back of my mind, I guess. “What are we doing? Because I have no idea. We don’t even . . .” I inhale, shaking my head. We don’t even like each other. I can’t say it out loud, though, because it sounds almost cruel. “Why are we together?”
I know why. We are together because it benefits us both, because I get the hot, popular girlfriend to make Tyler Bruce’s life look pretty nice, and she gets the guy who she knows will do anything she asks of him. A guy whose every move she can control. She must know that deep down I’m weak. That’s why it’s so easy for her. I’m just a prop in her life, the same way she is in mine. But we are bad for each other. We shouldn’t be together.
“We’re not talking about this,” Tiffani states. She is clenching her jaw, and I know I’m taking a huge risk here. Tiffani doesn’t like it when I step out of line and do something that goes against her wishes. She always retaliates. “Don’t bring it up again.”
“Maybe we should . . . I don’t know.” I shrug. “You know as well as I do that this is stupid. Maybe we should just take a break or something.”
“How’s selling weed going?” she cuts in quickly, her voice seething. She folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow at me, her eyes piercing straight into mine.
My heart stops for a second. “What?” I say, feigning surprise as though I have no idea what she’s talking about. How does she know?
“You thought I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m that stupid?” she says, rolling her eyes, but her tone is venomous, and she is becoming the Tiffani I really, really don’t like. The one that is devious and controlling. “Last night, while you were too drunk to function, Greg asked me if I knew where you were, because he was just dying for a smoke.” Slowly, she walks back over to the bed, a twisted smile on her face. She knows she’s caught me. “Rumor has it, you can hook people up these days.”
“Tiffani . . .”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re a liar.” She sits down on the bed, crosses her legs, and then grins at me. She is loving the power she has over me right now. It’s almost sadistic. “So, new plan,” she says, her voice sickeningly sweet. “We’re not discussing us again until graduation. Or, you know, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep your secret.” She gives me a small shrug and a frown, then she leans in close and presses her lips to mine again. “I love you, Ty. And you love me too. Remember that.”
I am paralyzed as I watch her leave the room, swinging her hips and humming. I feel sick, but it’s not because of the amount of alcohol I consumed last night. No, it’s a reason much worse than that.
Tiffani is blackmailing me.
33
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
“Broken,” Dr. Coleman says as he angles his computer screen around to face us. I stare at the X-ray of my hand as he points out a bone. “It’s the lunate again,” he explains with a frown. “Of course, it was already weak, so it’s no surprise it has fractured so easily again.” He turns the screen back around and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he begins to type something up.
The small office goes quiet. My wrist is throbbing in my lap. Dad is sitting on the edge of his seat next to me, fumbling with his hands, his foot anxiously tapping against the floor. It’s late morning, and instead of being at school and at work, we are here.
“It’ll heal, though, right?” Dad asks Dr. Coleman. Even his br
eathing is shallow.
“Luckily, it’s not severe,” Dr. Coleman says, glancing up from his screen. “Back into a cast for three weeks, but there’s a lot of swelling right now, so we’ll stick to a splint over the weekend. Bring him back on Monday and we’ll get a cast on. Expect it to take a couple of months to fully heal.” He flashes me a teasing smile, but I can tell there’s a seriousness to his words as he says, “That’s if you don’t break it again first, Tyler!”
Dad looks at the ground again. He feels real bad today, way more than usual. Is it because he can’t ignore the pain he’s inflicted this time? Is it because he has to look at me and see the band-aid on my forehead and the swelling of my wrist?
“Peter,” Dr. Coleman says as he continues to type away at his computer, glancing sideways at Dad, “how’s your father doing these days? I haven’t seen him around lately.”
Dad swallows as he forces his gaze back up. There’s a wave of relief that comes over him, like he’s eternally grateful for the change in subject. “Oh, he’s doing just fine. Keeping himself busy with that damn Corvette!”
“Remind him that he owes me a drink sometime,” Dr. Coleman says with a hearty chuckle. “And a ride!”
Dad joins in with the laughter, and suddenly I feel so alone again. They banter back and forth while Dr. Coleman puts a splint on my wrist, and it’s like the frequency of my broken bones has been forgotten already.
* * *
As we walk back to Dad’s car in silence, I trail slightly behind, kicking at the ground and staring at the black splint that I now have to wear over the weekend until I can get my cast. I should be frustrated that it’s only been a month since I got my last cast off, but at this point, I just don’t even care anymore. It’s all just so . . . Whatever. I guess I’ve accepted it now. This fracture will heal, and then there’ll be a new one.
The thing that’s really on my mind is that I don’t want to go home. I can see Dad’s Mercedes just ahead, but I want to turn around and run away, run back into Dr. Coleman’s office and ask him to help me, that my wrist is broken again not because I’m clumsy, but because Dad is cruel. I know I can’t do that, though. I know I can’t tell anyone. Ever. I know that all of this is so wrong, but I don’t want to be the one to tear my family apart. I don’t want to ruin Dad’s life. He’s my dad.
That’s why I do as I should and climb into the car. Awkwardly, I one-handedly pull on my seatbelt and fix my eyes on the dashboard. I’m waiting for Dad to turn on the engine, to drive us home, but he’s not doing anything. I wonder if he’s mad at me, if he can’t keep his anger at bay until we get home, if he’s going to grab me right here and now in the hospital parking lot. Mustering up an ounce of bravery, I look over at him.
He’s sitting paralyzed with his hands on the steering wheel. He is completely frozen, staring off into nowhere, and I can hear his shallow breathing again. His chest rises and falls, his lower lip quivers. A long minute passes, and then he slowly angles his head to look at me. The expression in his eyes is foreign to me. They are brimming with emotion, wide and heartbroken, full of remorse, of guilt, of regret. He stares at the band-aid on my forehead, and then at my wrist, and his green eyes glisten as they fill with tears.
“Never, ever, ever again,” he whispers as he chokes up. He presses his hand over his mouth as tears break free, his features twisting, his head shaking fast. He can’t even look at me as his voice breaks. “I promise, Tyler. I’m never going to hurt you again.” He huddles over the steering wheel, muffling sobs as he covers his face with his hands, his body shaking. “I’m sorry. I am. I really am,” he splutters, but he’s breaking down so quickly that his words are almost unintelligible.
I’ve never seen Dad cry before. Not once in my twelve years of living. He once told me only weak men cry. Does that mean he’s weak now? Does that mean he’s not strong enough to hurt me anymore? He says sorry a lot, but not like this, not with so much meaning.
That’s why I believe him.
34
PRESENT DAY
Monday is a bad day. It’s the afternoon, but I’m still in bed. Staring at my ceiling. Listening to the silence. Overthinking.
After I got home from Tiffani’s last night, I went straight to my room and climbed into bed. I’m still grateful that neither Mom nor Dave came upstairs to question my whereabouts over the weekend. They know by now that if I don’t come home, it’s usually because I’m staying at Tiffani’s place. Tiffani, my girlfriend, who is currently blackmailing me.
I can’t stop thinking about it. I was stupid to promise her that I wouldn’t get involved with Declan Portwood and his crew, because now that I have, she is using it against me. If I even so much as talk about breaking up again, she will completely ruin me. She’s done things like this before. It’s how she gets her way, how she keeps me in check, so I don’t even know why I’m so surprised by it.
I groan and roll out of bed. It’s too hot to lie there any longer. I begin to pace instead, pulling at my hair while I try to piece my thoughts together.
Everything has just gotten so much worse in one damn week. I thought my life was a mess before, but now it’s falling apart. I’m working for Declan Portwood. My girlfriend is blackmailing me. I kissed my stepsister.
For a split second when I woke up this morning, I wondered if I had dreamed it. It was two days ago and I haven’t seen Eden since the party. I reach up and brush my fingertips over my lips. It wasn’t a dream, though. I can still feel her mouth against mine. It was real. We need to talk about it, but what is there to say? It was wrong, but I . . . I don’t know. It didn’t feel all that wrong when my lips were capturing hers. Do I really like the girl or was I just impulsive in the heat of the moment?
I heave a sigh and head into my bathroom, careful not to lock myself in. I busted the lock once when I punched the door, and now I can’t close it unless I want to trap myself in. I grab my antidepressants and take two. Today, I do need them. I am feeling low.
Sometimes, I wonder just how different everything would have been if Dad hadn’t put me through the pain that he did. Our family would still be together. There would be no Dave, no Eden. We would still be living in our old house, most likely, a couple streets away from where we are now. Dad would probably talk to me about girls and tell me not to drink anything more than a beer or two whenever I’d go to a party. We’d watch football together, and he’d help me with my college applications, and he’d give me advice when I needed it. And Mom would still be smiling her wide, dazzling grin that I grew up adoring, but she never smiles like that anymore.
And what about me? How different would I have been if things had taken a different path? If my own father hadn’t turned on me? I would be happier, I would be better. I wouldn’t need to resort to alcohol and drugs. I wouldn’t have such a short temper, or so much anger inside of me. I wouldn’t have to put on a performance every damn day to hide all of my secrets. I wouldn’t be so reckless, so careless. I wouldn’t be on antidepressants. I wouldn’t be the Tyler Bruce that I pretend to be. I would just be me, just Tyler, a guy who is happy and living life to the fullest, with friends who actually like him, and a girlfriend who isn’t Tiffani.
But Dad took all of that away from me. Dad has ruined me.
I need Mom right now. She always makes me feel better. No matter how much I let her down, no matter how upset I make her, she is always there for me. She understands me more than anyone else ever could, and when I get myself into these dark moods, I rely on her. I don’t think even she realizes just how badly I need her sometimes.
I leave my room and head downstairs in search of her. I’m not sure if she’s even in the house right now, so it is a relief when I find her tidying up in the kitchen. She hears me walk in.
“You’re awake,” Mom says, spinning around to face me. She gives me a small smile. She is always so hopeful, always smiling at me, always wishing that maybe I will be okay that day. “Happy Fourth of July.”
“Mom . . .” I whispe
r as I meet her gaze, but my voice cracks and tears pool in my eyes. My lips tremble, my shoulders sink. I am defeated.
“Oh, Tyler,” Mom says as she rushes over. She knows me so well. She can see the pain in my eyes, the same way I can suddenly see it in hers too. It was always there, but now she’s not trying to hide it behind a brave face. She immediately wraps her arms around me, pulling me in close, surrounding me with her warmth and love.
“I can’t . . . I can’t do this anymore,” I tell her, but my voice is too weak and too fragile and too broken. The words cut my throat. I bury my face into her shoulder as she clings onto me even tighter, and I’m not even trying to fight back the tears. I break down every couple months, but it never gets any easier.
Mom holds me. She is crying too. I can feel her chest heaving against me as she sniffs. She doesn’t say anything for a while, but I don’t need her to. Just hugging her is enough. Sometimes, I think the only reason I’m still here is because I’m trying my best to stay strong for her. I can’t break her more than I already have.
“I get it,” she finally murmurs, but her voice is full of heartache. She has to force the words out, one by one. “You’re allowed to feel like this, Tyler. You have every right to,” she says, and she buries her face further into the crook of my neck. “It can all become too much sometimes.”
Suddenly, I hear the echo of the front door closing, and Dave is cheerily calling down the hall, “Guess whose work let out early?”
It’s almost a reflex to immediately pull away from Mom despite how tightly she’s holding onto me. She is the only one I will ever allow myself to be vulnerable around. Quickly, I wipe away the tears from my eyes as I walk across the kitchen, taking a deep breath, filling my lungs. I can feel Mom staring after me, but she knows I can’t stick around. I pull open the patio door and step out into the backyard. I collapse down onto the grass by the pool, squeezing my eyes shut and burying my face into my hands as I cry.