Reckless Youths

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Tyler and I have the house to ourselves tonight. It's Saturday, and we've just come home from a late lunch at his mum's house.

I'm not in the mood to do anything and Tyler is in the mood to watch rom coms, so we're each sprawled in our own unique positions on the couch at 9pm, watching P.S. I Love You with a box of tissues on the coffee table. We end up with used tissues littering the couch and table and floor, me sitting with my legs crossed and the box of tissues in my lap and Ty sitting on the other section of the L-shaped couch peering at me with concern.

It's movies like these that drain me emotionally, so much so that all I want to do is curl up in bed and continue to cry about how life is both too short and completely unfair. Ty never lets me do that, though. He makes me stay on the couch and watch stand up comedy until the tears have dried up and I look half human again.

Except today, he doesn't. Instead, he switches the TV off and turns to look at me, wearing a peaceful expression and an almost smile.

"What are you thinking?" I ask with a sniffle, bringing a tissue to my nose once again. He doesn't answer right away, but decides it is best to when I threaten to steal his new kitten from home.

"You're kinda pretty when you cry," he admits, without the usual teasing that would accompany such a statement. I'm not sure how to take that; as a compliment or an insult or neither. I'm not sure exactly what he'ss saying, but I feel offended.

"What the hell does that mean?" I ask, crossing my arms with a frown.

"You know you're always pretty, Lily," he says, rolling his eyes. "But not many people can pull off the crying thing."

"So it's a good thing, then?"

He nods, but his mind is pulling him elsewhere, away from this room, this conversation; away from me.

This has happened a few times since his nightmare, but each time I've asked and he's blinked his way back to the moment saying "Nothing, it's fine." So I don't bother. I wait for him to come back to me on his own.

The living room is growing cold, despite the warmth I'm getting from Tyler's jumper. My hot water bottle doesn't seem to be in the right frame of mind to warm me up so I stand, on my way to drag my duvet off my bed and onto the couch.

I make it to the doorway.

"Do you want to drink?"

I pause, but I don't face him.

Tyler has always been against drinking, for reasons which are far more than reasonable. If I were him, I couldn't imagine coming within a ten foot radius of alcohol. Even in the three years that we've been eighteen he hasn't been tempted once.

"What's changed?"

"Nothing has changed," he says, his voice light and joking and Tyler-y. "But you're the only one here, and I know I could never hurt you, Lil."

I turn to see him sitting in the same spot he was, wearing his trademark grin. I have to make sure he's doing this for the right reasons, and not using it as a form of escapism.

"You're not him, Tyler. You wouldn't hurt anyone, regardless of whether you were drinking or not."

He gives me a roll of his eyes and walks over to me, leaning against the other side of the doorframe. "I know what you're thinking, and it has nothing to do with running away from my problems."

"Then what does it have to do with?"

"We're twenty one, Lil, and neither of us have had a sip of alcohol. I don't know about you, but I'm dying to see what you're like drunk."