When Tyler woke up in the mornings, at 5 AM sharp, his first thought was, always, why the hell he was up this early.
He usually had a hangover, or an all-nighter, or a hot date, occupying all of yesterday evening and today early morning. According to the laws of the universe, freshman Tyler Lockwood should be peacefully dozing off until the mid-afternoon sun shone through his blinds, and drooling all over his cashmere pillows.
So sitting up against his headboard with the wood digging into his spine, staring at the lifesize poster of the unknown PlayBoy model on his door while his roomie OD'd on the floor in the asscrack of dawn, was not normal.
His second, but most troubling thought was: why didn't I dream last night?
Tyler rubbed his eyes tiredly, the burn feeling like bucket of ice water. With black dots in his vision, he glanced at the calendar on the wall opposite him, using the sparse light from his night lamp to read the words.
He blinked owlishly at the date. 4th of September. It had been roughly four months since Tyler died. And came back.
And had a dream.
"I'm going crazy," he muttered to himself, running his fingers through his close-cropped hair. From the compact mirror on his bedside table, he noticed how it stuck in all directions. God, he looked like a mess. Cursing at himself and the world (the world mostly), Tyler clambered out of his bed, in a most ungraceful fashion, and plodded across the wooden floor to the bathroom.
The darkness of the room didn't hinder him, even without his former excellent vision – he could find his way easily. His early morning visits to the bathroom had become routine for the past few months, including various other morning activities: stubbing his toe against the bath, splitting his cheek open with a razor, and brushing his teeth. Basically stuff other students did, except most of them were either asleep or comatose from their fraternity parties, at this point in the day.
He sighed with regret. Another thing he missed, too. He could join a fraternity, if he wanted to; he had the money, charisma, and not to mention his aptitude at football (for what he lacked in height, he made up in sheer talent).
But he just wasn't ready to face the toils and troubles of college life, and deal with other students. Having missed his senior year of high school, being on the run, and just not interacting with people in general had left him with slight social anxiety. He avoided social situations like the plague. He hadn't even had a proper beer in months.
Tyler slid the cold metal across his chin, careful not to press too hard in any places. It was ridiculous how he had to remind himself to be wary of the blades lest he didn't want to bleed out on his sink. Tyler had never needed to be aware of this while being a hybrid – when he shaved, he might cut his whole face up but would heal in a matter of seconds.
Now, even with his expertise in facial grooming, he watched the dirty foam, muddled with hairs and flecks of blood, slink down the drain.
At exactly 5:15, his phone went off, and he rushed to dry off his hands and tapped his touchscreen. He'd taken his phone into the bathroom, just for this purpose. Tyler disabled the alarm, put the phone into his pyjama's pocket, closed his eyes, and waited.
He wanted to feel the softness of his comforter around his body. Smell the fresh linens. Hear his real alarm chirping in his ear. He waited for that moment – the second he'd wake up in his twin bed, kicking his legs into the air and darting his bloodshot eyes around his dorm, illuminated by the late morning sun. Where he would finally, finally, sigh with relief and think to himself: it was all just a dream.
He opened his eyes and was unsurprised to find his image staring at him, in the mirror. He was still in the bathroom, in fact, nothing had changed. The sink was dirty, he was shaved, and there was no sign of his familiar bed sheets anywhere.
"I don't know what to do," he whispered. His twin in the mirror did not reply.
"So these are my notes of Human Biology, for the first full term. Mind you, I might have paraphrased a little."
Tyler took the plain, purple notebook. He squinted at the first sentence on the first page.
Ain't no party like a villi party!
"A little," he remarked, dryly, raising his eyebrows at her.
Caroline rolled her eyes. "I'm so sorry that all those months of isolation seems to have stamped the humor out of you. See, Tyler, this is why people don't like being around you anymore."
He knew that Caroline meant it in good humor, or so he assumed from the playful glint in her eye. However, their break-up was still fresh on his mind so he leaned back in his chair as far as he could, away from her, and crossed his arms defensively.
"I did not isolate myself."
She pointed a finger at him. "You so did! I invited you to every party on the planet and you didn't show up for any of them. You're a freshman, and you haven't even signed up for a fraternity yet."
Irritated, Tyler swatted her hand away, despite it being nowhere close to him. He had a rush of satisfaction at her darkened face, but it went as quickly as it came.
Riling up Caroline had always been a favourable pastime, but now that the activity was borne out of bitterness rather than love, it was considerably less enjoyable. And made him feel like a sad, old man, finding pleasure in ratting out his neighbour's children to their parents.
He redirected his gaze down to the table he was sat at, and traced the jagged edges in the mahogany wood. The carved letters spelled out COREY + JEMIMA surrounded by a half-drawn heart, and Tyler laughed soundlessly at the irony of it all.
Caroline looked at him strangely, but he ignored her. "I'm not in the mind set for partying, Caroline. Those days are over. And I don't want to go to a fraternity; it's a waste of time, and I know enough people to get around."
His first statement was an utter lie, but the second was one he stood by. Was there any point in meeting new people and bothering to go through that whole 'making friends' process all over again? Except for the occasional small talk at parties, all he needed were the balls to ask for directions to his classes without clamping up.
He couldn't rely on Caroline, his ex-girlfriend, forever. Tyler might have been a human-turned-werewolf-turned-hybrid-turned-human, but even he found that weird. The normal protocol was to never talk or see one's former significant other again after a break up. So why was he stepping into college with Caroline holding his hand?
He grimaced, and shoved away the notebook. It slid to Caroline's side of the table and was daggered by her incredulous glare. Sure, Tyler sucked at Biology: if he had ever graduated, he would have had to get extra credit to pass the class. But he had to break out of this disturbing co-dependency thing he had with the blonde beauty sitting across him, and kindly refusing her life's work seemed a good place to start.
Caroline waved the book around frantically, looking completely insulted. "Excuse me Tyler, I am so sorry these notes are not fancy enough for your despondent ass but I'm sure you can get by for the first couple of lessons!" She shrieked.
Tyler shook his head, dreading to pop her self-righteous bubble. "I don't need them," he said calmly, his voice soothing like balm, or he hoped it was. "I want to get through college by myself. Your notes are alright, Caroline, but I just want to try on my own for a while, 'kay?"
He shrugged, trying to appear as casual as possible so she wouldn't take it to heart. It worked, partly. Caroline's glare was still present but had softened, somewhat.
At least she wasn't gripping holes into the notebook cover anymore, Tyler thought, slightly terrified.
She let the book fall on the table with a faint thud. "On your own?"
Her voice was disturbingly calm – a direct contrast to her pursed lips.
He gulped, and cleared his throat. His hands fidgeted on the table. He wasn't quite sure what to do with them. He wasn't quite sure what to do with any part of his body, actually. The atmosphere at the table grew tense, and suddenly he became nervous. There was deeper meaning in his words, and both of them had realised.
Abruptly, Caroline became one of the random faces in the hallway, rushing to get to their lessons, disconnected from him. He could never reach them. He could not reach her.
Tyler wanted to respond, assure her, or maybe even confirm it if he was brave enough. But he had no words, and his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. A tightness was coiled in his chest.
"I-I-I don't think this is healthy, Caroline," he forced out, cursing himself for his stutter. Caroline's deadpan did not help things along. "We broke up, yet here we are. It's like we're together, but without the sex."
Her eyes widened. A quick look downward informed him that her hold on the notebook had tightened again. "Tyler, what the hell? I just wanted to give you notes, I wanted to help you …"
He held his hands up. "I know! But I'm not just talking about now, but really anytime else. Isn't it slightly disturbing that you, my ex-girlfriend, are the only person I've properly spoken to in the past week and the only person who I have on speed dial? Whenever you're not with Elena, you're with Stefan. Whenever you're not with Stefan, you're with me. And I'm always with you. Do you know why we broke up? Do you know why we didn't get back together again?"
Caroline crossed her arms, a satisfied expression sitting on her face that told Tyler she had been waiting for this moment, this chance to release whatever pent-up frustrations she kept.
AN: I don't know what this is. I found this in my drafts, I wrote it ages ago, and thought why the hell not? I might write follow up chapters.