9. Understand
Tyler leant his throbbing head against the back window of the Hummer. He felt hot, and his brow was sweaty, and his limbs were aching horribly.
His fingers compulsively searched the packet of painkillers for any stray pills he might have missed. The bitter aftertaste of the painkillers pervaded his entire mouth. He wanted more.
His vision was becoming erratic, and slightly blurred. He fought for the mastery of his senses.
More of the pills, the pain . . . pills. More. Please.
He clambered over into the driver's seat like a little boy, unsteady and jerkily. He laughed a weak laugh, but stopped, because it was making his head feel worse.
Fuck the pain.
His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and suddenly he felt powerful. Angry. He screamed hoarsely, a scream unheard by the passersby as the Hummer's windows were rolled up. His foot jammed hard on the accelerator, and the Hummer sped away.
The anger did not last. Tyler had gloried in the anger, screaming at the world, screaming through his pain, and for a while it had seemed that his pain was dulled ever so slightly.
But now the anger was gone, and with it lethargy and moroseness took hold of him.
Tears flowed from his eyes, making the world shimmer, and Tyler pulled the Hummer over to the side of the road. He had no strength, no will, to drive – he only felt the pain in his head, and the sadness in his heart.
The tears would not stop flowing, no matter how much he wiped his eyes using the sleeves of his jacket. He saw how dirty his jacket had become – the navy-blue dye was tainted with splotches of dried vomit, and his profuse sweating had dampened and rumpled the fabric. It was Reid's jacket, he remembered, but he didn't care.
I will kill myself.
He knew it was the only way.
The teenage girl who worked part-time at a convenience store in downtown Ipswich yawned, and rapped her manicured fingernails on the counter.
She stared at the cash register longingly. All that money in there, and here I am almost broke.
The door banged open loudly, and she looked up in surprise at the person who had just walked in.
It was a black-haired young man, definitely older than she was. And he looked really messed up. His navy-blue jacket was dirty, as if he had vomited on himself. He was visibly sweating – his neck and hands were shiny with sweat, and his jacket was damp. She stared at the way he walked jerkily round the store, ignoring her, and his hands fumbled carelessly with the products on the shelves.
She groaned as the odd-looking young man knocked over a stack of shampoo bottles. What a klutz. And I have to freaking clean up after him.
But then she noticed that he was . . . attractive. Sure, she thought, right now his eyes are all puffed-up and vampire-red, and his hair is all sweaty and messy, and his lips are cracked, and he's really dirty, but – give him a bath, and maybe a trip to the doctor, and she would most definitely go out with him. No doubt about it.
The messed-up-but-hot-looking customer approached the counter, and she caught her breath. Maybe he wanted to ask her out.
But he threw a packet and some dollar bills onto the counter, and did not say a word.
It was only when the messed-up customer left that she realised what he had bought – a packet of razors. Bare razor blades. They had looked pretty sharp. For a brief worried moment she thought that maybe she ought to have asked him what he wanted the razors for.
Then she yawned another noisy yawn, and started inspecting her fingernails.
Caleb, Pogue and Reid had assembled in the back room of Nicky's bar. Pogue was nursing his head. Reid sat on the bed, holding Tyler's forgotten bag, while Caleb mused glumly at the vomit stains in the toilet.
"I'm gonna have a fucking concussion," complained Pogue vehemently. "Fuck that Tyler."
Caleb glanced at Reid. "How did Ty end up here anyway?" he ventured.
Reid stared at the floor. "We fought."
"Uh-huh. And?"
Reid raised his head to glare at Caleb's questioning look. "He Used on me, okay? Used on me like he did to Pogue!"
"But what the hell were you two fighting about?"
"Just . . . stuff." Reid's blue eyes were downcast. "Look, we fought, okay? And he came here, I guess."
"There's something wrong with Tyler. Attacking Pogue, throwing up, I don't know, there's something wrong." Caleb walked over and knelt next to Pogue. "You all right?"
Pogue stopped rubbing his bruised head. "It's fine. I'll see a doctor. Whatever."
The three were silent, then Pogue spoke. "Tyler was . . . different. When he attacked me," Pogue hesitated. "Like he was mad. His eyes opened and they were completely black."
"I don't know where he is," muttered Reid, fumbling around with Tyler's bag.
Caleb gave a frustrated sigh and stood up. "Then we find him. We missed swimming practice anyway."
"Fuck swimming practice," commented Pogue.
Pogue said he would take a drive round town in his Ducati motorcycle, and look about for Tyler. Caleb said he would walk round the Spenser Academy grounds to search for the youngest Son. "No need to involve the police, at least not yet," said Caleb emphatically.
Reid thought he would just return to the dorms, and catch up on some sleep, and maybe think about where Tyler might have gone to. Maybe not. If you're still mad at me, Ty, I don't care.
Tyler swallowed, still tasting the bitter tang of the painkillers. His hands were sweaty, making it difficult to grip the steering wheel, but he paid no heed to it. He was thinking about a suitable place where he could kill himself.
A bathtub? The shower room? The locker room? Swimming pool? His own Hummer? His dorm?
The packet of razors lay unopened on the passenger seat. It would be opened soon. Very soon.
The evening sky was a brilliant orange. Soon it would be dark.
Tyler sat on his bed, back in his dorm at last. He had become intimately acquainted with the razor blades he had bought, fingering the sharp edges fondly, pressing the blades into his palm to the point where his skin was very nearly pierced before stopping. He tried licking a razor blade to see how it would taste like. It had a metallic tang, and was cold against his tongue. He wondered if slitting his wrists would be painful. He had heard that dying from loss of blood was painful at first, but after that it was like falling into a deep sleep. Plenty of time to find out.
First things first. He removed the jacket he wore, then the shirt beneath. He was half-naked, but he ignored the chilly air on his bare chest. He took off his jeans, and was now clad only in his grey boxers. He placed the razor blades carefully beside him on the bed. This was it. This was goodbye. Fresh tears ran down from his eyes, but he did not know why. He didn't care anymore, anyway. He lay back and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he ought to slit his right wrist first, or his left. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except the pain in his head which would not go away, and the sadness which welled up in him.
He took a razor blade gently in one hand.
And then the doorknob shook. Someone was trying to get in. He had locked it earlier.
Tyler tensed up momentarily.
The sound of a key pushing through the doorknob, a twist, and suddenly Reid was in the room.
No words exchanged. Silence.
Tyler still held the razor blade in his hand, frozen. Caught.
Reid walked over slowly to Tyler, reached out and gently took the blade from Tyler's hand. Tyler gave no resistance. All energy had betrayed him. Reid gathered the razor blades, one by one, and threw them into the bin. Then Reid went back to the bed and took an unresisting Tyler in his arms, and pressed his lips to Tyler's.
Hoping that a kiss, and a hug, would banish all thoughts of self-mutilation. Hoping that Tyler would find hope in the kiss, in the hug.
So Tyler smiled, and kissed back. And Reid sighed inwardly in unspoken relief.
Then Reid pushed Tyler back down onto the bed, and enveloped the boxer-clad Son in his arms, refusing to let Tyler go, afraid of what Tyler might do if set free.
Not long after that, Reid fell into slumber, leaving Tyler awake and staring longingly at the bin, trapped in Reid's arms. The razor blades were in the bin, just out of reach.
But there was always tomorrow.