So really quickly I wanted to thank you guys for your patience and understanding. I appreciate it so much. As do I appreciate how loyal you guys are to this story. Thank you. ❤️
*I'm not sure this chapter is all that great, but I wanted to wrap up this certain relationship for now.
I've been listening to Blonde/Endless way too much, so expect a fuckload of Frank Ocean lyrics.
"What could I do to know you better than I do now?
What can I do to love you more than I do now?"
~ Alabama, Frank Ocean
*****
"Tyler?" I stepped out the bathroom, my eyes locking on a figure laying crumpled on the floor.
"What the fu—Tyler?" I threw myself at him, my knees banging against the floor. I frantically checked him for bruises or marks or scars. "Tyler? Tyler, what did he do to you? What did he...did he hurt you?"
I brushed his hair away from his face and cupped his chin, forcing him to look up and into my eyes. He had a black eye and he was skinnier, but other than that he didn't seem to be injured severely. Unshed tears filled his eyes and my heart broke. Nothing else needed to be said. I pulled his head to my chest and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His hands gripped my forearm and suddenly he was shaking.
"Tyler? Tyler, babe, no. Stop crying."
"I..." his voice was hoarse. "I'm so tired, Neila."
"Tyler?"
"Did I ever tell you how I ended up here?"
"No," I whispered. I'd always wondered how a sweetheart like Tyler could end up working for a man like Christopher. I never asked in case the topic was too sensitive.
He pulled away and rested his head on my lap. I stroked his hair, knowing it calmed him. He sighed, and his eyes closed as if he were about to sleep. He looked peaceful, even if for a moment.
"When Chris found me, I was practically dead. You don't even want to know how many drugs were in my system. I was on the street somewhere. Maybe a sidewalk or in the slums or...I don't know. Somewhere, passed out. Barely breathing." His eyes opened and he stared blankly at the wall across the room. "I was laying in the streets somewhere barely breathing, and people were walking past me like it was nothing. No one helped. I would have been dead if Chris hadn't found me."
"He saved you."
"Depends on your definition of 'saved'. I mean, he helped me. Got me to a hospital. Saved my life. But...he didn't save me." Tyler smiled sadly. "He was nice at first. Visited me at the hospital every single day. Brought me books and dvds and food. He talked to me. Made me feel human again. Made me feel like a person."
My eyes drifted shut. I could picture it. Chris sitting at a chair next to Tyler, laying in a hospital bed. It was so easy to see. Chris was good at being the good guy.
He was even better at turning into the bad guy.
"He made me feel good. I felt good for once, Ny. When I was discharged, he took me in. Took care of me. I was so fucking grateful and...I started to like him. Really like him." Tyler's voice started to shake. "He wasn't all bad. That was the worst part. The guy who brought me to the hospital and took care of me is the same guy who starves me when I try to defend you."
"Tyler—"
"And I'm left with those memories. With those feelings. I'm left knowing that Christopher is the bad guy and he always has been. Even when he wasn't."
"I'm sorry."
"And I can't hate him. Even if he reminds me every day that I'd be dead if it weren't for him. Even if he constantly reminds me that I was nothing but a junkie—a gay junkie with no family or friends. Nothing. I can't hate him. Because I owe him. Because I..."
He didn't need to say it. I already knew exactly how he felt about Chris. Chris was breaking his heart, and that was breaking mine.
"He's ruining you, Tyler."
"Maybe. But who's worse? Him for ruining me..." His head shifted, and his eyes met mine once again. "Or me for letting him?"
*****
My eyes watered as I stared at the contact name in my phone. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. My finger hovered over the name, but I didn't allow myself to tap it.
I didn't allow myself to feel hopeful.
Almost as if I summoned him, Niccolò walked into the kitchen, walking right past me and to the fridge. My back was facing him. I was too busy staring at the phone. A thousand and one questions circled my head but only one stood out more than the rest. Why?
"Have you called Roman yet?" His voice was nonchalant, but there was an edge to it.
"No."
Silence. I turned and watched as he pulled out a beer and opened it, chugging some down. His eyes met mine and stayed there. I don't know how much time passed, but neither of us more or spoke. Neither of us were willing to give in.
The phone felt like it was getting heavier and I couldn't help but glance at the screen again. Maybe this isn't what it looks like. Why would it be? This was Niccolò we're talking about. He hated me.
"You're crying."
Was I? I hadn't even realized. My other hand raised up to brush the tears away.
"Just say thank you, Neila." His tone was hard as he turned away. "Just say thank you and call him."
But...he hates me.
"W-Why...?" My voice cracked and I looked at the screen again.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Just say thank you—"
"Fuck that. Why? You hate me. So why the fuck—"
"Enough!" He roared, spinning around to face me again. "I do hate you. And if I didn't need you now I would fucking kill you. So if I were you, I wouldn't ask why. I would say thank you and I'd fucking call him."
My mouth clamped shut. He stormed past me, and a few moments later, the front door slammed shut. My chest tightened as my eyes returned to the phone. Taking a deep breath, I tapped the name and brought the phone to my ear.
One ring. Two. Three. Four. With every passing second, another crack formed in my heart.
It was too good to be true.
I'd never be lucky to—
"Neila."
I gasped at the sound of his voice. My legs gave way and I slumped to the floor, my heart breaking all over again. Tears slid down my face in streams, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from sobbing. All I fucking wanted was to hear his voice again. To know he was okay. To know he didn't hate me.
I cried for a while. And the entire time, he stayed on the line. He didn't hang up. He didn't speak. He let me cry. He let me feel. I hadn't realized how numb I'd been until now. Now I felt vulnerable. Weak. And so very fucking alone.
When I'd quieted down, he spoke up, his voice soft.
"I'm sorry."
I bit my lip so hard it bled.
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
He sounded different. I couldn't explain it, couldn't figure out what it was that made him sound so unlike himself.
"I'm okay, you know. I'm sure you tried not to think about me. Probably hurt less." He sighed. "But I also know not knowing if I was okay was killing you. And I am. I'm okay."
I closed my eyes, and just listened to his voice.
"Maybe not okay as in happy but...okay as in not dead. Not hurt or suffering. I'm...I'm okay." Pause. "And I miss you. I think about you every fucking day."
More tears rolled down my cheeks and I had to pull the phone away from my face so he didn't hear the choked sob that left my mouth. When I brought it back to my ear, it was silent.
Seconds passed. "You there, Ny?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I feared saying the wrong thing. Feared this really was too good to be true.
"Say something," he whispered. "Please?"
I licked my lips. Inhaled sharply. Exhaled.
"Neila—"
"I forgive you."
More silence. And then, "I asked you not to."
My lips twitched. "I will always forgive you."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know that, too."
"Good."
"You should know that this is it."
And suddenly, the momentarily warm feeling I had was gone. "What?"
"This number, this phone...it only works once. Once this call ends, that's it."
"But—"
"It's better this way."
"How could you say that?"
"Everything I said in the letter is true. I need to be happy, Neila. I've been too unhappy for too long. This wasn't even my idea, it was Niccolò's but..." he trailed off. "I owed you."
He owed me. Like he owed Chris. Like I owed him.
My throat constricted. "Oh. So this is it."
He doesn't reply and that was answer enough.
"I'm sorry," I tell him. I was. Tyler was finally okay, and selfishly I wished he was still here with me.
"Don't be."
"Where are you?"
There was a very long pause and then some shuffling. It took him a minute to respond. I expected someplace exotic like Bora Bora, or simple like Canada.
"With you," he says instead. "Always."
"That sounds like goodbye."
"We have to say it eventually."
"Not yet. Please, I just...just not yet." My eyes closed again, and I blinked back tears. I was on the verge of crying again, but I held back. Be strong. "I miss your voice."
"You were always good to me," he whispered. "Thank you."
"Tyler—"
"I love you, Neila."
"Tyler! Wait, I just—" beep beep beep. I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it in shock. No. "No, no, no."
I tapped his name again and put it on speaker. I just need five more minutes with him.
Immediately—
"The number you are trying to reach is—"
"Fuck!" I screamed, my voice cracking.
I didn't hold back the tears this time. They came tenfold, and I didn't even try to stop them. I clutched my chest and sobbed.
This is it.
It finally hit me. I knew why he sounded different.
He was free.
Tyler was finally fucking free.