American Sweethearts

25

I pace back and forth over the kitchen tiles, nervously scratching at the skin of my thighs. I sip at my milkshake, hoping it will calm my stomach. I even used a swirly straw to distract myself, but it didn't work.

"He'll be right here," Lena says. "Try not to stress about it."

"I just-," I stumble. "I don't understand."

"It's okay, girl, have a snack."

I shove a handful of chips in my mouth, trying to keep myself busy. My phone vibrates, but its not from Owen. It's just a Facebook notification.

"They'll be alright," Lena assures me. "They're on their way."

"What if the cops come?"

"They won't. They don't even know his name."

No one dared tell them. That would be a death sentence. Everyone in that bar saw him beat up Christian, and it's not an unusual thing. Tyler and fights go together like summer and sunshine.

"They're here," Lena says.

My eyes shoot over to the door. Owen steps in first, but Tyler is hot on his heels. His shirt is ripped, and his knuckles are covered in blood.

As soon as his eyes meet mine, I abandon my cup on the counter and march towards him. He meets me halfway, glaring down at me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" I call. "How could you be so stupid!?!"

"Stupid?" he scoffs. "You think what I did was stupid?"

"Yes! You can't do things like that!"

"And why the fuck not?"

"Because you're on probation!"

"So? You think I fucking care?"

"You sure did when we wanted a party," I point out.

"That's different!" he snickers.

"How?"

"Because my PO can find me here!"

"And he can't out there?"

"No!"

"And that makes it okay? You can't just keep smoking and drinking and... and... risking your life!"

"Why the fuck not, huh? It's my life, not yours!"

"Do you want to go to prison?" I insist

"I don't give a shit!"

"This is your life, Tyler! How could you not care?"

"Because it doesn't fucking matter what I do, I'll end up there anyway!"

His words surprise me. It's like his anger is fuelled by his insecurity. He instantly regrets his words, and purses his lips.

"You will if you don't stop this," I say.

"Stop what?!" he sneers, returning to his emotionless self.

"This! The fighting, drinking, drugs, all of it!"

I swear I've seen him with a cigarette in his mouth more times than without. When is he not drinking?

"And why the fuck do you care?" he spits.

"Because you might not care about me, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you!"

He scoffs. "You don't fucking care about me."

"Yes, I do!"

"Well you ducking shouldn't!"

"How could I not?"