American Sweethearts

63

I pace back and forth over the kitchen tiles, impatiently waiting for Tyler to wake up. It's bright and early Tuesday morning - far earlier than I've ever purposefully woken up before. And I've been up for an hour already. My first cup of coffee is long gone.

For all I know, Tyler is already up. But there's no way he's left the house. It's 9am. No sane person leaves the house before 9. Hell, before 12 even. It's the law of college students.

Besides, Tyler is usually sober in the morning. That means we can have a normal conversation without the influence of alcohol making him violently angry.

And I'm not giving up. I'm going to wait here until he comes out of his room, so we can talk. Even if he doesn't want to, I'll make him. We have to talk. I'm tired of being sad. I'm taking control of the situation, just like Steph told me to do when she came over last night.

I'm surrounded by strong women, and I'm one of them too. I can do this. I can do this.

"Morning," Owen smiles, entering the room. He sits down at the breakfast bar, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Are you alright? You're never up this early."

"Yeah," I nod. "I'm fine."

"You sure about that? Lena told me what happened last night."

"I'm fine, Owen," I insist. "Really."

"Alright," he purses his lips, shooting me a suspicious look. But I ignore it. I really am fine. I'm just... desperate. And trying to stop myself from having a mental breakdown.

"What time does Tyler usually wake up?" I ask.

"Like... seven. Why?"

"Seven?" I scowl. That's too early.

"Yeah, he goes to the gym. Why?"

"I'm waiting for him."

"He might be home," he shrugs. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"And he was drunk last night, right?"

"I think so," I nod. "At least, he was drinking."

"He's probably home, just sleeping."

"Okay," I let out a sigh of relief. I'm not wasting my time. He's here. I just need to wait it out.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to talk to him?" Owen asks.

"Definitely," I nod. "We need to talk."

"I'm not sure if he's ready."

"When will he be?"

It's been long enough. How can he still be so worked up by it? Doesn't he want to fix it like I do? I need answers. I'm going crazy.

"I don't know..." Owen hesitates. "This is Tyler. If anyone can overexaggerate, it's him."

"He's not exaggerating," I defend. "He's emotional. He's hurt."

Owen chuckles, shaking his head. I raise my eyebrows at him, questioning him on the disapproving look in his eyes. But he doesn't say anything negative. He gets up out of his chair, and walks down the hallway. I follow him with my eyes. He knocks on Tyler's door.

Shit.

"Yo, Tyler," he calls. "You up?"

"Yeah, man," he yells through the door. Owen opens it. I peek over his shoulder, curiously trying to see what he's doing, but simultaneously trying to hide.

Tyler isn't in his bed anymore. He's standing beside it, stuffing a pair of boxing gloves into his gym bag. He must've showered at some point last night, or earlier this morning- before I woke up. He looks clean, but his room still reeks of weed. At least he looks awake now. In fact, he doesn't even look angry