“Chill,” he mutters. Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head and saunters downstairs, leaving me in peace to get ready. It’s okay for him to waste time. He’s a guy. They take ten minutes to get ready: to shower and pull on a fresh shirt.
So while I hear him turn on the TV downstairs, I head into my bathroom and throw myself into the shower to carry out tedious womanly duties involving shampoo and razors. My hair doesn’t take too long to dry afterward, and I decide to go for loose curls tonight. I don’t put in too much effort, mostly because there’s no one in this city that I’m trying to impress, so once I’ve got a comfortable amount of makeup on, I slip into my dress and a pair of heels and check the time: 8:49 p.m.
I step out of my room at the exact same time Tyler does. He looks as though he’s ready to leave. He’s wearing a white T-shirt underneath a black leather jacket, and despite how simple his outfit is, it looks extremely attractive on him. The more I think about it, the more I realize he always seems to look good whether he’s wearing boots or sneakers or a shirt or tank top. There’s the strong scent of cologne lingering in the air too, which only adds to how perfectly put together he looks right now. It reminds me of the cologne Tiffani was complimenting him on that day in the American Apparel fitting rooms. The Bentley one.
And so I give in. “I’m about to go over. Are you coming with me?”
Slowly he runs his eyes over me, making me feel super self-conscious about the keyhole aspect of the dress. Finally he murmurs, “I actually gotta head out real quick.”
“Where?”
“Just somewhere,” he says, and it’s abrupt, like he doesn’t really want to answer me. “Just go over. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“But where are you going?” I press. There’s something in his eyes that’s making me feel uneasy. Suspicious, even. He can’t look at me, his hands balling into fists by his sides, his lips almost twitching.
“Damn, Eden.” He throws a hand up in frustration, turning away from me and storming back into his room. So I follow him into the dull room with the closed curtains and no lamps on, and I squint at him through the darkness.
“Why are you getting mad?” I question as he runs his hands through his hair. For some reason, he’s getting really stressed out. “I’m just asking where you’re going.”
“I’m going to meet someone, alright?” he almost yells at me, his entire body rigid as he locks his eyes on mine. “I’ve got shit to pick up and you gotta back off about it.”
I stare at him, noticing his eyes and the way they shift so quickly, changing shades and growing deeper. I can even see his chest moving, almost feel his heart racing. “You’re meeting Declan,” I state. It’s not even a question. It doesn’t have to be—it’s obvious. “He’s not going to the party so you’re going out to meet him instead. Right?”
His shoulders sink, his eyelids collapsing shut as he exhales. I listen to his breathing as he shakes his head. And when his eyes open again, he’s livid. “Just go to the fucking party already.”
“No,” I say firmly, standing my ground. It’s about time someone did something to fix the problem rather than ignoring it. “I’m not letting you go out to meet him.”
“Eden.” He swallows, the quiet force of him saying my name only infuriating me even more, and he takes a step toward me, leaning down a little so that we are level in height. His eyes pierce mine in a way that is almost terrifying. “You can’t do anything about it.”
“You’re right,” I say, my voice growing harder, if not a little shakier. His face is in such close proximity to my own that I feel as though he’s stealing my oxygen, and I find myself struggling to keep the words coming out. But I force myself to keep going, because I can’t back down now. “I can’t do anything about it, because you don’t care. You don’t care about the fact that I’m worried that you’re going to overdose one night or have a bad reaction or end up dead. You don’t care about the fact that you’re seventeen and hooked on coke. You don’t, do you?” He doesn’t speak, only stares back at me, his eyes somehow growing even narrower. “You only care about looking cool at parties, trying to impress people with this whole badass image you’re trying to pull off. It’s pathetic.”
Tyler shakes his head. “That’s not why I do it.”
“Then why? Is it because you’re trying to fit in with those lame friends of yo—”