Tyed - Chapter 65: Chapter 65

Have you ever been in a place where everything is just wrong?
Everything that exists in that physical space has nothing to do with it; it's just a couch or a wall or a person. There's nothing wrong with you, either; you're as alive as you are outside of that room, and you're not sick. You can just hear your heartbeat in your ears. The smell of rot isn't actually in your nose; it's more in your mind's eye, this unsettling feeling, like the place is haunted or the world is about to end.
It's palpable, it really is. The eggshells you walk on, you can hear them crack, not in your ears but in your heart. It's like waiting for a bass to drop, waiting for a jumpscare you know is coming; but that moment lasts forever, for every day of your life until you manage to leave.
But your house is not haunted, because it is not a ghost that put his hand on your shoulder. A hand heavier than the weight of the world, resting so lightly on you. A hand that is dirty and rotten and disgusting and sickening, and yet you are still because you are a deer and every instinct to fight back has disappeared. He froze them.
Tyler's father uses him as a crutch to lean on, and Tyler can't move. He doesn't know how. He doesn't know what he would do. Every action he could possibly take is the wrong action. He wasn't ready because this moment never should have existed. He can't even be angry, because to be angry is to take an action and he can't. He can't do anything. There's nothing to do.
"Could you all keep your voices down?" His voice is... weak. Weaker than normal. He got sick once, had the three of them running back and forth all the time to get him the things he asked for; Tyler remembers whispering to Kali during church with hope that maybe he was going to die. His voice is worse now than it was then. "Leave an old man to die in comfort."
The silence chokes everything. Tyler can't move. These are two worlds, two lives, that cannot exist at the same time, and the same place. He tries to find Colby, tries to hold onto him, but his gaze is frozen in place where he stands. If he acts, that might make the situation real.
It's Scarlett who opens her mouth. "I'm sorry," she says, possibly just to pierce the silence; but it's empty, empty words into an empty room.
"Go back to bed," Carol says, and Tyler finds his gaze flitting without his permission to his mother; her hands are balling into fists. Something cracks, and Tyler falls forward, like he just got put back into a limp body that didn't have the ability to stand. Colby catches him by the arm, and Tyler grips him like a lifeline. He resituates himself at Colby's side, and Colby puts a protective arm around him. Tyler wishes he wouldn't- not because it doesn't help, but because he wishes Colby wasn't here to see this.
Tyler's father steadies himself on the wall again, casting Tyler a glance that Tyler doesn't mean to meet. His skin is droopy, sagging. His pale blue eyes are Tyler's; the long nose, strong lip that wavers in the uncertainty of the moment, his brows, all of it Tyler sees and curses in the mirror every day. The way his skin hangs off his face, pale and blue, mottled and sick, that's new. He's mostly bald, although what remains is long and unkempt, a stark grey, and he's hunched over and heavier set in the way old men get, tired of life. He looks like an image of Tyler's sad future.
He coughs. It's not just a sickly cough; it's long, racking, his body shakes, it's got a haunting echo like it's bouncing off the walls of a concrete tunnel that's getting ever thinner. Cancer, did they ever say where? Or did they just say he was going to die? Because he's pale. His blood doesn't look like it's moving anywhere fast. And in that cough, Tyler can see life leaving him, piece by piece. He looks at Trey, whose gaze is frozen on their father. I want to see him die.
Nobody says a fucking word. Not even Scarlett or Colby. Colby's grip tightens on Tyler's shoulder, and a whole different terror strikes him- terror that feels so small in comparison to the hush that Tyler's father puts on this room; because this is what Tyler was afraid of. The four of them, standing in one room, under Colby's eyes.
Because Carol steps forward, and of his three children who stand in this room Carol looks as much his spitting image as the rest of them; if it weren't for her dark eyes, they could all be twins. "Go back to bed," she says, a little more forced, and Tyler's shocked, because he doesn't think he's ever heard her command him before. "You're making things worse."
Their father looks around the room, shaky body and shaky face, but eyes unbroken. He has that characteristic frown that old people get, like they don't have the energy to smile anymore, but his mouth was always that hard-set. He looks specifically to Scarlett and Colby, like they're in on a joke. "I'm making things worse?" he says, attempting to sound incredulous, but a wheeze breaks it down a little. He breaks into a cough, unable to finish whatever he was saying.
"Why did you come out here?" Colby's voice is low. It's almost familiar, but his tone is cold, without the same underlying warmth he uses when he addresses Tyler- even when he's angry at him. And Colby doesn't sound angry. Tyler feels safe, for just a split second, while he can forget where he is, who's right in front of him.
Tyler's dad forces himself through a cough. Saxon makes eye contact with Tyler, and Tyler recalls their conversation where Tyler begged him not to reveal to Colby the truth. "Begged" is a strong word, but that's how Tyler felt. Funny how quickly all his wishes went out the window. There's hope, however low, that Tyler's secret might stay safe- although who is he kidding? He has to tell Colby when they leave if it doesn't come out now. Today is when it all burns whether Tyler wants it to or not.
"The ruckus," Tyler's dad manages to say. Tyler wishes he'd die a little faster.
Tyler hears a soft noise that might be Colby's teeth clicking in annoyance. "No. I mean; why are you out here?"
Tyler's dad blinks, brow furrowing, as though he's confused. Tyler doesn't buy it for a second. Tyler is proud, that so quickly Colby sees right through this man. That attempt at seeming kind didn't fool Colby, of course it didn't. Nothing does. Pretty sure Tyler never will. Pretty sure he's screwed.
"And just who are you?" His voice wavers. Not his attitude- it's sickness, not fear, although Tyler chooses to think that to some degree it is. No, his voice is weak. He can't make that anger come out anymore. This stupid irrational unreal moment will not be won by this sick, dying old man.
'Cause he is. He's fragile and weak, like Trey said he would be. Like Trey wanted to see him.
It's not exciting or thrilling in any way. It's not fun. It's comforting, to see the vice grip weaken. To see the most powerful man who kept Tyler locked in his hold wavering, to know that, someday incredibly soon, it's going to be over.
Colby tilts his head and seems to consider his answer; but the moment that Tyler's father finishes the sentence, his gaze has moved on. And he takes one, just one, step towards Tyler. It's on shaky ground, and there's only so far he can even step; Colby's grip on Tyler seems to subconsciously tighten. Tyler's not sure this restriction is comforting anymore.
Tyler stares at him, unable to move. His eyes are still in some ways unwilling to accept what they see. It can't be real. Has he said a word? Has he managed to move? He doesn't think so, but he can't quite remember.
"You're looking well," he remarks, in that weak voice. He coughs again, and Tyler can smell his breath, the faintness of tobacco mixed with something so sour and bitter that it might just be his soul. Tyler finally realised that he's being addressed.
It doesn't end there, though, because the nightmare extends; he reaches a hand out, and somehow worse than just leaning on Tyler's shoulder- but he knows exactly why, it's not confusing at all, is it?- his rough fingers reach for Tyler's face, ghost down his cheek. He pokes at Tyler's lip, says, "you look just like me at your age."
It's a split second, but it feels like forever, as Tyler is stabbed with those words, as he still can't move, as he's a passive observer trying so very hard not to let the bubbling emotion- every emotion combined, joined as one, everything he doesn't want to feel- as he keeps that at bay, as he's unable to express it. As he's gone. As he wants to die almost as much as he wants to kill the man standing in front of him.
"Don't- don't t-touch him." It takes a moment to be surprised, but Tyler is. His gaze is locked, but there's a sudden realisation that the room is on Tyler's side, because Trey has always feared for his life even when he was good, silent, obedient. Tyler can hear him moving, hear him stand.
His father's gaze shifting breaks the spell. His hand doesn't move, like it's almost too hard to put it down, but Tyler shifts back and looks at Trey- who stands tall now, bigger and stronger than he'd ever been- far bigger and far stronger now than the hunched-over husk of a monster that stood before them.
"So you're so big now?" their father says, a little huffing laugh. Tyler looks to the others in the room- Saxon's head is still in his hands, and Scarlett seems almost horrified, which is not horrified enough. "You-"
He doesn't get to finish that sentence because his lungs stop him, hacking themselves up into his throat. I want to see him die. Tyler wants to see him die right now. Dead bodies look like wax sculptures of their living selves. He can handle wax.
"You. Can't. Hurt. Us. Any. More." Trey says each word carefully, syllable by syllable, each word forced out with anger and precision. "We're. Done. With. You."
Their father is still coughing, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. Tyler wonders if he even heard Trey. Tyler never actually learned his father's name. He wouldn't even know what gravestone to visit. He kind of wants to see him cremated. Wants to see fire lick up his skin, wax melt, leaving nothing behind, as though he was never there.
"Trey," Tyler manages to say, and he realises his throat has closed up; the singular word breaks a dam and his face is wet. When did that happen? Who's letting him cry? What emotion is this? He's feeling whatever it is so strongly it's crushing him. It might be eight things at once.
Trey nods, his hands balled into fists, his eyes down now. Carol sighs, and pats Trey's arm. She whispers something, and from Trey's nod, it seems like a good thing. Tyler hopes Trey understands what he was trying to say. Hopes he heard the I love you.
Colby tries to whisper something in Tyler's ear. "Do you think-" he gets to, before Tyler's father points roughly up at him- at Colby- all of a sudden.
"You didn't tell me who you are." Somehow, when he's at deaths door, he's still enraging Tyler, because he just brushed past the bravest moment of Trey's life like it meant nothing at all. Tyler makes eye contact with Trey, who crosses his arms and looks away to stare at the ground. He doesn't know what to say anymore. But he doesn't look afraid.
Colby sighs. "I hardly think you should even-"
"Who are you and why are you touching up my boy?" He's fucking rude. Weird how that's what's shocking Tyler. Of course he'd just talk over anyone who tried to speak back to him; you just didn't get that because everyone was too afraid to speak back to him. Then Tyler processes what he's saying.
Tyler is still crying, but it's quickly becoming anger. How dare he speak to Colby like that? How dare he act like Tyler belongs to him, when Tyler is Colby's? Sure, Tyler could belong to himself- but it's so much more comforting in this moment to stand beside Colby like a loyal dog defending their new master against the old, abusive one. Isn't it funny? Isn't it weird? Isn't this whole situation miserable?
Tyler belongs to himself. He's given himself to Colby. And, like that loyal dog, he will defend his master.
"Don't speak to him like that." Tyler scowls at his father. Trey's bravery unlocked his own. "You have no power here anymore."
There's this furrow of his brow that Tyler's father does, turning from blankness to anger. Prison hasn't softened it at all, and sickness has done it's best, but his will is iron. "What're you crying for?" he says, with this weird laugh, rough and scratchy in his throat. He coughs again, and then reaches forward as Tyler's leaning back. "Come here. Don't back away, come here."
"That's enough, Dad."
You ever had a moment that lasted forever?
Tyler's heart drops down in his chest, and everything slows down to microseconds. He feels like vomiting. Carol steps forward with her hand out, and the words she said take a moment to make sense to anyone. Tyler needs to turn around. He needs to see it. Colby. His reaction. Tyler can't turn around. He can't look.
"Don't you tell me-" their father says, and then he gets lost in coughing again, and Scarlett, fucking Scarlett, catches Tyler's eye and her face is horrified. She looks behind Tyler. Makes eye contact with someone very close behind him. Someone who has suddenly let go of him.
"Ex- excuse me," Colby sounds sick. He doesn't say 'excuse me' like he's being polite; he says 'excuse me' like he's clutching for breath, about to explode in anger or fear or- or disgust. "This is your father? Too?"
Carol's face goes white, and she looks at Tyler, and her hands shake, and Tyler can't even be mad at her, he doesn't have the capacity. He should. He should want to hit her, he should yell at her, he should do something.
But he stumbles forward and all he can do is look at Colby. Just to know. He needs to find out, wants to know what he thinks. What he understands.
Carol tries to touch Tyler's shoulder, but he finds himself violently pulling away, without even thinking. He finally looks. Finally sees what's standing in front of him, finally sees the moment when everything falls apart.
Colby puts his hand over his mouth, and Tyler can't help but see it only one way. He sees it as the kind of gesture people do when they learn they've eaten something filled with parasites. And Colby- he tries to hide it. But he retches.
Tyler is gone.
There's this blur of sensations, of hitting a door with your arm to shove it open, of people yelling after him, of wind in his face. But he's gone.
He's gone. It's over.