The silence in my room felt heavier than the darkness.
I'd been lying here for hours,no music, no light, just the occasional sound of my own breathing and the pounding in my chest that wouldn't slow down. The spiral was like quicksand; the more I thought, the deeper I sank. I kept replaying the moment over and over, like I could somehow rewrite it if I thought about it enough.
But the doorbell broke through my thoughts, sharp and unexpected. I froze. Mom wasn't home yet,she is working late and Mr Morgan is picking her up.
A knock followed, this time against my bedroom door.
"Ben?" Tyler's voice.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me. "What do you want?" My voice came out hoarse.
There was a pause, like he was deciding how much effort I was worth tonight. Then the door creaked open anyway.
He stepped inside, closing it behind him, his face shadowed in the dim light from the hall. "You weren't answering your phone."
"It's dead," I muttered. Not a lie, but not the reason.
Tyler didn't buy it. "You've been ignoring me.".
He said it like an accusation, but I caught the flicker of worry under it.
"I just… didn't feel like talking." I avoided his eyes. If I looked at him, I knew my walls would start cracking.
He moved closer, stopping at the edge of the bed. "You look like hell."
"Thanks. Really boosting my self-esteem there."
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. "I'm serious. What's going on?"
And for a second, I wanted to tell him everything—how the thoughts in my head wouldn't stop, how I kept feeling like I was losing pieces of myself in ways I couldn't fix. But before I could open my mouth, the front door slammed downstairs.
We both froze. Voices floated up—Mom's, sharp and frustrated, and Mr. Morgan's, low and strained.
"Great," I muttered.
Tyler glanced toward the door, then back at me. "Stay here."
I was already sitting up. "Like hell I will."
We slipped into the hallway, the voices growing clearer.
"…you can't just keep dismissing it, Mark!" Mom's voice was trembling, the way it did when she was barely keeping herself together.
"I'm not dismissing anything, Claire," Mr. Morgan shot back. "But you're blowing this way out of proportion—"
We reached the top of the stairs just in time to see Mom throw her bag onto the couch, her hands shaking. "It's not out of proportion when it's about your son."
Tyler stiffened beside me. "What about me?"
They both looked up, like they'd forgotten we existed.
Mom's eyes darted to me, then to Tyler. "It's not—"
Mr. Morgan cut her off. "This isn't the time—"
"Then when is the time?" Tyler's voice was sharp now, the kind that could cut through any excuse.
I felt like an intruder in my own house.
Mom's jaw tightened. "We'll talk in the morning." She grabbed her bag again and brushed past us toward the stairs.
Tyler didn't move until the sound of her bedroom door closing echoed through the house. Then he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "She's hiding something."
I swallowed hard. "Yeah. But I'm not sure we're ready to know what."
For a moment, we just stood there in the empty hallway, the weight of whatever that was pressing down on both of us. And somewhere under all of it—my spiral, the tension, the fight—I felt his eyes on me.
Not just looking. Seeing.
It was almost enough to make me believe I wasn't completely alone.
Mr. Morgan had retreated upstairs to join mom after a half-hearted attempt to ease the tension, leaving just me and Tyler sitting across from each other, the space between us loaded with everything unsaid.
He was watching me like he always did—too closely, too sharply—like he thought if he stared long enough, I'd start spilling the truth without words. But I didn't. I couldn't. My chest was still tight from the spiral I'd had earlier, the one I swore no one would ever see.
"You've been off," Tyler finally said, his voice low, almost careful. "Not just tonight. For a while now."
I swallowed hard and forced a shrug. "I'm fine."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes refusing to let go of mine. "Ben, stop saying that. You're not fine."
Something about the way he said my name cracked through me. My throat tightened, and I hated how much he could see—how much he noticed—when everyone else in this house was too wrapped up in their own worlds.
"Don't," I whispered, because I didn't want him to push, not when I was barely holding myself together.
"Don't what?" His voice sharpened. "Don't care? Don't ask? Because if that's what you want, you're out of luck. I can't sit here and pretend you're okay when you're obviously not."
I looked away, my eyes tracing the pattern of the rug, the worn edges that said too many arguments had taken place here. "You don't get it. This… family thing—it's all smoke and mirrors. They don't see me. They don't want to. They're too busy playing perfect."
Tyler's jaw flexed, like he wanted to argue, but instead he exhaled slowly. "Maybe. But I see you."
The words hit harder than they should have. I wanted to believe him, but shadows clung to me, whispering that being seen was dangerous. That if I let him in, he'd walk away like everyone else eventually did.
Before I could say anything, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Mom appeared, her expression tense, Mr. Morgan right behind her.
"Boys," she said carefully, "we need to talk."
The pit in my stomach deepened. Her tone wasn't casual,it was the kind of tone that meant something was about to shift, and not in a good way.
"What now?" I muttered, but Mom shot me a look that told me to hold my tongue.
Mr. Morgan cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses like he was about to deliver a lecture instead of a conversation. "There are things about this family dynamic we haven't been upfront about. And it's time we set everything straight."
Tyler sat up straighter, instantly tense. "What things?"
I stayed quiet, my pulse racing. Because if I'd learned anything, it was that "family talks" always left bruises no one could see.
And deep down, I had a feeling this one was going to leave scars.