Tyler Moore Part I

I met Tyler at a senior party. Being a sophomore, he probably wasn't invited, but it was a wild party; there were lots of drugs to take, lots of people to sell drugs to, so of course he showed up. When I saw him, he was in the pool making out with a topless girl. He was obviously high and smelled like tequila and sweat. Even so, I couldn't help noticing how hot he was: tall and lean with eyes of a flat, matte dark brown and hair even darker that fell down to just above his shoulders.

Everyone liked Tyler. He wasn't popular, but when he entered a room everyone looked. He never asked for adoration, but that's what he got. He was sweet, funny, and brilliant at school, even if he never turned in stuff and was almost always high. There were rumors about him too, some true and some lies. When he got arrested in eighth grade, everyone talked. When he got some stoner girl pregnant last year, it was all anyone could talk about for weeks (she got an abortion).

There were other things I'd witnessed myself. He got into a few fights and last term I caught him smoking behind the school when I was going to the portables. He put a finger over his lips. "Shhh," he said, taking another hit. He gave me that smile he probably uses on every girl, and for a moment I thought my legs would fold underneath me. Of course I wouldn't tell. Why would he think I was a narc?

Tyler and I were polar opposites and I knew it. He took one look at me that day, in my preppy jeans and top with my hair pulled back in a pony tail and knew I was just like everyone else in this small town. A good girl but very mediocre, destined for community college or perhaps state, destined to grow up to be just like my mother, doing the same old thing until I die from natural, boring causes.

But Tyler was something too big for even this town. He was too smart, too strong, too worldly. He was bored by everything around him because he had been too many places and had seen and done too many things. And of course, everyone at Lincoln High School couldn't get enough of him and his adventures.

I wasn't having much fun that night at the party. I was only a sophomore, too timid and too afraid to try any of the things that everyone else was doing. Rachel, my best friend who had got us in, was drinking fast and getting to know everyone at the party. She had always been the outgoing one. She had this hundred kilowatt personality that touched everyone around her, even when she was stoned.

I was sitting inside the kitchen feeling like a total loser. The fancy windows along the back wall gave me a clear view of the backyard and of all the people who were having a great time. Inside, the house was still and dead quiet except for the distant sound of the stereo outside. I turned away from the windows, sat at the table checking my text messages.

Suddenly the door opened fast and someone ran past me and opened a door to an adjacent room. Then nothing. I started reading my texts again, but then I heard a groaning noise. It sounded awful, like a dying animal. After a few seconds I had to get up and see what was going on.

"Are you alright...?" The answer was right in front of my feet. There, on the floor of the bathroom was Tyler Moore surrounded by his own vomit. Kind of typical of a party for kids to be throwing up, but he looked worse than drunk.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" I asked.

"Never...mix...heroin and beer," He moaned. I had a hard time working out what he was saying because he was slurring so badly.

"Oh my god how much did you take?" I asked. Not that I was some expert on heroin. "Are you okay? Do you want me call for an ambulance?" He looked awful. His hair was matted and smelly and his face was flushed.

"No!" He said, more alert than before. He reached up an arm in a sad effort to grab my arm, dropped it back down like it was numb. Whatever heroin does to people, I was not going to be trying it soon. "No doctors!"

"Then what?" I asked, kind of hysterical. With the arm thing and his droopy eyelids and barely comprehensible speech, I was really starting to freak out. Was he dying? Was this what heroin overdose looked like? I didn't know the first thing about drugs. (I'm a good girl, remember?)

He tried to stand up. Failed. Tried again and stood leaning against the wall. "Theressum peels anda needel," he stated. "onthafurstflur, secunddurontharight onthanightstund."

"Pills? Needles?" I asked exasperatedly. "More drugs?"

"It counteracts thaheroin you shhtupidbitch!" He said, much more comprehensible this time. "Hurry!" I decided he probably had more experience with treating heroin overdose and ran up the stairs. There was a prescription bottle on said night stand next to a hypodermic needle. I grabbed them both, ran down the stairs so fast I almost fell.

He took the pills out of my hand and swallowed a mouthful, dry. Then he ripped the cover off the needle, stabbed it in his arm (I flinched) and pressed the fluid into his bloodstream with an oddly calm expression.

"So are you going to be-"

"I'll be fine, " he grunted, still slurring.

"Are you sure?" He still looked pretty messed up.

"Yes! Leave, now, please!" he shrieked. He started crying and covered his face with his hands. This was a side of Tyler Moore I was sure nobody had ever seen before.

I put my hand on his shoulder and when he didn't push it away I sat down next to him. His whole body was shaking and after a while he doubled over and started crying really hard. All I did was rub his back awkwardly and tell him it would be ok, but it seemed to calm him down a little.

Later on, everyone was leaving, all of them loud and drunk and happy. When they passed, I could hear a few people musing about where Tyler went. They didn't know he was right there, in the bathroom because he had asked me to close the door and lock it. He also told me to leave again (this time in a nicer way) but he looked pretty sick still and I didn't want to be the one responsible for the most beloved boy in town's death.

I texted Rachel (I was going to sleep over at her place that night) and told her I'd caught a ride with someone else, which she probably took to mean that I was spending the night with a boy. Technically I was, but not the way Rachel was probably thinking.

I spent the night in Tyler's room, periodically giving Tyler glasses of water and more pills and needles that seemed to be everywhere while he turned on his bed, sweating and moaning. I asked him several times if he needed a doctor but he insisted that nobody know about this. If doctors found heroin in his system they'd contact his parents, the cops, school, everyone. We made a deal. If he passed out I was allowed to call for an ambulance. If he was fine, I never told a soul about the crying-in-his-own-vomit thing.

The next morning I woke up to a door closing. I had fallen asleep on a chair and my neck was cramped up. The door I'd heard shut was the door to Tyler's upstairs bathroom. Before I knew it, Tyler entered the bedroom with nothing but a towel around his waist.

"My bad," he said, grabbing some clothes out of a drawer. He left and returned with just some pants on, giving me a good view of his body. I told myself to stop thinking about it, but it was no use. I couldn't believe I'd spent the entire night in the same room with him.

"So," he said. The red had left his face and his hair was clean. He didn't smell like sweat or beer anymore, and the shadows under his eyes from staying up all night made him look even better. "I feel much better now, so I guess you can leave."

His flat black eyes wouldn't look directly at me. What was that I was seeing? Embarrassment? Humiliation? I guess I'd be embarrassed too if I had thrown up and cried and basically had a total break down in front of a complete stranger. But where's the gratitude? I spent the night up here with a smelly, miserable druggie when I could have been at Rachel's watching Thelma and Louise, eating ice cream, and painting my toenails red.

"Okay then," I said, and we stood up. My hair was messed up, my clothes were wrinkled, and my eyelids were sticky from day-old makeup. "You're welcome."

"For what?" he asked, going through a pile of shirts on the floor and putting on the one he wanted.

"Um, for saving your life maybe?" I said.

"I would have been fine," he said, rolling his eyes

"Like hell!" I said. "Tyler, you couldn't even walk when I found you!"

"I was fine, I just needed to rest," he said.

"Oh, right," I said, raising my voice more with each word. "You had only overdosed on heroin and
mixed it with beer. It wasn't serious or anything. You just needed to take a rest, needed to take a little nap in your own vomit and you'd be good as new!"

"You don't know anything about it!" he yelled at an equal volume. "You don't know if I would have
been okay! You don't know anything at all so just shut up! You've probably never been high before. Bet you're a virgin too."

"I can't believe you're bringing that into this!" I said, blushing. He was absolutely right about me. "And I don't have to do drugs to know how messed up you were last night, it was so obvious you needed help! All I was asking for was a 'thank you!' for making sure you were alright."

We stood there for a while. I was fuming and looking up at him with my arms crossed. He still wouldn't look at me and was instead staring out the window. It was still early; there were birds chirping and I'm sure that if I stepped outside there'd be dew on the grass.

It was going to be such a nice day. This guy might have ruined my Friday night but I still had Saturday. I left him at the window and went downstairs to get my purse. I was about to leave when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Tyler slid in front of the door, blocking me from leaving.

"Thank you," he said. "And..." He winced as if saying what he was about to say was painful for him. "I'm...sorry."

"You're welcome," I said, giving him a small smile. I made to leave again, but he blocked me, rested his hands on my upper arms, and before I could react, kissed me on the lips.

I probably should have pulled away, but this is Tyler Moore we're talking about. Like every other girl at Lincoln High School, I had fantasized about kissing him at one time or another. And I'd kissed guys before, but boyfriends, usually on the 2nd or 3rd date. It was never so impulsive and unexpected and exciting. Kissing Tyler gave me the same thrill lying to my parents did, or driving too fast on the highway when I know I could lose control at the any moment. Tyler had more experience than me. Needless to say, he was a great kisser. No slobber, not too much pressure, and no tongue too soon.

I guess he could tell I was nervous. I was kissing back, but barely. It was so surreal. (I was sure I would wake up in a minute in my bed at home to find that it was still only Friday morning and I had dreamed the entire thing.) He slipped a hand from my arms and around my waist, pulled me gently closer to him so that we were hugging and kissing at the same time.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it was wrong, knew it was stupid. Tyler Moore was infamous for using girls. Oh, and then there's the drug thing.

Somehow we'd gone from kissing in front of the front door to making out on the couch. My brain had gone cloudy and all my thoughts were about Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. I also realize I'd judged all those girls unfairly for sleeping with him. He was a pro at this, it was clear. Those girls didn't have a chance.

He slipped my shirt over my head and off, was reaching for my bra when I shifted my weight, casually distracting him for a moment. The only guy I've ever taken my bra off for was my last boyfriend, and we were together for a year. I'd only met Tyler 15 hours ago and I didn't know anything about him except that he had a great body and was a drug addict. Yeah, he makes me weak but not that weak.

He tried to unhook it again and this time I pushed him away from me, took his shirt off instead to disguise my prudishness. Now I could feel his body against mine and it felt amazing. He kissed me everywhere and tried to take my bra off again. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I let him this time. And now all I was wearing was my jeans and we were practically horizontal on the couch, him feeling me up and kissing me and telling me I'm the most beautiful girl he's ever met.

How many times has he done this before? He persuaded me to take off my bra in 15 seconds without speaking a word when my ex boyfriend had to wait six months! He really was good at manipulating girls, the rumors weren't all lies.

Now he reached for my zipper and I knew this had to stop before it got out of control. I pushed him off of me, sat up on the couch and started looking for my bra and shirt. Where had he put them? I found my bra on top of a lamp and started to put it back on. I discovered a hickey near my left breast. Damn it! When had that happened? My brain had gone foggy when Tyler first kissed me. Now the fog was clearing and I realized what just happened, what might have happened if I had been weaker.

"What's the matter?" Tyler whispered into my hair while I hunted for my shirt. I found it behind the couch, slipped that on, pushed Tyler away from me.

"I think we were moving a little too fast." I told him, trying not to notice how cute he looked with his hair all messed up.

"It could have been faster," he grinned. I wanted to hit him.

"Oh really? So would be fine if we had...had..." I couldn't say it. Not with him smiling at me with his hair messed up and no shirt and little rays of morning light sparkling around him from the crack in the curtains.

"If we had sex?" He asked. "Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah. You would honestly be okay with that? Sex between two strangers?" I asked.

"Well, yeah," he said with a grin. Then his face fell. "Oh wow, I forgot you're a virgin!"

"It's not about being a virgin!" I said angrily. "Even if I wasn't a virgin, I wouldn't sleep with you!"

"Whatever," he mumbles, not grinning anymore.

"We don't have to have sex right now," I said. "I don't even know you. We could get to know eachother first,date for a while..."

He laughed like dating was the most ludicrous idea he'd ever heard of. I stood there with my hands on my hips, waiting for him to say something. Instead he pulled out a joint, lit it, offered me the first hit. I declined.

"Well if you don't want to get high with me and you don't want to have sex with me, what do you with me?" He asked with a laugh. "Just get out. Now. Leave!"

And that's exactly what I did.

Note: This was orginally going to be a one-shot, but since it's getting pretty long I'm going to turn it into a short story. So keep an eye out for Part II, Part III, etc... it won't be really long though.