The car ride was silent.

Tyler's parents refused to so much as greet him after they picked him up from a local restaurant his friend had taken him to in order to celebrate his release. They only thanked the fellow convict with a somewhat genuine smile as Tyler climbed into the backseat. No one spoke, leaving many questions hanging in the air. The twenty year-old had expected something, a scoff or a groan or a lecture of disappointment, anything except for what he got.

Nothing. Just the hum of the engine and the noise of cars whooshing past their own. Not even the radio was on, it was so unlike the family he had left behind. A feeling of wrong sunk to the bottom of his stomach as he turned his head to look out the window. Tyler wanted to brush off the feeling by losing himself in sights he hadn't seen in so long. It was quiet.

Oh, so quiet.

—

The eight year-old fiddled with his thumbs in the back seat of the car, absentmindedly listening to the pop song on the radio. The volume was low, but since no one was talking he could still faintly hear it. He looked down at his lap.

Finally, a sigh escaped his mother's lips. "Sweetie." She called his attention with a pet name she often used for him. Immediately, he looked up, hopeful that he wasn't in trouble because of how nicely she had said it. She glanced at the child through the rear-view mirror. "Why did you hit that boy?" Suddenly, he acted as if he had never heard her, keeping his mouth shut and cursing that he wasn't yet tall enough to look out the window. His growth spurt was late. "Tyler." She spoke sternly. "Tyler, why did you do it?" Again, she's met with silence. "Whatever, I at least hope it was worth three days of suspension." She ended the attempt at conversation. Tyler sighed to himself.

He mumbled to himself as they reached the house, his mother leaving the car and Tyler all by himself to gather his things and follow her inside. "He made fun of Evan, and no one is allowed to do that." He stretched out his small fingers, still feeling the sting in his knuckles.

—

"Tyler. We're home." The words sounded stiff and mechanical as his dad said them. Tyler thought for a second that he had gone home with the wrong people until he looked up and saw that they were in fact at his house, and both his parents were looking at him like he was about to say something. He stayed silent. The damage was done, no point trying to explain. "Tyler." He opened the car door, filing outside. He shivered as a breeze blew past, being in only a thin t-shirt he had been sleeping in before he was arrested.

It seemed like only yesterday he had been home with not a single worry in his head.

As he headed up the stairs, still carrying his phone in the plastic bag he had received upon being released in his hand. Tyler half-expected to be called back downstairs by his parents so that they could talk, since they really hadn't ever since they saw him in the interrogation room.

—

The handcuffs dug into his wrists, goosebumps forming on his arms due to how cold the metal table was. He stared down at it, unable to meet their eyes.

His mother was crying, loud sobs that she didn't even attempt to cover up. "Sweetie," she choked out, clutching her husband's arm, "Tyler, honey, it's not true, right? There's no way you could've done what the police officer said you did." Her voice made it seem like she wanted to say more, but she just couldn't bring herself to. Instead, his father spoke a few words.

"Son, look at your mother and tell her the truth. They're wrong, aren't they? You could've have done that to Evan, he's your best friend and you care about him, right?" His father had a different approach to his questioning. Unlike his mother, who was frantic and desperate to learn the truth, his father had a calm, more reasonable approach. A very fatherly approach.

Tyler still couldn't bring himself to look up at them. He didn't want to be the one to tell them it was true, that he had done what everyone was saying he did. There's no right way to tell your family that you're guilty, is there? He sniffed, holding in a few stray tears, not wanting his parents to see him cry.

He did this to himself, he had no excuse. But, his mother leaned in close, he could feel her breath brush against his cheek. "You know Ive never really liked Evan," she was choked up, "so don't feel like you have to protect him if he's lying about this, Tyler. T-this is a serious accusation, you can tell me if it's the other way around." A few stray tears rolled down Tyler's cheeks. How could his own mother be so oblivious to the truth? "Tyler, it's okay-"

"It's true." He whispered, quieting his mother as she sank back down into her seat. He heard his dad take a sharp breath. "It's true." He repeated. "What the police told you is true. It wasn't Evan's fault, none of it, it was all me." His voice stayed quiet, afraid of what his parents would say. Scared of them knowing that he did what he did because he wanted to. What would they say now that they knew he was a monster?

He didn't have to find out.

At that moment, several officers walked in and told his parents that they had to go. Tyler was going to be transferred somewhere else.

His parents left. Their conversation was left unfinished.

—

His room was just as he left it. The sheets on his bed were a mess, thrown in all different directions, as they had been when he had been dragged out of his bed. It was hard to believe that he hadn't been there in two years. Tyler's backpack still lay slumped over at the foot of his bed, schoolwork left unfinished on his desk. The clothes he wore to the party were gathered into a pile on the floor. It was so identical to when he had seen it last that if his parents had told him he had only been gone for the night he would've believed them.

Tyler sat at his desk, turning on his lamp and studying his unfinished work. It was a list of vocabulary terms he had been defining before he left for the party. He never finished them when he came back home. He placed the plastic bag with his phone down next to the homework, wheeling the chair over to his backpack to search for his charger. At the same time, he pulled out his laptop and the charger for that, along with the charger for his phone.

As he was plugging everything in, a picture caught his eye. It was in a solid black frame, sitting on the edge of his desk next to his pencil case. He picks it up, pulling it close to him so he can look at it better. A younger version of himself stated back at him, along with a younger Evan. The picture had been taken the summer of their freshman year. They looked happy, grinning widely with Evan's arm thrown around Tyler's shoulder. He smiled sadly, remembering the day the picture was taken.

It was at Brock's birthday party, which consisted of a road trip into the forest for some odd reason. The group of boys had begged their parents to let them go alone, but they eventually agreed. Tyler had driven with Evan, remembering how the boy had slept the entire drive, his black hair falling onto his face every time he shifted around in the passenger seat.

Tyler remembered how badly he had wanted to kiss Evan in that moment, or at least hold his hand comfortably as he drove. Music playing softly throughout the car so as not to wake the sleeping boy.

Don't think like that, Tyler cursed himself then, doing the same now as he shook his head. He placed the photo back onto his desk, logging into his computer and being met immediately by the document that held his guilt essay. His fingers curled into a fist, getting angry at himself all over again. The picture began to taunt him.

He slammed the frame facedown.