twisted // tyler seguin

seventy

Four shots of various vodkas, weeks into being off an anti-anxiety pill, and a lone 3 goals scored by my boyfriend into halfway through the 2nd period, was when I decided to lose my mind.

There are certain feelings that come out after a while of being weeks, months, maybe even years under repression. Mine however never really went into a repressed state; they simply remained as pesky thoughts and intensified into impulsive delusions as time went on. The night I was alone and Tyler and the rest of his team were shoving 200 pound muscular men into glass panels, those thoughts swallowed me whole.

I never stopped loving Tyler. His worth increased by each aching hour from April 3rd; from the moment he walked into that room and said my name was pretty, to the moment he first kissed me in his car. Tyler meant everything to me.

He netted his 3rd goal and the hats flew on the ice. 9:42 left in the 2nd period, and the Avalanche players glided with frustration on their skates. The camera zoomed into Tyler's teammates congratulating him, and he had a sly grin on his face. Females in skin clad latex picked the emerald green hats up. Tyler skated by his bench, hitting their gloves.

I didn't deserve him. He didn't need me.

He didn't need a 22 year old girl yelling at him for getting on her case over a pill. He didn't need a shallow blonde draining him of his money so she can go to a shitty university 30 minutes away. He didn't need me. At all. What he needed was his All-star lifestyle. Hotel to hotel, brunette to redhead, maybe both if he was lucky, which, he occasionally was. He needed someone who would oblige to his every order, and take his dick down their throats and wouldn't bother calling him the next day. Tyler was a busy man, a man that didn't need commitment.

My chest pumped an warmth throughout my body, and I knew all the alcohol I had was too much for me to handle. The room started to spin and I became dizzy. The game came back on to flash the Stars' 3-0 lead, thanks to Tyler. He knew how good he was at this sport. He didn't have time for indecisive blondes who sucked him out of his million dollar salary. He needed someone as quick and focused as him, someone on his level. Yet I was still here.

So why not just leave?

Why not? It was pointless staying with him. I was nothing but a burden with blonde hair. A blonde haired, stubborn piece of shit that wanted too much. He didn't need me.

I headed upstairs, and I took an extra backpack out of my closet. Drawers opened, panties went in, drawers closed, jeans went in. Tears fell down my face, but the warmth in my chest told me what I was doing was right. Tyler did not deserve to be in love with me. There was someone better, some other blonde who could handle those tattoos better, flash a sly grin at him before he could flash his. There was always someone better.

It wasn't until I had a tote bag and a duffel stuffed with clothes that I was satisfied. The time read 9:59. I had to hurry. I jolted downstairs, making sure everything was off upstairs. Cash and Marshall cocked their heads, making my heart drop.

I shuffled over to them, disappointment seeping through me. "I love you guys, you know that?" They started licking my face simultaneously which got a laugh out of me. My eyes started to burn, and before any tears could fall, I came to a realization.

Tyler didn't want me. Yes, it was obvious, but he genuinely didn't want me. There were other girls he wanted to fuck. Jessica. Megan. Other girls I didn't know about. I know they exist, because I know him. What's the fun of being chained down to one girl at such a young age?

He became repulsive and the huge house he didn't need sickened me. The pseudo enthusiasm of watching me take my pills. It wasn't real. Tyler was creeped out by me. His usual, fast lifestyle of fucking girls every other night came to a halt, because he couldn't handle a damn puck, something he gets paid to do.

It wasn't my fault he couldn't do his job right, and he had to pay the price. What I was doing was right; he needed to be stripped of his fatherly figure that he was shoved into, and go back to his worthless, party hopping, tit-licking, girl-dogging lifestyle.

I gave one last goodbye to Cash and Marshall, the only species with sense in this household before heading out into the chilly night. It was a freezing 34 degrees, and I only had a hoodie, tights and sneakers on. I'd be a fucking jackass if I took one of Tyler's cars, since he'd obviously know they'd be missing. So it was just me and my feet.

And I made used of them. I walked down the long streets, keeping my balance intact to the best of my ability. The alcohol was making me hot, but I knew that was another delusion. Sweat started to form on my forehead, and my nose was beginning to run. Cars were few in far in between, and I checked the time. 10:45.

At around 11:30, I arrived at the destination I targeted from the moment I decided to follow through with this plan. The street was cramped with row homes, which contained even smaller apartments. I rang the 2nd floor doorbell repeatedly, shivering under the winter breeze. Was I really doing this?

The doorknob shuffled, and a bearded blonde answered the door, wearing an oversized Neck Deep crew neck and a pair of Batman boxers. He scratched lazily at his chest before squinting at me. "What the hell are you doing here? It's near midnight."

"Steve, I need to talk to you."

He widened the door and let me in as he gave me a cynical glance. "You'd better have a good excuse for this one."