Silence

A/N: Thanks for all of my wonderful reviews! I'm not really sure how to respond to them. I hope y'all enjoy this next chapter. 

 

I wanted to care. I really did. But every time I looked at people I felt tired. No matter how many times I blinked, or rubbed my eyes, the exhaustion never waned. I tried. I felt raw. Shredded. The slivers of my skin slid off my bones and landed on the ground. I waited. The dust and dirt stung on my wounds. People stared. Their eyes constantly mapped every single scar. Doctors wanted to take a knife and rip me open. They were searching, excavating. There had to be a problem beneath the folds of my skin. It was hiding somewhere. Was it in the crease of my elbow? Perhaps it was in the soft flesh between my fingers? Maybe it was empty memories of my childhood? Or maybe, just maybe, it was in the dark corner of my mind. It didn’t matter where it was. They were going to drag their scalpels from my toes to my eyes in hopes to uncover it. I couldn’t trust anyone. They were only out to hurt me.

Darwin didn’t look at me like he was trying to reopen my wounds. He didn’t look at the marks like he wanted to erase them or even cover them. He looked at me like I was delicate. He stared at me as though I was a fine piece of china with barely visible cracks shoved away in a cabinet with glass doors. I felt something odd within myself when I looked at him. The grainy behind my eyes disappeared at the sight of him.

On the other hand, his looks disgusted me. I felt too vulnerable when Darwin stared. I felt like Darwin could see beneath my skin without even trying. He looked at me like I was a new planet that was completely out of his solar system.



I laid awake on Darwin’s couch until I knew that he was asleep. I couldn’t handle it any longer. I had to clean.



He found me a few hours later, crouched in his kitchen. I scrubbed the floor mercilessly in quick, determined circles. I dipped the cloth into the bucket near my knees. My face was shoved against my other arm in attempt to keep from breathing in the fumes.

“Cyrus,” Darwin spoke.

I startled and slid sideways. I turned towards Darwin with a look of complete abashment.

I breathed heavily and could feel my face heat up. I dropped the rag back in the bucket with a loud slosh. “I couldn’t sleep,” I whispered, hoping that would somehow explain why I was cleaning someone else’s home. It wasn’t a lie, necessarily. I just didn’t actually try to sleep in the first place. I rubbed my latex gloves together. “I clean when I can’t sleep.” My body felt stiff. I felt like I should run away. The man was standing barefoot in the doorway of his newly clean kitchen. He rubbed at his face, seemingly taking everything in. I moved up onto one of my knees almost readying myself for Darwin to strike out in anger. I could easily flee in that position.



But instead of being angry, Darwin looked pleased. He grinned down at me. “Nice job.”

My forehead crinkled in confusion. He wasn’t pissed? “You’re not… angry?” I pulled at each finger of my left glove. The glove gave way and slid off. I threw it on the floor. The other soon followed.



“Mad?” Darwin chuckled and stepped back a bit. He looked around. “It looks fucking awesome in here. Hell. It looks better than when I bought it.”

I relaxed and sat back on my legs. “I’m glad you like it.” I was confused. One hand rose to hover in front of my face. It shook. I refused to feel pleased.

 

“You do this often?” He asked after a few moments of silence.



“Huh?” I peered up at him, utterly confused. I rubbed the side of my head. I had almost forgotten the beating I had taken the day before.  



“Stay up all night and clean,” Darwin clarified.



“It’s called coping,” I deadpanned. My upper lip curled in distaste. It wasn’t really called coping, but I hated explaining that part of my… condition.



“Coping with what?” Darwin leaned forward in interest. He attempted to glance candidly at the small scars in neat little rows on my arms.



I sneered, “coping with how fucking dirty this place is.” I shot up too quickly, causing my foot to bump into the bucket. It to slid back a few inches. Some of the water sloshed out. Fuck.



Darwin murmured, “Some people don’t need to go on crazy cleaning sprees to live peacefully.” He brought his voice down to the low hum that seemed to almost calm me down. I wanted to groan.

 

Darwin stepped off the carpet and into the kitchen. “Damn that’s cold.” He grimaced when his feet made contact.

“Some people don’t live in pigsties.” I hissed. I craned to look back at the clock on the wall. It was two a.m. I turned to look at him, again.

Darwin stepped backwards horrified by something in my in my expression.



“Take me home,” I demanded.

“It’s too early.” He yawned. “I’m going back to sleep.” He retreated to his room. He seemed bothered by something.

I waited until his snores drifted out of his room. I sighed. There was no reason to stay any longer. I crept quietly out of his place. I shut his front door softly. I slid down the stairwell. I hadn’t seen my bag since the day before.



I found it nestled against a bookcase. I dug through it, searching for my phone.

A notification blinked onto my screen one missed call. It was from an unknown number at 3:31 a.m.



I wanted to groan.

I stumbled out of the store and into the cold air.

I didn’t have a car because I was labeled unfit to drive the day I turned sixteen. I felt it was more too medicated to drive but I never went to medical school. I found my bike wedged in some bushes near the school. The town was silent and cold. Only a few early morning stragglers wandered the city. I almost hit the town drunk with my bike.



He slurred, “watch it!” as he reached out for my bike. He hobbled on as I swerved passed presumably looking for some place to pass out.

My parents were not there when I made it home. The house was empty and cold. A pill bottle and its cap lay out on the kitchen counter, the only sign that someone lived there. I had left it unscrewed in a hurry to get to class. The answering machine blinked next to the fridge. Everything in my home was stainless steel and ice cold. It wasn’t the physical type of cold, either. It was the type that was frozen from a lack of joy. Only the warmth of family could brighten a cold house.



I pressed the button on the machine and the mechanical voice said, “You have one unread message.”



"Hi, darling," my mother’s smooth and cringingly sweet voice rolled out of the machine. “Daddy and I decided to run around France for a bit! Oui, oui.” She giggled as her voice trailed off in an exaggerated slur of a French accent. “We’ll be back soon but no promises! Don’t forget about your appointment with Doctor Presley tomorrow. If you need more money, you know where the card is! Bye, Darling. Smooches!”

I pressed my face against the cool surface of the counter. Typical. When we had moved to this town, my mother said it would be different. She had stormed into the hospital, all smiles and bright jewelry, and demanded my release. She had locked her arms around me like a protective chain. She had stroked my hair and whispered false assurances into my ear. “It will be different,” she breathed. I ignored the smell of alcohol. “This will never happen again.” She promised.



We moved up north to a small town. My mother wanted to get as far away from my boarding school as possible. I don’t think that she understood that just coming back to the states was far from my Swedish boarding school. But sometimes it was just better to go along with whatever she said. She insisted that it was the school’s fault I had gotten myself mixed up with the wrong sorts. I was excited to be back with my parents. I should have known it was a lie.



When we entered the house, a huge brick place, it felt like a car crash in slow motion. It looked like a show room waiting for the perfect family. We were not the perfect family.

My mother and father were caught up in their careers. The paparazzi never left them alone.



We were excited for one day. But then my parents left a few days later. They didn’t even unpack.



I left the kitchen and headed up the staircase. I slipped down the empty hallway. My room always made me feel safe. No matter how many moves, no matter how many boarding schools, I always found my room to be a sort of protective fortress. I could keep it as clean as possible. I could do anything. I never did much, though. I never painted. I liked things that were white. It calmed me. The psychiatrist I had when I was admitted to the hospital suggested that the lack of activity helped calm me. I agreed.



I had been admitted to the hospital only once. I had cut tiny slivers in my skin in the showers one night. It wasn’t my intention to kill myself. I just liked how freeing it was to see myself bleed. But I cut too deep once. My roommate found me lying in the shower. I was admitted to the psych ward soon after. I was banned from sharp objects. Nurses had to watch me shave for fear that my hand might slide a little lower and slit my throat. When my mother pulled me out, I was given a slew of fat pills that I had to choke down two times a day.

There were things that I could not escape. No matter how many pills they shoved down my throat, I could never escape the things I did. I could never escape myself. I was my only constant companion. I was messed up. When I was younger, I would fantasize about a life without those dark thoughts that made me want to hurt myself. I tried to remember what my life had been like before my incident, but I never could quite piece it together.



The doorbell rang. It shocked me. I knocked over one of the bottles of pills on my desk. I shakily pushed the pills into my hands. I dropped them back into the pill bottle one by one. I hoped whoever was at the door would take a fucking hint.

They didn’t. The doorbell rang again. I did not knock over the bottle again. I crept out of my room and slowly stepped down the stairs, gripping the banister with each step. Part of me hoped it was my parents. When I made it to the door, my hand hovered above the handle. I had to do it. I knew it. It could have been a teacher or someone my parents sent to make sure I hadn’t offed myself. My fingers gripped the handle and I opened the door.



Darwin was my visitor. He smiled at me and rubbed his hands together either self-consciously or from the cold. I couldn’t decide. We stared at each other for a moment.  “Hey, Cyrus.” He said, breaking our staring contest.



“Stalking is illegal, Darwin.” I deadpanned. I pursed my lips with distaste.



He had the courtesy to look ashamed. “Uh, no, that’s not…” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not stalking you. But I woke up and you weren’t there. I was worried. Thought maybe you had passed out from the bleach fumes or something.”



“As you can see,” I said, hand gripping the door. “I’m fine.” I started to shut the door. But he reached out and stopped me.

“Listen,” he pleaded, stepping into my goddamn house. “Let me take you to breakfast… Or,” He licked his lips. “Something.”



I shook my head. My mouth was pressed into a thin line. I tried again to push the door closed against him. “If this is your sorry attempt at seduction, you’re failing.” My voice slid out of my mouth in a hiss.



His cheeks grew red. He cleared his throat. “There’s no harm in breakfast.” He pushed the door open further, successfully dislodging the thing from my grasp.



“Fine. But we eat here.” I grumbled and stepped back. He stepped forward quickly, almost tripping over his own feet. He was wearing the same jeans and the same boots. His hair stuck out at odd angles. His shirt was different but wrinkled. He had probably plucked it off the floor in haste.



“Wow,” Darwin exclaimed. He spun around. “This house is huge. Holy shit. Is that real marble? Whoa look at your kitchen.” And without even being invited, he disappeared into the kitchen.



The house shook when I slammed the door shut.

“You can’t just barge in to someone’s house like this. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to be courteous?” I hissed with rage as I entered the kitchen.



He turned around. His hand was rubbing the granite island like he had never felt the rock before. He looked out of place smack in the middle of my kitchen. He was messy. Mess and disheveled, but almost attractive in a disorderly kind of way. I sniffed with distaste.

“Nah,” he shook his head. His hair appeared even messier. “I’m an orphan.” He knocked his fist against the countertops. I swallowed thickly with embarrassment. “Speaking of which,” he turned his attention back to me. “Where are your parents?” He looked about the kitchen as though he would find my parents hiding in a drawer or in the cookie jar.



“Busy.” I responded, my tone terse and my shoulders tight. “Do you want cereal or what?”



“Cereal?” Darwin laughed heartily. “If that’s all you have, we’ll be going to breakfast.”



I huffed. “Fine, something other than cereal. But don’t complain if you don’t like my food.”



Darwin gave me an approving smile. “I’m sure it’ll be a meal of the gods.”



I grabbed a frying pan from one of the cabinets. When I went to retrieve the eggs, he was blocking my way. He was staring at the magazine clipping taped to my fridge. I knew that stupid picture by heart. It was of my mother. She was perfectly posed on a white couch. Her long blond hair was draped ever so delicately. Her beautifully pale skin shone. She had bright green eyes and an award-winning smile. I looked just like her, but in a less beautiful sort of way. I never really grew into my limbs. She was an actress. I couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t beautiful.



“What’d you get from dear old dad?” Darwin asked, interrupting my thoughts.



At my inquiring look, he repeated, “What’d you get from your father? Appearance wise.” His hand reached over to touch a piece of my blonde hair. “I know what you got from your mother.” My brain screamed danger. I hated when people asked about my parents. “Your eyes? They’re enchanting.” His voice was almost a purr. “I’ve never seen a gray like that before.”



“Yes, his eyes.” That was more than enough. Everyone knew that my father was a lecher. He used his position as a director to get to women. He was not nearly as successful as my mother but he used her fame to his advantage. They were not monogamous. And when it came to keeping their image of a perfect marriage in tact, they were both accomplished actors.  I jerked my head away from Darwin’s hand. I wished he would stop trying to touch me.



He didn’t seem bothered by my resistance. He simply turned back to the picture. “Accomplished Actress, Entrepreneur, Doting Mother, and Devoted Wife. How does she do it?” His voice turned sour as he read.



“Can I get in the goddamn fridge, please?” I groused, gesturing wildly at the door.



“Yeah, sure.” He said and stepped away. “He’s a director, right? Benedict Walden?”



“That’s the one.”



“Where are they now?” He inquired. I wished he would stop asking so many fucking questions.



“I don’t know,” I said, almost completely fed up. “If you’d really like to know, you’re welcome to go on to TMZ. I’m sure they’ll tell you where they are. Hell, they might even tell you who they’re fucking. I have some things they’ve signed. Do you want a picture with their freak son? I know that’s all you’re here for. Are you happy now that you’ve encountered their mysterious son? Come to see the freak in his natural habitat?” I slammed the carton of eggs on the counter. I was so angry. My face ached and my eyes stung. The words felt different in my mouth, wrong somehow. I knew he wasn’t like that but I couldn’t stop the anger from welling within me.



Darwin looked horrified. “No, no, no,” he exclaimed while throwing hands up in a defensive position. “I’m just trying to get to know you. I don’t give a shit about your parents. I want to know about you. They have to do with you. So, I’m going to ask.”



My throat felt tight. “Sure,” I grumbled and returned to cooking. I felt out of control. We were quiet for a while. I was so used to people coming after me for my parents. I had encountered many people that were excited to interact with a celebrity’s child. My parents’ fans didn’t usually know much about me. I had spent a large portion of my time under the radar. They knew I existed but up until the year before, they had known nothing about me.

“What are you making?” Darwin asked, peering down at the pan in my hand.



“Omelets, you heathen.” I grouched. I tried to ignore how close he was to my back. His breath ghosted my ear.



“Heathen?” He teased. His hand touched my side. I resisted the urge to jerk away. “Is this your form of foreplay?”



“If you’re flirting with me, you’re a pedophile. I’m underage.” I scoffed and turned to look at him. His attention made me feel disgusting.



He moved back and leaned against the island. After a few moments of contemplation, he shrugged. I turned back around. He chuckled and spoke under his breath, “if?”

If? What did that mean?

We stared at each other for a few moments. Darwin opened his mouth. The phone started to ring, interrupting whatever he was trying to say.



I stared at the phone. It continued to ring but I made no move to answer. Darwin shifted, drawing my attention to him.



“Aren’t you going to answer?” He asked, making a move like he was going to answer for me.



I didn’t respond and stepped towards it. It ceased ringing a mere second before I made contact with it. The answering machine beeped to life. “Cyrus, I can’t come get you. I called your parents but your father said he didn’t have the time to find you another ride.” The woman on the other line sighed. She had been taking me to my appointments for a while. We never spoke. She would drop me off at the office and when I was done with my appointments, she would take me home. She was silent for a moment, as if contemplating her next sentence. “You’ll have to find a ride.” The message ended without even a goodbye.



I almost melted against the counter top. My knees bent forward and pressed against the wooden cabinet. “I need…” I twisted my body around and looked back at the other male. I did not want to ask him. I did not fucking want to ask him. “A ride. I need you to take me to my appointment.” It was the only option. If I missed an appointment they’d ship me right back to the hospital. No questions asked. I stood. My legs shook.



“Are you sick?” Darwin inquired, a frown on his face.



I relaxed at his words but my eyes felt cloudy. “You could say that.”



Darwin narrowed his eyes. The omelet burned.

---

Sometimes, I would wake up and feel totally in control of my life. However, I did not feel in control on that particular day, especially not with Darwin sitting on my bed. I had left him in the kitchen with a promise that I would be back when I finished taking a shower. He didn’t stay in the kitchen. When I left the bathroom, hair sopping wet and clad only in a towel, he was sitting on my bed with an expectant look. I felt nervous. I recoiled and crossed my arms over my chest. My hands wrapped around the scars on my arms.

“What does this mean?” He asked. He tapped his pencil against the paper in his lap. He looked at ease in my room. “If you say my name, I’m not here anymore. What am I?”



I shook my head. “Get out.”

 

Darwin looked up, “come on. Seven letters.”



“Seriously,” I said. I turned my back to him. “Get out. Before I call the police.”



He made a disgruntled noise. “Who’s going to take you to your appointment?”

 

“Maybe the cops will take me. I’m sure they won’t mind, seeing as how they circle by my house every fucking day.” I slammed the bathroom door shut.

--

When I came back, he was gone. I found him in the sitting room watching some cooking show. We traveled the long thirty minutes to the nearest big city. Darwin had attempted small talk but I kept my eyes on the road and my mouth sealed shut. I convinced myself that if I ignored Darwin long enough, he would leave me at the entrance and not follow me up the narrow stairs. My hopes had been smashed when the man had parked his old truck in the almost empty parking lot and had exited the vehicle. The sky was dreary and the cold air stung. I made it quite clear that Darwin didn’t need to come but the man just brushed passed me, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

The waiting room smelled like bleach. A woman sat in a chair in the corner. Her eyes were glazed over and her face was hollow.  I had seen the same look in the mirror during the months following my ‘incident’.  She rubbed her hands together and muttered to herself. When we made eye contact, she hissed like a disturbed cat. I stiffened and moved a little closer to Darwin. The chairs were a paisley blue. Cheery posters were plastered to the walls.

Take Care of Yourself



Appreciate Those Who Are Responsible for Your Success

You Can Do Anything With a Little Bit of Help

Each poster had a picture of a fuzzy, baby animal. The underlying message was Take Your Fucking Meds, You Crazy Fuckers.

The secretary leaned back in her chair. She chomped her gum as her fake nails clicked across the keyboard of her phone. She made eye contact with me for a millisecond before returning back to her ‘important’ conversation with a snap of her gum. I assumed she was either sexting or gossiping about me. Even though my parents had paid good money to keep my psychiatrist quiet, they never thought about her loud-mouthed secretary. She smacked her gum, stopped her texting for a moment, looked at Darwin, and then returned to her phone.

Darwin took her look as an invitation and stepped forward to her desk. I scowled and grasped Darwin’s wrist. When he looked back at me, I shook my head.



“Don’t you need to check in?” Darwin asked with lips pursed in confusion. He gave the busybody a wary look.

“She knows I’m here.” I whispered. I pulled Darwin in the direction of the too plush chairs, steering clear of the dazed woman. It would be a disaster if that bitch sunk her claws into Darwin.



Darwin nodded curtly, “all right. I guess you’re the expert here.” He plopped down in a chair and reclined. Of course he would be comfortable in a psychiatrist’s office.



We sat in silence. The clock ticked softly over our heads.



“It’s freezing in here.” Darwin rubbed his arms. “What is it with Doctor’s offices and being fucking freezing?”



I titled my head in acknowledgement. I wanted to tell Darwin that the cold was to keep the patients aware and responsive. I looked to the woman in the corner. Or… it was supposed to. The raw feeling had returned. I desperately wanted Darwin to leave. Hell, I wanted to leave.



Darwin reached over and squeezed my thigh. When I looked at the bastard, he smiled. The gesture was meant to be soothing but the feeling of his hand unnerved me. I counted to ten, hoping to force myself to relax. It wasn’t fair that Darwin deemed it acceptable to be so affectionate. It wasn’t fair that I was in the situation to begin with.

My psychiatrist chose that moment to swoop through her office door like a bat. I called her Dr. Grim. Her mouth was always pinched and she always seemed disapproving. Her eyes took in Darwin’s hand on my thigh. I shoved it away.



“Cyrus.” She said, her tone ordered me to her office. She turned quickly on her heels and stormed into her office. My mother liked her because she had a very unrelenting attitude about medication. It didn’t matter if I was selling myself on the highway as long as I took my medication on time.



I stood and gave Darwin a look. “Stay here.” I gestured towards him in hopes to erect a force field to keep him in his goddamn seat.

 

Dr. Grim’s office smelled like scented candles. There was a box of tissues on the coffee table for those who couldn’t keep a hold on their emotions. She always wanted me to open up and let her in. But it was hard to let a SWAT team operative into the mental asylum that was my brain. She was the type of psychiatrist to charge in, guns blazing. I had a lot of psychiatrists of the years. Some tried to be my friends, some tried to be my parents, and others tried to be my warden.



“Who’s your friend?” She asked. She did not look at me. Her hair was in a tight bun that was slicked back. It looked painful. Her real name was Sarah Presley. She was a ‘wonderful psychiatrist who could crack even the toughest bad egg’. That’s what my mother had said.



I pulled at the bottom of my shirt. She scribbled on her clipboard. I assumed she was trash talking me or maybe writing erotic fiction. She sighed and turned to her computer.



I laid down on her couch and I slept, just like I had done every appointment for the last few months.



She woke me up when my hour was up. I stumbled out, eyes bleary from sleep. Darwin looked like he was about to die from boredom. When he saw me, he perked up and smiled.

 

Dr. Grim looked Darwin up and down. “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question, but Darwin took it as such.



“Oh, yeah. His other ride couldn’t make it so he asked me to take him.” Darwin said, casually, like he hadn’t just ruined my life.

The word asked hung in the air. Dr. Grim opened her mouth and then closed it. Everything screeched to a halt. Even the secretary stopped texting. “He… Speaks to you?” Grim asked, completely aghast.



“Well, yeah. He’s not mute. He’s fiery, too. But I’m sure he sasses you just the same.” He chuckled. But when he glanced at me and saw the look on my face, he cringed. His face drained of color and he brought his hand up to the collar of his shirt. He pinched the fabric and pulled it forward like it was suddenly too hot.  He cleared his throat while staring at Dr. Grim, “you didn’t know?”



My world shattered.



“No. He doesn’t talk to anyone. This changes everything. Everyone thought… I thought…” She was frightened. She spoke quickly, as if in a panic. “Cyrus?” She turned to me, giving me a look that made my hair stand on end.



“Fuck you.” My skin tingled with excitement. Those were first words I had ever said to her. Anger tinted my cheeks pink and caused my skin to prickle. My voice spat out of my mouth like bullets. I couldn’t say anything else. I just kept repeating, “Fuck you.” I turned to the secretary, who looked at me over her phone. I pointed an accusing finger at her. “Fuck. You.”



She gaped, open mouthed, looking like a man I had seen in the mental ward once. She dropped her phone. It smacked against the desk.



I bolted towards the door, leaving the three of them standing in the middle of the waiting room. I dashed out into the parking lot. I ran, hard, until I couldn’t breathe and my legs tingled. I didn’t make it very far. I only to the end of the parking lot.



Darwin caught up with me seconds later. He wasn’t even out of breath. “I’m so sorry,” he whined. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have said anything. I completely fucked up.”

 

“That word you were looking for,” I managed to whisper. I breathed heavily through my mouth. My face felt hot.  I looked up at him and his eyes roamed my face, searching for something. I felt like crying. It didn’t matter that he had accidentally revealed my secret. I couldn’t stay quiet forever. Someone was going to eventually see me talking to him. It really didn’t matter.

“What word?” He questioned, leaning towards me. He looked horrified. He also looked like he wanted to hug me.



“Seven letters.” I tried to swallow but I felt like my brain was going to explode. It throbbed inside my head. Oh god. I had talked to him because he was annoying. Because of it, everyone and their fucking mother was going to know that I could talk, that I did talk. I couldn’t hide behind it anymore. I back at the building and saw Dr. Grim peering down at us through her blinds. When she realized I could see her, she shut them closed. I returned my attention to Darwin. “Silence.”



“What?” His voice was soft. He adapted that low tone when he was trying to calm me down. His hands hovered next to my arms, a few centimeters from touching. He always seemed to be stuck in some weird limbo between touching and not touching like he couldn’t decide whether he should or not.

“Silence. The word. The answer to your fucking riddle is silence.” I whispered, voice hoarse. Tears streamed from my eyes like I had turned the faucet in my head on and left it running.

Different emotions passed over Darwin’s face. Confusion, pain, irritation, and then, he hugged me. He pulled me full against his chest. My face was squished against his shirt, his hand kept me pinned. “I understand,” he began to pet my hair. “You don’t have to go anywhere, though. You don’t have to disappear. I’ll keep you safe.”



He was warm. And after a few moments, I returned the hug.