Silent Melody [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter Four

Silent Melody- Chapter Four

As the days wore on, I began feeling as though I was contradicting myself; I was not happy. But believe me, I would not have been any more content living with my mother again—I would probably be more miserable. 

            All I could think about was George: the way his breath stunk of alcohol and cigarettes; the way the bruise in the shape of his fingers still lingered on my neck; the way he looked at me after the police arrived. The scene was playing over and over again in my mind, like a broken tape.

            Adam and Shelbie weren’t home during the day. Adam had school, which I would also be attending in a few days, and lacrosse. Shelbie was the manager at a local, and very highly thought of, restaurant. My father, though, worked from home. But sometimes he was so busy it felt as though it was only Cameo and I in the house. 

            It was so eerily quiet in the residence most of the time that I couldn’t help my mind wandering off to the event that happened not even two weeks ago. I wasn’t upset so much about the fact that a man hurt me, physically and emotionally. I was more disturbed that my mother just sat there and did nothing.

                                                                                   *    *    *

I wish there was a way I could have avoided seeing a therapist. They were awful. Kyle had to attend a session as a detention once, and he said it was terrible. Usually, I’d live by the saying: ‘Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,’ but my best friend’s opinion was usually also my opinion.

            And, as always, he was right.

            My father had to attend the session with me, since it was my first one. I sat with my arms crossed next to him as he filled out information about me. The only reason I was here today was because it was the two week mark of my temporary mutism. I was supposed to be able to speak again today.

            Honestly, though, the thought of talking again made me feel more than nauseous. Why would I want to speak again? I was the type of person who was perfectly fine with keeping my opinions to myself. I didn’t care if I was heard. Though, when I thought of conversations with Kyle, I didn’t feel as sick. I kind of wanted to talk to him, but to anyone else? No.

            But here I was, in a room with two guys who really wanted to see improvement. Well, one of the men did, the other just wanted our money.

            The therapist was a short, chubby man in his mid-thirties. He had an uptight look about him, with his pastel white skin, bright blue eyes, and perfectly groomed black hair. If I were to accidentally bump shoulders with this guy on the sidewalk, he’d probably flash me a strained, annoyed smile and apologize with no sincerity.

            “Since we’ve got all of this taken care of,” the therapist (I think his name was Mark, or Marty) said finally, “we can get to the more important issue. It’s finally here, Auden. The day you get to speak again. How does it feel?”

            I shrugged.

            “Okay . . .” he said slowly, “Well. Can you try to speak? I know you can laugh and grunt, but any words that can be formed are great.”

            I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water, not finding the energy within myself to say anything. Was it so bad that I didn’t want to say anything at all?

            My father saw that I was struggling and placed his hand on top of mine. His wrist watch was cool against my clammy skin. “You know, Marty, maybe she’s still in pain.”