Silent Laughter (Louis Tomlinson Fan-Fic) Book 3

Part forty-five

She's stronger than that.

"Alright. I'll see her." She responded.

We went to the ward together, our separate appointments with our therapists around the same time. Hers was only half an hour after mine, so I would wait for her to come out and we would hang out the rest of the day together. We were becoming closer, I felt. And even though she still wouldn't tell me the reason behind her new gloves, I knew that there was probably a personal reason behind it, and I didn't want her to feel so pushed into spilling all of her secrets out all at once, so I didn't question them. She had done enough already anyway and I knew that I had to be patient with her.

I still have this feeling that it has to do with her knuckles, one of the most scarred parts of her body. That she's afraid or disappointed by them, her hands reminding her of her past or maybe even being a temptation to do those horrible things to herself again. It's like me with my photographs. So I understand, even though I don't completely.

I saw Izzy one day staring at them, at the red leather and how Gene was still wearing those gloves even though the weather outside felt almost scorching.

"Aren't your hands burning in those?" She asked, Gene.

Gene gave her this soft smile that always seems to appear when she's around my best friend.

"Don't worry about it." She whispered.

Izzy just nodded and forced one back, Gene patting her shoulder a little in reassurance before we continued our game of Go Fish in the park.

Izzy and Gene had been getting closer lately. Very close. And it warmed my heart. Cooper told me that he thinks it's warming their hearts too, especially Izzy's. I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that until one day I saw the two of them hugging. Gene's eyes were closed and Izzy was rubbing small circles in the bottom of her back with her thumbs. We were just going to the movies.

I was beginning to talk like a normal person, the speech therapist I would see three times a week helping me improve my pronunciation of words. I was surrounded by children and elderly people at the place, feeling like a black sheep but feeling also comfortable at the fact that no one there was going to judge me for not being able to even say, "The bird flies high in the sky." without mumbling everything as if I had cotton balls in my mouth. Many people had it worse than me however. An eighty-one year old man there named John crying almost every time he tried to say a sentence.

"You're doing great, John! Don't cry." His therapist would say.

He would just shake his head and cry even more.

"T-this i-i-is w-why m-m-my gra-grandkids don't wan-t-t to c-a-all me-e-e." He would stutter. He always stuttered. And I felt my chest always hurt. I don't think there's anything sadder than seeing a kind, old person hating themselves over something that's hard for them to control. It can make someone feel scared of their own future, make them think about whether they're going to end up like John. That when they're old they're just going to be sad, alone, and still fixing themselves.

I took that as motivation instead, using people like John to drive me to improve. I felt that maybe if I succeeded, I could show people like him that there still is hope left. I had been silent for fifteen years - on and off a bit - and I knew that it was finally my time to be heard. So I worked hard each session, even buying audio books on my Ipad to listen to at night, Gene letting me practice with her, the two of us having simple conversations to work up my vocal skill.

"You're doing good, sis. Seriously. By next week, I bet you'll be able to pronounce W's, easy."

I did. I was improving more and more each week, each day, each month, and I felt powerful and intelligent as if I never knew those things existed before and I had just discovered them. It was emotionally emancipating and seeing, Gene work hard too by being more open and social with others, made me feel like the sky could be reached with just a simple jump from the ground and that I could hold on to it as long as I wanted.