Divulging Thoughts

Chapter Eight

"Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you."

~Marsha Norman

Chapter Eight

I woke up to the sound of someone snoring loudly. My eyes felt heavy and I could feel my arm attached yet again to an IV. Carefully, I sat up and opened my eyes.

I racked my brain for a memory of the past 24 hours. I could distinctly remember the chloroform. A note from Frans... a cut out of my father's journal...

Shit!! Father's note!!

I sat up quickly, pulling off the tubes stuck to me. I put my hands into the covers and was disappointed when I realized that there was nothing in there except the papery feel of the hospital gown.

I turned to Frans, who sat on the chair next to me and hung his head back, snoring like a train. I stifled a laugh, momentarily forgetting my worries, as my eyes perused his pale face that looked tired and a little drool hung from the edge of his mouth.

I reached out and just for the fun of it, poked him in the chest. This seemed to rouse him as he shifted slightly and opened his eyes.

He took a moment to focus on me.

"Oh, hey Violet. You're up." He smiled at me so sweetly.

WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHY IS HE BEING SO NICE TO ME???

"Because I realized something important," he seemed to reply my thoughts. My eyes grew wide with alarm.

HOW THE HELL CAN HE HEAR ME???

"I can't say I know exactly how; I just do," he whispered as he leaned closer, our faces inches apart. My mind became fuzzy and turned into mush.

My heart sped up gradually as his face came into closer view; his bottomless black eyes boring into mine. I could feel a wave of static passing between us leaving me hot and a little uncomfortable.

"Do you like me, Violet?" he murmured softly, his breath washing over my face which surprisingly smelt of mint and musk. It was a weird but alluring scent. I shivered involuntarily as he leaned in just a little more.

I began to close my eyes, my head tilting slightly sideways. I could almost taste his lips against mine...

"VIOLET!!! YOU'RE ALIVE!!" Luke's voice broke our reverie and we broke quickly apart and I fell back into my bed, my cheeks burning.

Luke bounded into the room with a bouquet of tulips. He set them on the table. From the corner of my eye, I could see Frans watching him with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Cousin. How nice of you to show up in the middle of the night with flowers," Frans remarked drily.

Luke, unabashed as always, stepped forward and took my hand, leaning down to place a soft kiss. He smiled at me.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier, Violet. I will catch that piece of shit," he said, his eyes earnest.

Just when I thought my cheeks couldn't get any redder.

I smiled at him, feeling guilty that I had no romantic feelings for him even though he seemed admiringly besotted.

Frans interrupted our moment with a cough. "It's not visiting hours, cousin. You can come back in the morning."

Luke turned to him with a frown. "Then why are you here?"

For the first time in my life, I saw Frans struggle for words. He seemed visibly struggling yet I could hear what he was saying as if he were speaking to me.

Because for some reason, I need to make sure Violet is safe.

My heart sped up. I silently thanked God I wasn't attached to a machine.

Luke and Frans were in a staring contest but it wasn't long before Luke gave up and bid me a grumpy goodbye, slamming the door behind him.

Frans turned to me, but before he could say anything, I interrupted him with a question.

"May I have my clothes? I left something in my jeans."

Frans smiled slightly, reaching into the pocket of his own pants. I realized that I was always so fixated on his eyes that I always assumed he wore black. His pants, on inspection, were dark red.

He pulled out a familiar piece of paper and handed it to me.

"I wanted to tell you a story," he said softly, leaning back into his seat.

"What kind of story?" I asked, frowning, my hands clasping the paper.

"A story of a boy, who was innocently turned into a freak," he whispered and I could not understand the look of anguish in his face as his eyes strayed on the floor.

He looked up once, seeing something in my eyes that seemed to encourage him to continue.

"The boy was caught up between his father and his overeager friend. His father was all about research but his friend was more imaginative and more successful. One day, his friend decided to experiment on the little boy," he stopped, seeming to have trouble continuing.

"Are you all right?" I asked. Maybe he had bipolar disorder or something. Wasn't this a fantasy story?

"He gave the boy a potion that changed his life. Soon, he was able to hear everyone's thoughts and feelings. He was ridiculed, called a freak. His own father abandoned him," his voice became graver and I could feel my heart accelerating again but for a different reason.

"He was astonished when one day he met a girl who he could not hear. He struggled to understand why for the first time, her thoughts were blank to him; except when she thought of him. He wondered whether he was beginning to heal but it was only her."

Why did the story seem familiar to me? As if I was a character in it and not just an observer?

He stopped again and I didn't realize I was silently crying, my heart reaching out for the poor boy.

"Violet, I wish I could tell you things," he whispered so low that I wondered if I had imagined it at all.

Before I had a chance to reply or question him on his odd story, he rose fluidly and left the room, leaving me alone to my thoughts once more.

Something was stirring in me and I realized I was getting closer to the truth.

What truth? I wondered as I lay in bed again, my eyes staring at the ceiling above me.

̙̘

Hey guys!

Sorry I've been busy with exams and I had a little writer's block in this story :/

Tell me what you think!

This is more of a filler chapter haha. :P

Enjoy!