Without The Words

Chapter 1

A/N: I was 14 when I wrote this. I should delete it, but it was the first book I ever wrote and finished. There's a small part of me that can't seem to bring myself to take it down.

With that being said, it will remain, but take into account that it's going to have severe issues, as much as you would expect from someone young and immature. Even so, a lot of readers still continue to enjoy it. Proceed with caution, and expect to cringe.

Selective mutism is not accurately conveyed. At the time, I did very little research. Take any aspects regarding SM with a grain of salt.

Also, there is no smut, just kissing. I have adjusted Poppy's age to 18 in accordance to Wattpad's new age of consent guidelines. If you see anywhere that she is still 17, please let me know. Thank you. (updated April 2024)

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"I'm sorry, sir." She cast a quick glance towards me before turning back to my father. "She won't speak to me. Every session goes the same way and I can't continue to work with her if she won't even utter a single word. She has selective mutism and it's gotten to the point where it seems as if she's choosing to be permanently mute."

"How am I supposed to handle this? I can't take the silence anymore!"

The conversation ended after I shifted in my seat, letting them know that I was not oblivious to their attempted whispers.

Before we left, my fourth therapist gave me a sad smile, one that touched her eyes with a glimmer. She was a nice lady and I felt bad for being so silent, but I had to. I didn't deserve to speak in this world anymore.

My dad remained silent during the car ride, which also continued as we reached home and went inside of our suburban house in Rosefield, Pennsylvania, where all of the memories still lingered.

I killed my mother six years ago, when I was twelve. I'm eighteen now, but it feels like it just happened yesterday.

I listened to her singing voice as my fingers twisted the dial back and fourth, watching the blue fire rise and die on the stove. My mother's sweet voice echoed throughout the house as I grabbed a plastic spoon and put it into the fire.

The whole spoon was swallowed by the flames, which also made the fire on the stove rise and grow into a much bigger mess than intended. The white plastic spoon melted into the stove and turned to a dull shade of gray. I panicked, but of course, was too afraid to let my mother know because I knew she would punish me for being so silly. I thought I could handle it.

I kept trying to turn the dial down, but the fire remained. I put a spatula into the fire, holding it there as if I were roasting a marshmallow and when I took it out, the flames stuck onto the spatula and I screamed with pure terror.

Lacking any conscience, I flung the spatula behind me and with my luck, my mother was standing in the kitchen doorway and happened to meet right with the flying spatula.

The flames clung to her as she ran to the stove, working all at once and trying to stop the fire instead of caring more about the flames burning her skin.

She was screaming and crying as the fire grew and the flames from the spatula hit the curtain, igniting an orange, red and yellow burst of colors. Before you knew it, smoke was everywhere and we were both coughing for our lives.

a/n: (yes, a spatula technically killed her. idk what i was thinking when i wrote out the scene, just move past it thx)

"Leave the house and get help, Poppy. I love you." I heard her say. Listening to the familiar voice that I had listened to all my life, I left the kitchen, watching my own mother get swallowed by the fire.