Page 122 of Muted

Whispering brokenly, I can only say, “They’ll move on.”

I hear Uncle Ronnie grumbling to hand the phone over, and his gruff voices comes through, making me wince. “You want to tell me why it seems like there are three men who all seem to think they’re in some sort of relationship with you? THREE MEN?”

Smiling at the ceiling, I blink away a fresh wave of tears. “Because I’m selfish, Uncle Ronnie. I’m a terrible, horrible, selfish woman who wants more than she has a right to.”

“That’s not true!” Aunt Elain cries, but I shake my head.

“I have to go. I’m going to leave first thing in the morning. I just n-needed to be near you, if even for a moment. I love you both so much and I’m so sorry for everything.”

Hanging up on them, I roll over and cradle my phone to my chest and release all the anger and sadness and regret that’s been building inside of me since I ran out of the bar earlier today.

My phone continues to buzz underneath me, but I ignore it and eventually pull it to my face, squinting with tear-swollen eyes to see another round of missed calls. Not just from my aunt, but from Theo as well.

Turning it to do not disturb, I pinch my contacts free from my eyes and toss them on the floor. I should toss them, but I’m too tired to get up as I close my eyes and do my best to get some sleep.

It only feels like I dozed for a few minutes when I crack my eyes open. The slowly growing gray of dawn peeking through my window indicates it’s been at least a few hours since I fell asleep.

Yawning, my jaw cracks and I rub it gently, then sigh as I roll to my back. Not wanting to face the day and the decision I have to make, I drag my phone to my face, squinting at the brightness of the screen.

There are more missed texts from Theo, but an unknown number up top makes me pause. An overwhelming feeling of dread fills me as I tap on the number.

My body wrenches up, shooting me out of bed as I scan the two single-lined texts.

Unknown: Welcome home.

Unknown: You look just like her when you sleep.

He knows I’m here. I have to fucking go.

Grabbing my bag, I shove my phone into my bra and shove my feet into my tennis shoes. It’s still early and if I can make it on foot to the next town, there’s a chance he won’t know what bus I climbed on. At this point, it doesn’t fucking matter where I go, as long as it’s not here.

I never should have come back; I just wanted to feel close to my family, if only for a few moments. Fuck Cliff. Fuck him and his fucked-up vendetta. Sailing down the stairs, taking them two at a time, I sprint to the back door and yank it open, not wasting any time to lock up behind me.

More thoughts of how I want him to suffer in prison assault me until three little words freeze me in place.

“There you are.”

My monster.

Toneless. Emotionless. Void of all feeling. He’s perfected the modulation of his voice to sound pleasant on the ear, but it doesn’t work on me. His voice has become the sound of my nightmares. The only one that can silence me.

My mouth opens to scream, but his body slams into my back, forcing me to the ground. Fisting my hair at the back of my head, he slams my temple into the broken pavement of our driveway.

Dazed, mind spinning, the only thought that filters into my mind is ‘not again’.

I turn my aching head to the side, dragging the broken skin across the asphalt to suck in much needed air that was expelled as soon as my chest hit the ground.

A soaking wet towel is placed over both my nose and mouth, the scent immediately bringing my attention back into focus.

It smells like a hospital, or a morgue, not that I know what that actually smells like. My nose twitches against the powerful scent as I do my best to jerk my face away from the saturated cloth.

Wrenching my head back, I try to dislodge the fabric from my face, but a meaty hand follows my movements, pressing it harder against me.I can’t fucking breathe!

My grandfather, Arthur Walston, leans down and presses his lips to my ear, the sound of his voice sending bolts of terror through my spine. I pray to God that my father didn’t sound the same as him. He sounds like pure fucking evil.

“A fact not well known by many due to the false implications shown on television, but chloroform isn’t immediate in rendering a victim incapacitated. Which is why, granddaughter, I’m not strangling your fucking neck right now. I want you to breathe long, slow breaths for me.”

I fight him, but his weight is too much and the hit I took has made me feel weak. Listening to his explanation, I do my best to hold my breath, but he shoves his fingers into one of my kidneys, forcing me to gasp in pain.

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