Page 8 of Silent Is The Heart

Something occurs to me at that moment, seeing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. I don’t care what I’m going to be when I leave here. It doesn’t feel like a countdown to an escape any longer. I think I have a goal. The talented son of a bitch actually got his wish and motivated me, after all.

Artist, back-alley-blow-job-giver—whatever I end up doing, I think I want to have a voice again so I can find someone like him to laugh with. It’s certainly a heck of a lot better than feeling dead inside.

CHAPTER 5

Easton

It’s embarrassing how fast I hobble to my appointments with Aaron, but they’re healthier than sitting in my room, contemplating violent deaths that Leonard could meet. If someone had told me four months ago that a handsome speech pathologist would swoop in and make all my undiscovered dreams come true like some sugary tween romance movie, I’d have laughed them out of the state. I never imagined I’d have a purpose beyond surviving and being pissed off.

When I’m not exorcising my mental demons, staring at the walls in my room, or trying not to gawk at Aaron Manicki’s ridiculously perfect face and body… and hands and ass, I draw. I’m starting to give up denying that it’s just to pass the time, especially as my stomach flutters when I hear the sound of Aaron’s laughter coming out of his office.

I live for that laugh now. It’s been the soundtrack of my dreams for the past month and a half since his motivational speech on the patio, longer, if I’m being honest. I didn’t know a specific sound was capable of making me so happy.

Sucking in a breath, I squash down the stupid butterflies in my stomach and adjust my sketchpad to keep it away from my sweaty armpit. I’m going to have some balls and show him thesketch I did of him. One of them, anyway. He doesn’t need to know I have an entire book full like a certified stalker.

I don’t doubt he’ll like the portrait I’m going to unveil. He’s loved everything else I’ve shown him so far, but this is the best thing I’ve ever drawn. Granted, it’s of the best model I’ve ever had. I don’t just want him to like it, though. I want to really impress him.

That invite-only summer program he’s been talking about could be huge for me. If I win the grant they offer at the end of the summer, I could actually go to a freaking legit art school. You don’t have to be a high school graduate. They take seniors if their submission comes with a referral from a patron of the gallery that’s hosting it, which apparently, his mother is.

He assured me that putting in a good word with her to recommend me was no problem, but no one’s ever done anything like that for me, let alone a stranger. I want to thank him somehow. I know he probably doesn’t want any thanks or would prefer I do so with an hour’s worth of spoken words, but I want him to know his faith in me is well worth it. Judging by the quaint, happy stories of his life and childhood, we come from such different worlds. That’s why I want to earn it so badly. I can’t stand the thought of being some pity case to him because I’m his patient, even though I doubt he thinks so. He treats me like I’m just a young guy like him, laughing over the stories of my high school shenanigans, which makes sense since we’re not too far apart in age.

Okay, eight years is almost a decade, but he’s still young. He’s addicted to Nutella shakes and still lives at his parents’ house. I can easily see him being some congenial, preppy kid at school—the kind youdon’twant to smother with theirletterman jacket. The kind who’s friendly to everyone and doesn’t judge.

We had a kid like that at my school—Devon Willmington. Ben and I used to joke that he’d probably become the mayor because no one had anything bad to say about him. Aaron’s so good he’d probably be kind to assholes, so I want him to know he’s not making a mistake by sticking his neck out for me. I want to be that famous artist he dreamed of, so I can walk back into his office someday to gift him some top-selling portrait rich people are vying for.

And maybe… maybe I kind of want to earnhimtoo.

I read Ben right. There’s no way I could have read Aaron wrong.

He’s into guys. I just… know.

Yeah, you ‘know’ with your dick, a cynical voice in my head teases. I tell the voice to shut the fuck up because this has very little to do with my dick. I’d be perfectly happy just to lie next to him and listen to that laughter.

Okay, my dick certainly wouldn’t complain if it was involved in the scenario either, but whatever. I get a vibe from him. And what will it hurt if one little sketch in particular gets him to direct that vibe my way? I’ll be out of here soon—a free man. I won’t be his patient anymore. And one day soon, I’ll be eighteen. Eighteen and legally available.

What’s he laughing about? An ugly sensation clouds my head as I nudge the half-closed door to his office. It feels a lot like jealousy over not being the reason for his amused state. Scoffing, I shake my head at myself. Man, I have it so bad.

“Did you get into the laughing gas?” I rasp out, rounding the doorway, still mystified how little I care about the hoarsesound of my voice as long as it means I get to make Aaron smile from hearing it.

It’s instantly and painfully obvious that this smile is not because of me. My throat closes up, taking in the man holding him in an embrace, kissing his neck, and gripping his ass. Dr. Reider—a visiting plastic surgeon. Dr. Norton swung by my room with him when he gave him a tour three weeks ago.

“Stop it,” Reider purrs teasingly, tugging him closer as Aaron chuckles, pushing at Reider’s chest like he intended to break free. “You’re going to get me fired.”

I want to shout that he’s not funny. That Aaron’s clearly trying to be professional and not make out at the workplace, but I can’t. I can’t shout yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to again. I’ve only been speaking the past month and a half, barely above a damn whisper. It’s only further evidenced by their obliviousness to me. They didn’t freaking hear me when I walked into the room. I thought the way Leonard used to call me names like ‘sissy’ and ‘queer’ made me feel like nothing, but this might be worse. I’ve never felt more invisible than watching another man touch what I want, and I can’t even yell at him to stop.

Clearing my throat, I shift on my crutches, bumping the door on purpose to make more sound. Reider looks up, brows pinching together like he’s annoyed.

Seriously? What kind of doctor does that?

“Easton!” Aaron exclaims, spinning around. His cheeks are in full bloom as he smooths the front of his shirt and puts some distance between him and the ass-grabber. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there. This is…Dr. Reider.”

Reider adjusts his tie, leaning against Aaron’s desk like he has no shame about being caught, and throws me a nod. “Are you Aaron’s prodigy?” he asks, smirking.

Prodigy? What’s that supposed to mean? And how can Aaron let some guy he’s only known for three weeks grope him in his office?

The guy looked like he was trying to swallow him, body and soul, like a demon. I don’t like his dark eyes or his arrogant-looking face and perfectly trimmed goatee. He looks like a used car salesman with a fancy watch who gets too much sun.

“We have an appointment…don’t we?” I try for indifference but hear the saltiness in my stupid fucking whisper voice.

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