Page 8 of The Obedient Lie
It was the silence. Thick. Suspended. The kind that presses against your skin like static.
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t scroll.
Didn’t rustle their sheets or whisper under their breath like normal boys.
They just…listened.
I was sure of it.
Certain they were lying in their beds—black sheets, twin shadows—facing the ceiling, their breathing quiet, their bodies still, while they counted the rhythm of mine.
Every inhale felt louder.
Every turn of the blanket too sharp.
Every part of me suddenly aware that I wasn’t alone.
I kept my back to them.
Face toward the window.
Spine straight, hands tucked beneath my pillow.
Let them listen.
Let them hear how calm I was.
Even if my heart was trying totear itself freefrom my ribs.
The second morning, I left before they woke.
Or maybe they were already gone.
I didn’t check.
Didn’t look at their beds.
Didn’t breathe in that silence again.
The Crow dorm wasn’t a place for conversation or comfort.
It wasn’t a place where peoplelived.
It was a place for containment.
For sleep. For strategy. For vanishing.
The third night, Bastion was standing at the foot of my bed.
Arms crossed, weight on one leg, eyes locked on the blush-pink throw blanket at the end of my mattress like it personally offended him.
“You bring that into this house on purpose?”
His voice was sharp. Controlled.
I replied, “I didn’t realize warmth was a crime.”
