Page 108 of The Sound in Silence

How does he know? My mask should be up. He shouldn’t have noticed. When he came back, I sat up, I spoke, I acted human enough he shouldn’t have seen through it.

Oh, who am I kidding? Was the mask on entirely, or did it slip from my face and I allowed it to? For the first time ever, Iletsomeone see the truth I’ve always hid.

“When I was sixteen,” I murmur, swallowing my latest bite. It now tastes like dust and is unappetizing, so I rest the plate off to the side, my hands fisting together on my lap. “Mom knew, obviously. To this day, Della doesn’t. Hid the diagnosis from her so she couldn’t fuss over me because that’s who she is. How didyoufigure it out?” And when? How much time has passed in which he allowed me to keep my blissful secret a lie?

“Whoever you left the message for, I overheard in the hallway.”

No apology for listening in on a conversation that wasn’t his business. No break in eye contact. I shouldn’t expect anything less though.

I also shouldn’t have left that message for Yasmine. I don’t know why I did. It’s only ever been texts, but in the silence of my room, my voice worked. The emotions overtaking everything else my brain struggles with and Ineededto talk. Maybe to inform her, maybe to use the call as a diary. Either way, I reflect on what I said to her; what would have been indicative for him.

But then he answers my curiosity: “You spoke about a light and darkness that you struggled to bring yourself from, and negative thoughts that you were combating. Said getting out of bed seems impossible, which is why I carried you down myself. Swimming and music aren’t appealing to you right now. You blamed your brain.” He pushes off the counter and steps between my spread legs, his large hands sliding up my thighs until he’s holding my hips. “And then I thought about how Nico told me you were a quiet woman who preferred to remain in her room, and how you didn’t leave the room here for the first few days.”

“Is that weird though? Considering I was shoved into a new place.”

“Maybe if you didn’t turn away all offers of food and ignore Sebastian.” He quirks a smile. “Subtle, but the hints are there.”

I cry. Without warning, sobs break down any self-control. My hands cover my face at the same time he pulls me into his chest, my legs hugging his hips. I lower my hands to press my face against his bare shoulder instead, using his warmth to melt the tears.

“Pathetic, huh,” I mumble. “You talk about your admiration for my strength but all I do is cry. Cry and hide away in the darkness.”

His hand cups the back of my hair, stroking the strands. “Pathetic you are not. Sometimes the greatest strength is allowing another to see your struggles.”

“My weaknesses, you mean.” I pull back to look him in the face.

“Depression isn’t a weakness,sirena. Nothing about you is weak. I’m simply the lucky one who gets to see the real you.”

Yes, therealme. If everything else about me wasn’t about to drive him away, then this surely will.

He cups my face and shatters the dark thoughts with a simple kiss. Simple, but powerful, and when he leans away, there’s a heat in his eyes I want to burn in.

Want to, but can’t. Even thinking about being intimate with him shuts my mind down. The mood is too great, too heavy right now to think about anything further. So I hug him instead, linking my ankles together behind his back and bury my head into his neck, and let him hold me, comfort me.

Heal me.

We stay like that for an unknown length of time before he releases me with a gentle smile and reaches for the plate I abandoned. “You will finish eating,” he commands, “and then we’re spending the day together.”

After all that, he thinks I’ll function enough?

“In bed, by the pool, wherever you want.” He cups my cheek. “But I’ll be there for every tear, Ariella.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

He only shrugs.

“So you’re on suicide watch?” It’s a joke, despite the unamusing nature of the subject, but then I realize he might think I’m serious, so I backtrack, “Wait. No, that’s not…I don’t—won’t.”

He smirks as I stumble over my words and taps the tip of my nose with his finger. “I’m onsirenawatch. We’ll just call it that.” He backs away from my hold and returns to cleaning the counter as I pick up the fork again and shovel the now-cold egg into my mouth and reflect on what happened.

Erico’s gained every reason this week to kick me out, despite his assurances he wouldn’t. And still, it hasn’t happened.

Because he’s good for you. He’s right.

When I finish eating, he silently takes the plate and loads the dishwasher at the other end. He works in silence, until I break it, the earlier questions I had returning because he never answered them.

“Who’d you kill?” It’s almost laughable to ask such a thing so casually. “Don’t hide it from me. You were covered in blood. That was clearly a slaughter.”

He shuts the dishwasher before responding, staring at me with a near-troubled expression, his brows low, lips pinched. “Slaughter is the correct term. Let’s just say, I released a lot of my anger this morning. He was dying one way or the other, but became my project for self-care.”

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