Page 67 of The Sound Of Silence

I stay under the bubbles until I can't take it any longer, hoping that when I rise, my life will be back to normal. But of course it’s not.And God, I hate myself for it.

It’s not until all the lights are off and the house is quiet that I finally drag myself out of the water and haphazardly wrap the towel around my body. I’m not cold, but a shiver runs through me as I picture Jesse sleeping peacefully, not a care in this world. At least, not a care for me. Bile rises in my throat as I walk toward the door.

I hate that Jesse was right. That I should have stayed away. That he might break me. Because his little lie certainly did just that.

I almost wish I’d never found out the truth, stayed blissfully unaware in silence.

But silence is going to be the death of me. There’s too much of it in my life.

And I want it gone.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jesse - Twelve Years Ago / Age Sixteen

Thewaterturnsalight shade of red as I wash the blood from my body, scrubbing so hard, the cloth mars my skin. But I can’t stop. I deserve it. I deserve so much worse.

What the fuck did we do?

As I watch the tainted water flush down the drain, my head flashes with perfectly clear images of what I’m sure will become my torment. If I even make it out of this in one piece.

Her best friend is dead, and all I managed to say was, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And even that was a lie. I don’t have her. I don’t even know if she’s okay. I don’t even know her real fucking name.

The sound of their screams fills my mind next, and it takes everything in my power not to scream louder, not to try anything I can to drown it out.

Instead, I grip my head and remain silent. I have no choice. I’ve got more than one nightmare to contend with.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jesse

Mychesttightenstothe point of suffocation but I push through. Making her hate me is the only option in this scenario because it’s going to end up that way eventually.

But fuck did that hurt. It’s still hurting. I feel like my insides are tied up in knots, and my heart’s taking the brunt of the force. I can’t do this, but I also can’t seem to walk away. Every second with her is torture, but it’s also bringing me to life bit by bit. I’m struggling to process why her touch is so different for me, and yet deep down, I know. I know exactly why I can tolerate it. And I hate that I have to let her go.Again.

In the years after I moved from Mossman Hills, I contemplated many scenarios for how my past would catch up with me. But I never once considered this. I never thought I’d see Buttercup again, and I definitely never thought she’d make me feel things when I’d closed myself off to that.

But here I am, letting her get closer than anyone’s ever been, letting myself be vulnerable.

I know it’s messed up and wrong, but I don’t know how to stop it.

Willow doesn’t come inside until long after I left her, and my mind drifts while I wait, only allowing myself a second to think of my past, of why I hate to be touched, before shoving the memories back down.

It’s only after I’ve switched off the lamp in the living room and lain still for a few minutes that Willow finally enters, easing my mind. I should look away, but the soft glow from the moon provides just enough light for me to watch her rush past with a towel clinging to her body, wet hair still dripping down her back. I force my eyes closed just as her door clicks shut and something, orsomeonecrashes against it.Fuck!

What is wrong with me?

Yes, I’ve always been an asshole, but that was some next level shit.

A little part of me thinks I should be honest with her. About everything. But the more I know her, the harder that gets.

She should hate me. Sheneedsto hate me. And if lying to her about Pippa gets that result, then it’s what I have to do. Many people will suffer if the truth comes out, and top of that list is Willow. Me being here is putting us all at risk.

When I can no longer hear movement in Willow’s room, I head to the kitchen for a drink. I’ve just downed half a beer when the front door opens and Pippa stumbles in.

“Honey, I’m home,” she sings as she greets me.

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