Page 13 of The Sound of Him

There isn’t just a doctor here, but a therapist too. He gathers us together for group therapy, his smile kind and voice gentle as he tells us that his name is Dr. Singh and he’ll be here for us for as long as we need him. I can feel Nolan practically vibrating beside me, his anxiety somehow worse in this house than it was back in the compound. I wonder if Dr. Singh will be able to fix that for him. If he’ll be able to fix Bryce, with all his pent-up fury and rampant distrust, or fix Darian, with his ever-growing gaps in memory.

I don’t let myself wonder if he can fix me.

The therapist talks a lot. Then the others talk, too. There’s shouting and standing and pacing and pointing.

The guy with the dark hair - curls, bright blue eyes - a brother, he’s someone’s brother, and his name is - his name is - his name is…

I rub at my forehead, not sure if I’m trying to chase away the headache that’s starting to build, or trying to get the name to break free. He’s important. The guy standing and yelling. I knowhis name because he’simportant. Bryce would talk about him a lot. Nolan too. He’s - he’s-

Carter.

That’s his name. Carter.

And Carter belonged to Master Roar-wait, no, that’s not his name either.He’s no longer theRsign tapping against the temple - the name sign Nolan and I made up ourselves to save us time when we needed to refer to him at the compound. I don’t have a name sign for his real name now. His real name, which is - which is - is…Travis.

I don’t have a name sign for ‘Travis’. I would need to sign his name using fingerspelling instead. Like I had to with Jake yesterday -wait, was that only yesterday?

Anyway, this is - this man is Carter and he’s Jake’s slave.

No, wait, that’s not right.

Travis. Carter was Travis’s slave.

Jake’s slave was a C name too, though, right?

Not Carter, but…Cody? Or Corey?

Wait, no - Casey.

I think Jake’s slave wasCasey.

Carter’s the little brother of - of the guy - the one who talked to Nolan in the kitchen, who didn’t yell at him when he broke a dish. His name - his name is -come on, come on, you know this, Nolan said it again this morning, said he talked to him- his name - his name is - is -

I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s so much noise. Everyone is shouting.

Or no one is shouting and it’s all inside my head?

I don’t know how to tell.

I don’t think it matters.

My head is loud either way.

It’s so, so loud.

It hurts.

I don’t realize I’ve left the group until I’m standing in the middle of the bedroom that’s supposed to be mine, but doesn’t feel like mine at all. My head feels gauzy and overfull. I made my own teddy bear once at one of those stores in the mall. The lady had said, “Oh, not too much! His head will pop!” when I overstuffed him. She had laughed, hooking fingers into his insides and pulling chunks out.

I forgot about that store. That day. That teddy bear.

I wonder how close my own head is to popping. If I could pull stuffing out of my ear. Just reach inside and scoop pieces of me out. If it would stop hurting so much then.

I almost laugh when I realize that’s not a normal thing to wonder about.

I almost cry when I remember I can't laugh anymore.

I'm on the floor now. I don't know when I got there. I don’t think that matters either.