Page 138 of The Sound of Him

Master Mica didn’t hear me. Not really. Master Mica laughed. Master Mica said, “What’s that, slut? I can’t hear you.” Master Mica said, “If you need help, just ask.” Master Mica said, “Stupid thing is going to choke to death without a hand on him. Useless.”

There was this sound, this sandpaper-whistle-thing. Master Mica leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of you dying.”

There are shoes by my head.

There is only, only, only.

There’s - there’s… Bryce?

Was Bryce there at the same time as the shoes?

Bryce is saying - he’s saying - what’s he saying to Master Benny?

There are hands on me.

That awful wheezing sound is still happening.

The sound of me dying.

No one listened.

Ace listened.

Ace heard me.

Ace heard, he heard, he heard-

There’s something soft against my cheek. Stroking. I flinch, sucking in a sharp breath that makes me dizzy. A stupid slut, a stupid ghost, a stupid set of lungs that hurt when they get the very thing they need.

Everything burns.

Everything except the thing on my cheek.

“-that? He’s soft, isn’t he? That’s your bunny. Your blue bunny. You’re safe. You’re in the safehouse. You’re safe, Matt. Do you feel that? Do you feel your bunny?”

I blink and the blurry world focuses. Dr. Singh is crouched beside me, my bunny in one hand, the other hand holding one of the bunny’s ears up to touch my cheek with it. I shiver.

It does feel soft.

“Good,” he says like he can tell I’m back with him. Maybe he can. “We’re going to breathe, okay? Inhale until 4. Ready? Inhale 1-2-3-4. Good. Now exhale for-” he stops when I choke on the air. I sob, squeezing my eyes shut.

I’m so sick of choking.

I’m so sick of being without air.

I’m so sick of being a ghost, a revenant, forced to relive my death over and over.

“It’s okay,” he tells me. “It’s alright. Let’s try again. We can just try again. We just keep trying. Ready, inhale 1-2-3-4. Good. Yeah, Matt. Now exhale 4-3-2-1. Yeah. Good. It’s okay. Let’s keep going.”

We do it again and again until my chest feels lighter and he doesn’t have to talk anymore, the two of us just breathing in and out together. He smiles eventually, warm but a little sad. He lowers himself from his crouch to sit on the floor, drawing his knees up like mine.

“It’s okay if you’re afraid of making noise again,” he tells me. “That’s a very overwhelming thing, isn’t it?”

I nod. Itisoverwhelming.

He nods too.

“Let’s forget about making noise for a while. That’s too overwhelming. We’re going to start smaller. For now, I want you to work on building a relationship with sound. A healthy one. Okay?”