Page 30 of The Sound of Him

He didn’t throw away the apple.

He doesn’t think it’s ruined.

It feels like he just waltzed over, picked up the grenade at my feet, and showed me it was pretend the whole time. Like, of course it was pretend. He’s too comfortable here for there to be grenades. This place is too safe for him to ever worry about things like that.

Safe for him.

Safe for…the both of us?

He’s still offering me the apple, an eyebrow raised in question. I nod, hesitant, and he hands it over. My fingers shake as I take it. He doesn’t say anything, even though his eyes linger on the movement a second too long. He just seems to make sure I have a firm grip before reaching out to grab himself a green apple from the bowl. He tosses it once in the air, flashing me a grin, before taking a big bite.

I can smell it. Fresh. Tart. The echo of that smell, of what I know it must taste like, lingers on my own tongue. It makes my head spin.

“So what’ll it be?” he asks after swallowing his bite. “Two fingers for meeting with him, three for having me tell him to write the stuff down, or one - middle finger optional - for me to go fuck off?”

And it’s suddenly so easy to decide that I’ll try to meet with Dr. Singh. Easier, still, to give him my answer by showing him two of my fingers.

He doesn’t react like I expected. He doesn’t light up as if I passed some sort of test, or smile in relief. He just shrugs, like he couldn’t care less either way, and says, “Cool, man. You know where his office is?”

My stomach swoops down, hard and fast, like it’s trying to replace the grenade on the floor. I think I saw his office at one point. With Nolan, when we walked around the house to check it out. I don’t remember, though. Partly because I had a hard time concentrating when we did that, too many people, too many sounds, everything itchy and loud, but also because my brain feels too messy to find the right memory right now.

My head is just one big jumble. A mess. Broken.

It doesn’t matter that I want to see Dr. Singh if I can’t even find the man.

He probably can’t help me anyway.

Maybe I should just go back under my bed.

At least I have the apple now. It might be enough to get me through the rest of the day. Then I can try coming down here again when it’s dark. Maybe I’d even be brave enough to look around for Dr. Singh’s office then, too. I could write directions in my notebook as I walk. Draw pictures, maybe - words are sometimes hard to write. I could make a map. Then tomorrow, I could use the map to find him.

Or maybe I should just give up on the idea.

I’m not fixable. It doesn’t matter, really. None of it matters.

Ghosts don’t matter.

“Come on,” Ace says, already turning away from me. “I’ll show ya.”

He doesn’t wait for me to agree. He doesn’t even look over his shoulder to see if I’m following. He’s just walking. No expectation. No satisfaction or disappointment. Just a man with a green apple and loose shoulders and a smile that’s real again, heading off to the office of a stubborn asshole he’s clearly fond of.

“If you’re following me right now,” he says just before leaving the kitchen. My feet move without permission, my body magnetized, drifting after him. Maybe I’m a ghost, but he’s who I want to haunt right now. It feels safe with him.Ifeel safe. “I want you to know that my feelings won’t be hurt if you stop. Like, feel free to not follow me, man. No skin off my back, you know? I’ll just arrive at his office. Awkwardly alone. Pretend like I meant to be there if anyone sees me because it’d be pretty cringe if I just stop walking at his door and then turn around - like, what am I, a Sims character who had their task canceled? But don’t worry, I’ll pull it off. I’ll be totally chill about it.

“Unless he tries to, like, talk to me? Because fuck that. No offense to the guy, and I won’t pretend like I’m too goodfor therapy or something, therapy is great, super healthy, he’s fucking good at it, too, really good, but no fucking thank you, not today Satan, you know? I’ve done my time. But I’ll just, like, I don’t even - oh, I’ll tell him I brought him coffee! Oh… which means I would have to give him my coffee. Which is kind of super sad. This is my coffee, Matt, but here I’ll be, faking chivalry, giving up my nectar of the gods, all to avoid therapy. Don’t let that fool you, though - still no pressure for you to do the therapy thing. You can still leave. If you haven’t already left, I mean…

“Shit, am I talking to myself right now? I’m probably totally talking to myself. Damn, now I kind of want to turn and look back but if I do that and you’re still there then that’s going to be so fucking awkward, for both of us, and I don’t want to make this awkward. Or have I already made this awkward? But if I don’t look back and keep talking and you’re not there, then someone might see me and think I’m crazy. Or worse -Singhmight see me and think I’m crazy. And then he might abduct me into his evil lair and make me talk about my feelings. Though, I guess in that scenario, I probably still get to keep my coffee, so maybe that’d be worth it?

“This is a dilemma now. We’re officially in a dilemma. Well,I’min one. I have no idea if you’re in one. You might not even be there. Now would be a great time for me to have those badass operative skills the other guys have where they can, like, sense other people like they’re Spiderman or some shit. All I can do is cool stuff on my computer. Totally not something that is going to come in handy right now. And here we are - ah, and his door is open, how great. Yes. Hi, Adam. I’m here. All by my-” he stops then, having turned.

He smiles when he sees me, but it’s like before - no expectation, no big emotions, not even relief that he hasn’t been sacrificed to the therapist like he feared. It’s the kind of smileyou give someone when you’ve been pleasantly surprised. Gentle and warm. Easy.

His words are swimming in my head. There were so many of them, too many, but… they were meaningless. He said as much. He has no expectations. I don’t have to remember them. I don’t have to respond to them.

For the first time in a very long time, words don’t feel like knives in my skin.

“Thank God,” he declares without any true relief. “You’ve saved me, you know that? I owe you.”

Then he salutes Dr. Singh and walks away, leaving me behind without a second glance.