Page 65 of The Sound of Him

I'm sotired, period.

“The first step in building that trust is me taking responsibility for my previous mistake. I was wrong. Matt? Can you look at me? I’m sorry. This is the last really important thing. I just need to know you’re still with me.”

That helps, a little, knowing the important stuff is almost finished. If I miss a bunch of words after this next part, it won’t matter. They won’t be as important.

That’s enough of a relief for it to actually be easy to look at him. Easier, at least. His eyes are doing that wide, kind, earnest thing again.

“I am telling you that I was wrong, Matt. I waswrong, I made a mistake, and that hurt you. I take responsibility for that. I amsorryfor that. I promise you that I will do everything I can to not make a mistake like that again. Okay?”

My eyes burn, but not because I’m sad. Or maybe notonlybecause I’m sad. There’s something else beneath that emotion, something twisty and unfamiliar. I nod quickly, desperate to move on before the feeling has a chance to get worse.

He smiles and relaxes in his chair. It feels like the moment is over, the important one he asked me to look at him for, so I let myself relax back and look at my knees instead. It’s a little easier to breathe the next time I inhale. My eyes stop burning.

“That’s all written down. I’ll make sure you get that before you leave here.”

Now? Can I leave now?

“My goal is to keep our conversations short and sweet for most of these early sessions. I know a lot of words overwhelm you. That’s entirely normal and expected. I have a tool that I think will help us save a lot of time and a lot of those unnecessary words.” He sets what looks like a packet of papers down on the coffee table before adding, “You can pick it up to look at it whenever you’re ready, or just take it with you when you leave.Or don’t take it at all, if you don’t want to try using it. Your choice, okay?”

I eye the packet as he settles back in his chair. I feel frozen, like I wouldn’t be able to grab it even if I wanted to.

I don’t know if I want to.

“I’ll skip the boring part about questionnaire’s being common therapy tools, but Iwillmention that this is a tool I chose not to use with any of your fellow survivors. Mostly because their files have much more information than yours does, but also because processing words and communicating isn’t as difficult for them. The only reason I mention that is because there will be times when I use tools with you that I won’t use with them, and vice versa. Individualized therapy is different for everyone because every single person is different. Do not let yourself worry about what your own therapy looks like compared to others, okay?”

I nod, a little slowly, carefully.

“Besides, don’t tell them I told you this, but yours is going to end up being more fun than any of theirs, anyway. I mean, they have to have long conversations with me.” He pulls a face, which makes something light and fluttery happen in my chest. If I was normal, I think I would have laughed. Idoalmost smile. “You, on the other hand, get packets and sign language, sure, but also activities and art projects.”

Activities? Art projects?

I’ve always liked art…

“What I’m saying is that you’re still one of them, even when your world looks a little different,” he continues. “I don’t want you to let yourself feel badly about your differences. I especially don’t want you to withdraw. It is so easy to hide yourself away and build up walls when you’re struggling. It's a natural instinct. It won’t help, though. Your packet is only one tool in your recovery toolbox. The survivors here, your friends, are another. Let yourself lean on them. If you need to hide sometimes, if youneed to shut down, go ahead - but don’t make it permanent. Don’t cut yourself off from the support system you have here. Okay?”

I mean to nod, but my hands start to move instead. I find myself making the name sign forNolan, then forBryce. After a pause, I add,Carter, then,Casey.

“I’m so sorry, Matt. I don’t know those signs yet. Is-”

I start to fingerspell for him instead, doing theNshape, then theA, thenM, thenE.

“Name,” he says quietly before saying, louder, “Oh! Name signs. Were those name signs?”

It’s such a relief that I end up looking right at him as I nod.

He smiles at me. It feels good, that smile. I can feel it in my chest. I like when I can do that. When I can borrow just a little bit of someone's warmth and happiness. It’s almost as good as being able to smile myself.Almost.

“That’s awesome. I didn’t know you had some of those. I’d love to learn them. Is it okay if you teach me? Here - oh, I have the perfect thing.” He turns away and bends down to dig in a box near his feet that I hadn’t noticed before. He pulls out laminated flashcards, like the ones from the last time we met. The same ones, in fact, something I realize as he places them down on the coffee table in front of me.YES. NO. I DON’T KNOW/MAYBE.

Those three are followed by more, though. This time, it’s not words written on them. It’s names. The names of everyone in the safehouse - survivors, operatives, and doctors.

“I have ones for the men from the compound where you were abused,” he gently adds. “I won’t ever put those cards out unless you ask me to, but I want you to know that they are available. There is also a stack of cards for the survivors who left the safehouse already. The same goes for them. Are the cards already displayed here enough for now?”

I nod.

“Great. Do you want to teach me the name signs using these?”

I tapYES. Then I tapNOLANand meet his eyes as I sign Nolan’s name sign. He watches my hand movement carefully before repeating it - theNshape with the hand flipping over like the sign for ‘cook’. I nod enthusiastically at him for getting it right. His grin widens as he repeats it twice before making some sort of note in his journal.