Page 77 of The Sound of Him

The aching and the nausea fade.

All that’s left is the exhaustion.

So much fucking exhaustion.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to sleep. Just for a little while. Just enough for a reset.

I shoot Jake a text asking if he can cover. He says he just needs two minutes. I spend the time switching profiles on the computer and entering the code that keeps them from ever seeing that I have a profile of my own. There shouldn’t be any reason we don’t all share a single profile - we’re all working on the same team, after all. As far as he and the others will ever know, it’s just one profile that’s always logged in, with the same exact programs and information they always see. Programs that don’t show behind the scenes of other operations that shouldn’t be any of my business. Information that doesn’t give away the biggest secrets of our organization - and expose my own secrets while at it.

Jake gives me a squeeze on my shoulder and tells me to get some rest. “You look like shit, man.”

I flash him my middle finger, but I’m too exhausted for the banter.

I barely remember getting to my room. It smells kind of weird. Too clean, yet stagnant somehow. Not exactly stale, but unused. Even a little dusty.

I don’t have the energy to pull the blankets back, so I just collapse on top of them. I’m pretty sure I’m already asleep before my body has the chance to settle.

The last thing I remember is registering the soft crinkle of Matt’s note, still safely held in my hand.

It’s dark. Really dark.

There’s no light coming in through the little crack at the bottom of the closet door. Whoever last used me must have turned the bedroom light off after they were finished. I don’t remember them, but that doesn’t matter. They’re all the same, in the end.

I listen hard, trying to find the music, but there’s nothing to hear except that strange buzzing that sometimes fills my ears.

Or - wait.

There’s… something.

I lean over, trying to figure out what the sound is, and bump into something.

No. Someone.

I bump into someone.

I flinch back, heart hammering. “H-hello?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet. She doesn’t like it when I’m loud. I… don’t remember who she is, but I remember that.

The person grabs at me, their hands strong but not mean, not hurting. They try to move my fingers. It’s like they’re sayingsomething with them. Or trying to, at least. A language. I think - I think I know that language? I think I’ve been learning it?

Except it’s so, so dark and I can’t see anything, I can’t see whatever words the person is trying to show me.

“Say it out loud,” I tell them, but as I do, I realize that they can’t say it. This person doesn’t talk. I don’t know how I know that. I don’t know who this is. I can’t see them. But I just - I know who it is anyway? I can’t think of his name, or even his face, but I know that I know him. I know who he is. And I know this is not his fault. He can’t help that he can’t talk.

I feel so small and alone, even with him beside me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. He’s pulling at my fingers. It’s starting to hurt. “I’m sorry, I can’t see. I can’t see. I’m sorry.”

He’s so quiet, the kind of quiet that makes my ears do the buzzing thing, but I somehow know he’s upset. He’s crying. Sobbing.

“I’m sorry.” I grab at his hands, pulling one to my chest and rubbing in circles. It’s stupid. He can hear me just fine. It’s talking that he can’t do. But this is all I can offer. I rub again and again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He pulls away from me.

I reach for him, but he’s not there.

No one is there.

I turn in circles, crouched low on my knees because I’ll get in trouble if I mess up the clothes hanging above me, and reach and reach and reach. I grasp handfuls of empty air. I want to call to him, but now my voice isn’t working either.