Page 85 of Interpreter

“He mentioned to Anniston that your doctor had an opening in his surgery schedule.”

I sigh. Thanks a lot, Dr. Parker.

“Is there a surgery they want you to have?”

I return the soothing motion of cupping water and watching as it cascades down her breasts before plunging down her flat stomach. “Yes.”

“Yes, they want you to have a surgery?”

I nod.

“And you don’t want to?” Her face is relaxed, so that tells me she isn’t shocked by this revelation, only curious.

I shake my head.

“What’s the surgery?”

Is it wrong if I just slipped my cock in and fucked her into silence? Right. No condom. I can’t have any of that.

“The surgery consists of placing a prosthesis inside my ear.”

Her eyes widen. “Would you be able to hear?”

I almost shrug and remember her saying it was my tell. “Possibly. The prosthesis is supposed to allow sound vibrations to pass from the eardrum to the inner ear fluids.”

Her hands go to my shoulders, holding me down as if she’s afraid I will leave. “And you don’t want to try it? Why?”

The golden question that everyone wonders and only few know the truth. Namely, Dr. Parker. It’s not something I like talking about or sharing. Some wounds will never heal and this… this surgery is my scar.

“I just don’t,” I lie.

For a moment she just stares at me, and whatever she finds in my face, brings a softness out of her. “I know you, Timaeus.”

I almost scoff but don’t. She knows me. She may not know my favorite color or stupid shit like that, but sheknowsme with a rawness that no one else does.

“You can trust me. I won’t judge. God knows I’m not perfect.”

I swallow as her hand moves to my throat. She’s using my own move against me. She’s forming our connection. I bring my hand up and lay it over hers at my throat and then place my other one on her throat. She smiles a sweet and innocent smile, and I know I’m going to fucking tell her.

“My mother was a singer,” I begin, pushing down the urge to stay silent. “A Grammy Award-winning singer.”

Milah gasps.

“I lived out my high school years in a penthouse in a Vegas casino.” I watch her face for any frowns, and when she only remains curious, I keep going. “My dad was her agent, and he secured her a Vegas deal for two years, which he got renewed when she brought in more revenue than the casino anticipated. She was on every billboard. Every radio station. It got so bad that I couldn’t even listen to the radio because I would hear my mom’s voice. You can’t imagine what it was like when you set the mood music to the Top Twenty Countdown… Nothing kills the mood like hearing your mo—”

Her eyes narrow at the mention of me setting any kind of mood with another female.

“Anyway,” I move on, “I couldn’t escape her fandom. My mother was the face of Vegas. I led a good life. An easy one. I was declared a musical prodigy at the age of twelve and went to a private school where my academics revolved around my music.” I scoff, thinking about how suddenly things changed. “My future was planned out perfectly.”

I try to pull my hand from her throat, and she stops me. “Don’t stop.”

I nod. She deserves the truth.

“And then she came home one night after her show. She’d been crying, and she and my dad were fighting.”

I fight the eye contact with Milah, but she leans in and kisses me, keeping my focus solely on her. “She started having symptoms?”

I nod. “Her father was deaf, so she always knew it was a possibility that she would carry the gene, but when she never showed any symptoms…” I sigh. “She thought she was safe.”

---