Page 13 of Tortured Whispers
“When I’m awound you, I don’t dwown.”
“Drown?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Is that how it feels?”
“Yeah, the apwaxia. It feels like I’m underwater.” It must have been the first time she ever mentioned that to anyone because her cheeks and neck blazed soft red.
“Thank you for trusting me with that feeling,” I said, winking at her. Before I told her goodnight, I could have sworn I saw her face glow an even brighter red.
**
Over the next week, Brook came out of her shell piece by piece. By Friday, she actually came in the house with a smile on her face instead of me having to pull it out of her with a corny joke. Anthony looked like his entire world was brighter when Brook tossed her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “Hi Daddy,” she grinned. Her teeth were straight and white and her slight overbite made her fucking adorable.
Next, she bounced over to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Hi, Cease,” she almost whispered.
“How was your day, Brook?” I asked, fingering her soft ponytail.
“It went by fast. Are we still having family movie night?” Last Friday, I suggested family movie night and at first, Brooklyn wasn’t feeling it but once she saw how happy Ant was she went for it. We ended up having a blast and decided we’d do it for as long as I was staying with them.
“You get to pick, kiddo,” I smiled warmly at her and her eyes glittered like fireflies.
“Okay,” her voice was warm and she wasn’t whispering like she normally did. When she went to her room, I noticed she didn’t close the door either. Anthony looked at me and smiled, shaking his head.
“You know, Cease, I hate to say it but these past two weeks have been amazing for me to witness. Brooklyn is being…normal. She’s opening up to you and I didn’t think she would open up to anyone ever.”
“Well, I’m sure Brook would have opened up to a qualified psychologist like the one I recommended to you after Andrea…” I was still pissed about that shit and I wasn’t trying to hide it. Anthony grunted and averted his gaze from mine.
“Don’t start that shit.”
“It’s the truth though,” I told him. “She’s starving for love and affection. She wants to be noticed and heard but she’s scared to talk.”
“Well, you’re alright with me as long as you can get her to talk. I’m not admitting that she needed therapy because this isn’t therapy. This is you being her uncle. She needed this, Caesar.”
“I’m being her friend.” I had no idea why my voice was so harsh but I dialed it back and stood to my feet. Anthony’s eyes narrowed in contemplation and he nodded, leaving it alone.
I went to Brook’s room and knocked before sticking my head in. She’d changed out of her hoodie and wore a pink, long-sleeved Henley shirt. It was the first time I’d seen her wear a color besides black or white. The pink looked good against her olive skin.
“Hey,” she smiled and hugged me, burying her face in my chest. Brook’s hugs made my world spin slower as if the universe wanted me to savor every second.
“What’s up, kiddo?” I sat on the floor with her and sorted through her box of cassette tapes. The girl had eclectic taste. I liked the fact that she had something that made her…her. It was one of the only ways I noticed Brook expressing herself outside of cutting.
“Phil Collins,” I said, handing her a tape. Her teeth found her bottom lip and she chewed nervously before reaching for the boombox. The music calmed her and she leaned against my arm, resting her head on my shoulder.
I noticed her hair was brushed up into a neat bun with not one strand out of place. I tossed a heavy arm around her and she let out a happy sigh. While she stared at the tape spinning in the tape deck, I stared down at her and admired the way she was blossoming.
My finger moved down the back of her neck and over the short swirl of hair there. It was like a single wisp of smoke. “You look pretty today, Brook. I like the pink on you,” I said. She looked up at me and smiled. It was the sweetest smile I’d ever seen.
“Thank you,” she replied quietly. “You look like you just got back from the gym.” I nodded my head at her observation and tried not to look too much like a proud uncle.
She was using her R’s properly. I didn’t want to point it out immediately because I didn’t want her to clam up but I noticed it.
We hung out on the floor talking about whatever she wanted to talk about. I was there to listen. I was there to make sure Brooklyn was heard.
Every time she pronounced a word with R in it the right way, I noted it in my head. While we sat, I was reminded of our conversation the first night she agreed to let me in. I sat up straight and looked at her.
“Remember when you told me the speech apraxia made you feel like you were underwater?” I asked, running a hand over my chin.
“Yeah,” she nodded in response.
“I never thought that was true,” I said watching her expression. Her features twisted into a web of confusion. She shook her head slightly but not because of the confusion. She shook her head like someone with something in their ear.
