Page 9 of Tortured Whispers
This company was different though. I didn’t feel like I was drowning around him. “Brook, I’m glad you came to eat with us. Now we’re spending quality family time together. That’s exactly why I moved back out here. I was too far away in New York,” Caesar frowned, shaking his head.
My uncle didn’t look much like my father at all. Cease was tall. Really fucking tall. I always thought my father was the tallest man I’d ever seen at six-foot-four, but turns out his little brother had him beat. I was tall too but Cease was a tree amongst shrubs.
Dark stubble covered his chiseled jaw and chin and his eyelashes were thick and black framing eyes that were soft brown like cashmere. He had a head full of thick, dark hair that was combed and styled perfectly. Unlike Dad, Cease didn’t have a strand of gray on his head. He could have been a hair model for whatever kind of shit guys put in their hair.
Brooklyn, stop staring at your goddamn uncle.
I jerked my eyes away from him and looked down at my plate of food. He stole a glance at me and smiled a little nudging my knee under the table and winking. “Yeah, now you’re close and you can annoy me in person,” Dad grumbled but there was a smile beneath the rough exterior.
“I’m glad you’re hew,” I said quietly. I almost thought nobody heard me but Cease gave my knee a quick squeeze under the table that sent my heart into the roof of my mouth. Dad looked at me with pride shining in his eyes.
“Well, if Brooklyn likes you then you get the seal of approval. You’re welcome here anytime, Cease,” Dad chuckled. It was good to see him smile. The entire dinner was good. It was a step in the right direction that I needed.
I got to see what it felt like to breathe normally. To finally walk above water. I actually laughed. I hadn’t laughed in so long I forgot what my laugh even sounded like. It was light and shockingly loud.
When Cease made a joke about how we should take all the instructions and warnings off mundane, everyday things and let natural selection take place, I snorted. I laughed. It made me warm all over. I guess that’s what real happiness felt like and not just the happiness I got from eating Aunt Erica’s banana bread.
“Okay guys, I gotta turn in. I have to be awake at three in the morning for work at four. Lovely life I lead.” Dad pushed away from the table and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. “Good night, sweetheart. You mind helping your uncle with the dishes?”
“No, I don’t mind. I’ll help. Night, Dad.” I stood and hugged him tightly, catching him off guard. I caught myself off guard too. I guess neither of us was used to me being…happy.
“I love you, Brooklyn,” he said.
“I love you too,” I grinned.
“See you tomorrow, Cease.” He headed down the hall to his room and suddenly everything was silent and ten degrees too warm. If I didn’t have to hide my scars all the time, I would have taken off the stupid long sleeve active shirt I had on.
Since I had to wear long sleeves in the summer, I picked the lightweight material gym bunnies used when they wanted to look wintertime cute. I just wanted to hide my cutting scars.
“Are you comfortable telling me about your speech apraxia, Brook?” Caesar’s voice curled around me and held on tight, yanking me out of the recesses of my murky mind.
“I don’t know…” I shrugged, hugging myself.
“I’ve met loads of kids who have it. From what I can hear, yours is pretty moderate. I won’t push though,” he smiled at me and I wanted to tell him my entire life story. He probably already knew but still…
He was comfortable.
I’d never felt comfortable with anyone. Not even my speech therapist made me as comfortable as standing in the kitchen with my uncle did. I locked on to his brown eyes and tugged on my sleeve with my lips.
“I hate talking. I don’t know when I’ll say a word wight or not.” I fisted my hands at my side and ignored the prickling on the back of my neck. Why was I so fucking incapable of speaking properly?
“You say ninety percent of your words perfectly, Brook. Do you realize that?” He offered me a smile warmer than any day in June.
“Doesn’t feel like that,” I muttered. “I’m a fuck up.” I chewed a vigorously on my sleeve while I stared at my feet. Caesar’s thick, black brows furrowed as he regarded me. He shook his head and pulled my sleeve away from my mouth. I missed the comfort of it.
“You’re no more of a fuck up than the rest of the world. You know what that means, right?” He asked, holding on to a glimmer of something that made his eyes shine.
“What?” I asked, curiously.
“If everyone is a fuck up, then it means you’re just normal. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re perfect, Brook.” He took a step closer to me and brushed the messy hair out of my face.
I’d been called a lot of things but perfect wasn’t one of them.
“No, I’m not,” I said harshly. My own voice sounded foreign to me being so…loud.
“Well, what makes you so un-perfect? Because all I see standing here is a girl that has a lot of thoughts to let out. I don’t see a fuck up. I don’t see someone who has to hide.” He folded his muscular arms over his chest and I noticed how ripped my uncle was. Shit. He must have never skipped the gym.
What if he thought I worked out too because of the shirt I was wearing? Stupid shirt choice, Brooklyn. I only wore it because it had thumb holes and it was long sleeved.
