DON'T MAKE ME SPEAK

CHAPTER 4

When I opened my eyes again…

I wasn’t in the car.

I wasn’t bleeding.

The hospital bed was replaced with a less comfortable version.

And I definitely wasn’t seventeen anymore.

A dream. I sigh to my self as I shift off my bed, feet dangling from the floor.

An arm pulls me back to bed but I slap it away standing immediately.

“Come back to bed”, Michael says as he shifts, pulling the blanket down to his waist sitting up.

I give him an uninterested glare and he takes that as his queue to leave. Smart.

I stroll towards to shower, closing the door behind me as I hear the click of the front door confirming he’s left.

After a long dip in the tub I finally get out when my skin starts crinkling.

I stand at the mirror, looking at myself. Dark under eyes, red hair with dark roots, pale caramel skin and dark brown eyes. I almost miss my former hair color but who cares.

My fingers trace my neck as I recall last night’s events.

---

Hey gorgeous, a smooth voice sounds from beside me taking the seat next from me at the bar.

Names Michael, he stretches a hand.

I try to ignore him, and fail. He’s a persistent one unfortunately.

Might as well just have some fun.

Were back at my apartment in an hour or so after drinking. We already know what we came here for so no beating around the bush.

Clothes were off and we’re stumbling into my bedroom.

It was an interesting night though, but I’ve had better.

Michael didn’t seem too pleased with my lack of vocalization in bed. Still. Surprising how many people would like to f**k a mute chick. Whatever.

My phone dings with an incoming message.

Ugh, it’s my therapist.

Therapist: remember we have a 6pm appointment.

Me: normal therapists have morning or noon sessions.

Therapist: mind your manners Alexandra.

I scowl at the text.

I hate that name. No one calls me that name.

She knows that.

Me: f**k you grace.

My therapist is probably already tired of my sarcastic texts, lack of reply and manners for our past few sessions. f**k her.

I get dressed and grab my bag heading out to work.

I now work as an attendant at this cute confectionery.

The name is actually CUTE CONFECTIONERIES.

Funny right.

"Good morning Tera," Sarah waves at me and I smile warmly at her.

Hello child, miss Anna signs to me.

I smile genuinely at her.

She’s my favorite.

Also the oldest woman here.

She owns the place.

And she’s rally nice too, unlike sadie.

I hate her. She’s the meanest person in existence and she’s so lucky I don’t cuss at her with words. I would be fired by now if I did.

So I use sign language instead.

She’s the only one here that doesn’t understand it so it’s fun.

I’m in the kitchen at the back making a lemon pie. Specifically with lemon whipped cream and mint leave shavings.

Weird. I wouldn’t eat this, not even on my worst day. Too...lemony.

Anyways I’ve been making this particular order for a few weeks now since sadie f****d it up last time.

Now whoever has this order specifically requests me making it since I got it right the first time.

Never seen her before. I refuse to believe it’s a man eating this pile of lemon s**t.

Usually it’s delivered to the address of whoever owns it.

"Hey Tera, Mr Lewis is here to pick up his order," Sarah calls out as she picks up plastic forks.

I stand corrected.

A man actually does eat this pile of lemon s**t.

I finish the swirls of whipped cream mixed with mint leaves and add a little more mint shavings at the top.

The pie goes in the small box along side a couple plastic forks. Probably should just be one but he may have company.

I step out of the kitchen through the short corridor and head to the front desk.

I stop halfway.

My eyes have never seen anything so…so beautiful. Yes beautiful. That seems appropriate for what I’m seeing right now.

A man, probably at exactly six feet three. Honey like skin paired with light brown eyes. His jaw set and a perfect build, the kind that looks thin under baggy clothes but sexy and muscular real time.

There was something distinctly Mediterranean about him—darker features, sharper lines, the kind of face that looked controlled even at rest. His black brown hair didn’t sit flat, soft curls breaking through no matter how much effort he put into taming them. It almost made me miss my original hair color. He wore a matching pair of baggy sports pants and a big hoody.

There’s a faint line above his cheek that suggests he wears glasses.

If I could express his looks as a cartoon character I’d pick Alister from hazbin. He gives that look.

He's staring at me like he’s accessing me until he politely asks for his cake and I remember what I was on the way doing.

I sign an apology and I could see his carved brows raise a smidge and he looks like he’s criticizing me for a moment.

At least that’s what I think he’s doing.

I hand the box over to him and he offers a practiced smile then leaves after dropping a few bills in the tip jar, the soft masculine scent of his cologne following as he leaves.

I turn around to see miss Anna smiling at me.

He’s handsome yes ? She signs after dropping her apron.

I roll my eyes at her and she laughs sweetly, the joyful sound following as I return to the lockers to put down my apron getting ready to leave.

I pull out my bag and my phone chimes.

Therapist: 20 minutes young lady, do not be late this time I beg you.

Rolling my eyes at her text I put my phone back in my bag and head out.