Silence

Chapter 3 - Mute

Maria

The quiet is deafening. I hate it.

But I stay quiet, because my voice sounds too loud when I'm alone.

I sit on the couch, still as stone, waiting for something-anything-to break the silence.

Nothing happens.

So I get up. My apartment is small but tidy, everything in its place. A one-bedroom, just enough space for someone who doesn't really speak. I head to the kitchen and decide on a strawberry banana smoothie. Basic, sure-but familiar. Sweet. Predictable.

The blender roars to life. It's jarring, and it's late, but I don't care. I like the noise. I need the noise.

Then it stops.

The silence rushes back in like a wave.

I freeze.

The air thickens. The walls edge closer. My chest tightens like something unseen is pressing in. My stomach churns. Suddenly, I know I'm going to be sick.

No smoothie tonight.

...

I barely make it to the toilet, but I get there in time.

Afterward, I brush my teeth, scrub my tongue raw. The taste lingers anyway. I step into the shower. The sound of the water fills the space, dulls the edges of the world. It's enough to make my own voice tolerable.

So I hum. A soft tune, no real melody-just sound. Just something to hold the silence back.

When I get out, I turn some music on. Something ambient. Wordless.

It helps.

Then I go back to being mute.

Lilac

He gets here around 4 a.m.

Never tells me his name, so he's just him.

Why would he? He deals for a living. Low profile's part of the job.

I actually respect that.

Of course you do. f*****g simp.

There's no point. Let's just get this over with and get on with dying.

Jesus, you're bleak.

His hands find my hips, firm and sure, pulling me close before steering me back toward the bed. He knows the way now. Knows what I'll let him do. Knows I'll let him do more.

His eyes-God, his eyes. That look. All desire. All hunger. All mine.

I feel the heat hit me between the legs before his fingers even reach me.

I'm prey.

And I love it.

We're on the bed. I don't remember how. My dress is off, panties gone. His shirt pulled open. I think I moaned when he kissed down my neck but I can't be sure-it's all too thick with sensation.

I arch up to him, grind into him, wanting more, now, everything.

He holds me there. Breathes hard. Eyes dark.

I push again, and this time, he presses me down harder. Controlling, commanding.

"Did you hear what I said?"

I blink up at him, dazed. "No. What?"

"We're gonna try something new."

The words go off inside me like heat from a match struck too close. I feel it everywhere-between my thighs, behind my ribs, curling my toes.

He sees it. Sees all of me. And he smirks.

I've never seen him smirk.

"You're cute when you blush."

His mouth is on my neck again. My breast. My stomach. His hands part my thighs, slow and firm, and there's nothing left of me but yes.

The voices are gone.

Mute.

Because right now, there's only this.

Only him.

Only us.

Conrad

She keeps pushing up against me-needy, desperate, wild. It takes effort to hold her down, but I manage. I like the fight in her. Like how soft she is beneath it.

I look down at her, flushed and breathless. She's gone-lost in it. But happy. Warm under my hands like she belongs there.

"Did you hear what I said?" I ask, low and sharp.

She blinks, dazed. "No. What?"

"We're gonna try something new."

That gets through. Her face blooms red, and f**k if that doesn't make something tighten deep in my gut. She doesn't realize it, but every time she forgets everything-even the ice-it's like watching her come back to life for me.

"You're cute when you blush," I say before I can stop myself. It slips out, honest. Doesn't matter now.

I kiss down her body, slow. Her neck, her chest, her stomach. She shivers with each one, arching into my mouth like she's starving for it.

I part her legs and start there. Her moans rise fast-small, then louder, until she's crying out for me, hips bucking, fists twisting the sheets. She clings like she's falling. She doesn't know she already has.

That's it, Bunny. Let it all go.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the toy I brought-sleek, quiet, already charged. She doesn't notice. She's too gone.

Perfect.

I press it against her, matching the rhythm of her hips. She gasps hard, writhing under me like I lit her nerves on fire. Her body begs, even if her mouth can't find the words.

Then I catch her legs and stretch them straight, pinning them with my weight. She flails, so I lean in, grip her wrists in one hand, press them into the mattress.

"Let's see how squirmy I can make you, Bunny."