Free The Language of Silence by Tiffany Truitt Page A

those faults you’ve been carrying around for years. All the people who love you will pretend like that darkness hasn’t been there the whole time, but it has. They’ll finally have to see how messed up you are. And it’s not because of the tragedy. Tragedy doesn’t create darkness, it just lets it free. Tragedy didn’t make you this, Ed. It just let this part of you out.”
    I clench my jaw. “Go. Away.”
    “Is that really what you want, Ed? Avoidance has always been your go-to defense mechanism.”
    “I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me, Tristan!”
    “But I’m not. I’m from your imagination. Remember? I’m just telling you what you already know,” he replies with a shrug. He lets out a low whistle. “Let your subconscious give you a bit of advice. You deserve better than the life you chase. Stop doing this before you mess everything up. Brett will hate you if you don’t be careful.”
    “Maybe I want her to hate me,” I whisper.
    “Why?”
    I swallow.
    “Say it,” Tristan commands.
    I swallow again. I want it to stop. All of it.
    “Say it,” he repeats forcefully.
    I look straight at my reflection in the mirror. “Because I’d rather she hate me than leave me.”
    “It must be rotten living your whole life so damn scared,” he replies lazily.
    “You would know,” I say.
     

Chapter Fourteen
     
    Brett :
     
    “That was quite a bathroom trip.”
    “You know it’s not very ladylike to talk about bathroom time,” Ed replies.
    “Oh. Right. I forgot. I’m supposed to be a lady,” I say. I move to stand up. I have been sitting on the floor for over fifteen minutes waiting for Ed to return.
    “Key word is supposed to be,” he snaps.
    I roll my eyes. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
    “I’m fine,” he replies quickly. Much too quickly. He’s noticeably paler than he was before he left, and there’s a sheen of sweat covering his face. Ed doesn’t give me room to continue the conversation. He starts to move toward the stairs, his hand trailing against the wall.
    I find myself staring at that hand as we move toward the front door. I want Ed to stop, to push me against the wall. I want him to have me. All of me. I want him to make me forget everything bad and just make me feel good.
    My mother sees us as we walk down the stairs. She makes her way toward us, stumbling like some character f rom some horrible after school special on parents who abuse alcohol. 
    “He won’t answer his phone. Why won’t he answer his phone?” she cries out, thrusting her cell phone into my face.
    Ed clears his throat and steps around me, making his way to the front door. He wants to be anywhere but here.
    “Who?” I ask to humor her. I have decided to please everyone today.
    “Your father,” she says, wiping her nose with her hand. She’s a wreck. I don’t know how genuine any of it is, but I almost feel sympathy for her. I know what it means to love someone who denies feeling anything at all for you.
    “Let me get you some water. It might be a good idea to lie down,” I say, gently grabbing her by the elbow. I manage a weak smile as Ed reaches for the doorknob. He smiles back. It is empty.
    “I thought with your brother gone…I just…things…it’s selfish, him keeping to himself. I thought your father could be home now. He…he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t have to deal with…” My mother wails as she stumbles from my grasp and falls against the stairs.
    Ed freezes. His hand still holds the doorknob.
    “What are you talking about?” I whisper. I know exactly what she’s talking about, but I can’t comprehend that a mother could feel such things, even a mother like mine. It is moments like these I think the whole world could end, and we would deserve it.
    My mother uses the banister to pull herself from off the floor. I don’t offer to help her. Taking a step back from her, I bite the inside of my cheek.
    “Your father blamed me. I know he did. As if I somehow allowed