Read Online The Language of Silence by Tiffany Truitt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tiffany Truitt
Ads: Link
turned slightly, hoping to shield us from the view of others. I had never been kissed or touched, and I still yearned for this. My stomach tightened painfully.
I was so wound I thought I would snap.
His hand hesitated, and I could feel my body tense with anticipation. Ed’s hand clamped around my thigh painfully, as if signaling to me the battle he himself was having. The pressure lessened and he moved his fingers slightly higher, causing a rush of goose bumps down my leg. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I wanted this.
And suddenly , his hand was gone.
He had chosen to leave me there.
After that, we went out of our way not to touch each other at all.
“I’m…I’m gonna use the restroom.”
Ed says the least sexy thing possible to pull me from my trance. I’m left dizzy with unfulfilled expectations. I think I’m nodding. I think I’m back in the present.
I so desperately want to go back to the many moments we messed up in the past.
Chapter Thirteen
Ed :
“I’m…I’m gonna use the restroom,” I manage to mumble. Or at least I think I do. I’m not sure if it’s the drugs or the fumes from the cleaning supplies, but I think I’m trippin’. Following Brett toward the stairs, I can no longer deny the tingling sensation that overtook my body like a rash of hives about halfway through our cleaning session.
I lean against the wall. Brett’s room is closer to where we’re standing, but it’s also her room. I don’t want to be in it longer than I have to. I try to judge the distance to Tristan’s bathroom, but the walls have started to bubble in and out like cheese on cooking scrambled eggs. Brett raises an eyebrow as she looks at me. I try to maintain control, but my limbs feel so heavy. I just want to splash some water on my face. Sit down. Hell, lie down.
“Are you alright, Ed?” Brett asks, taking a step toward me.
I push myself off the wall and stumble toward Tristan’s room. “Stomach problems. I’ll be back.” Gross. But it’s the one excuse people never really question further.
Tristan’s bathroom is spotless. This isn’t a surprise. Tristan’s room was a sty, but he always kept his bathroom clean. He once told me bathrooms were sacred places that held all of our personal secrets. No wonder he never left behind any evidence. If there was one thing he protected , it was his privacy.
I shut the door behind me and lock it. I turn on the faucet and watch as the water hits the sink and spreads out. It reminds me of an amoeba. Clear and limitless. Changing shape. Changing identity. I reach out my hands and let them fill with water. It feels a bit like heaven when I splash it against my face.
“You’re totally trippin’ balls, man.”
I jump at the sound. I glance into the mirror and there he is. Tristan Jensen. Standing behind me in the bathroom like he doesn’t have a grave he’s supposed to be occupying. Like he’s forgotten his new life goal is to provide meals to millions of earth’s finest creatures.
I am trippin’ balls. This isn’t real. I open my mouth to tell him that he’s just an illusion, but close it. I don’t want him to go away.
My legs feel like lead. They buckle underneath me, and I don’t fight gravity. It’s exhausting fighting everything all the time. I lean against the tub, and drug-induced Tristan takes a seat next to me.
“Go ahead, tell me you hate me,” he says after an adequately timed dramatic pause. Even my hallucinations must follow a set of rules.
“I hate —” The words won’t come out. I don’t need to look over at Tristan to know he’s smiling.
“Ah. Yes. There it is —realization that you don’t hate me at all. In fact, you miss me terribly.”
I shake my head. The bathroom tiles move with me, melting into each other, lines blurring till they don’t exist. I close my eyes. “Why do you always have to be so smug? So I miss you . So what? What good does that do anyone?”
“I don’t know that
I was so wound I thought I would snap.
His hand hesitated, and I could feel my body tense with anticipation. Ed’s hand clamped around my thigh painfully, as if signaling to me the battle he himself was having. The pressure lessened and he moved his fingers slightly higher, causing a rush of goose bumps down my leg. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I wanted this.
And suddenly , his hand was gone.
He had chosen to leave me there.
After that, we went out of our way not to touch each other at all.
“I’m…I’m gonna use the restroom.”
Ed says the least sexy thing possible to pull me from my trance. I’m left dizzy with unfulfilled expectations. I think I’m nodding. I think I’m back in the present.
I so desperately want to go back to the many moments we messed up in the past.
Chapter Thirteen
Ed :
“I’m…I’m gonna use the restroom,” I manage to mumble. Or at least I think I do. I’m not sure if it’s the drugs or the fumes from the cleaning supplies, but I think I’m trippin’. Following Brett toward the stairs, I can no longer deny the tingling sensation that overtook my body like a rash of hives about halfway through our cleaning session.
I lean against the wall. Brett’s room is closer to where we’re standing, but it’s also her room. I don’t want to be in it longer than I have to. I try to judge the distance to Tristan’s bathroom, but the walls have started to bubble in and out like cheese on cooking scrambled eggs. Brett raises an eyebrow as she looks at me. I try to maintain control, but my limbs feel so heavy. I just want to splash some water on my face. Sit down. Hell, lie down.
“Are you alright, Ed?” Brett asks, taking a step toward me.
I push myself off the wall and stumble toward Tristan’s room. “Stomach problems. I’ll be back.” Gross. But it’s the one excuse people never really question further.
Tristan’s bathroom is spotless. This isn’t a surprise. Tristan’s room was a sty, but he always kept his bathroom clean. He once told me bathrooms were sacred places that held all of our personal secrets. No wonder he never left behind any evidence. If there was one thing he protected , it was his privacy.
I shut the door behind me and lock it. I turn on the faucet and watch as the water hits the sink and spreads out. It reminds me of an amoeba. Clear and limitless. Changing shape. Changing identity. I reach out my hands and let them fill with water. It feels a bit like heaven when I splash it against my face.
“You’re totally trippin’ balls, man.”
I jump at the sound. I glance into the mirror and there he is. Tristan Jensen. Standing behind me in the bathroom like he doesn’t have a grave he’s supposed to be occupying. Like he’s forgotten his new life goal is to provide meals to millions of earth’s finest creatures.
I am trippin’ balls. This isn’t real. I open my mouth to tell him that he’s just an illusion, but close it. I don’t want him to go away.
My legs feel like lead. They buckle underneath me, and I don’t fight gravity. It’s exhausting fighting everything all the time. I lean against the tub, and drug-induced Tristan takes a seat next to me.
“Go ahead, tell me you hate me,” he says after an adequately timed dramatic pause. Even my hallucinations must follow a set of rules.
“I hate —” The words won’t come out. I don’t need to look over at Tristan to know he’s smiling.
“Ah. Yes. There it is —realization that you don’t hate me at all. In fact, you miss me terribly.”
I shake my head. The bathroom tiles move with me, melting into each other, lines blurring till they don’t exist. I close my eyes. “Why do you always have to be so smug? So I miss you . So what? What good does that do anyone?”
“I don’t know that
Similar Books
