The Mute and the Liar (39 page)

I
begin
scribbling
him
a
message
on
the
next
page
of
this
notebook.

Do
you
ever
tell
the
truth?

He
looks
confused
for
a
moment
and
then
his
smile
slowly
falters
and
pulls
itself
into
a
thin line.

“
What
are
you talking
about?
”

You lie
about everything.

“
No
I
don’t.
”
Another
lie.

We
s
it
in
silence,
just
watching
each
other.
His
bulbous
green
eyes
stare
back
at
mine,
his
lips
pursed
together.
It
is
only
now
that
I
notice
he
has
ugly
bags
under
his
eyes
and
his
skin
is
alarmingly
pale.
It
seems
he
hasn’t
slept
all
night.
He
is
acting
strange
-
his
fingers
are
madly
locking
and
unlocking
and
twisting
around
each
other
on
the
table,
and his eyes are wide and unblinking.

This
silence
is
a
spider
web,
trapping
us.
We
are
both
still,
unmoving,
just
watching
each
other,
almost
daring
each
other,
as
if
this
is
a
competition
of
who
can
stay
silent
the
longest.
We
are
both
desperate
to
win.

But
Jayce
forgets
that
silence
is
my
life. Of c
ours
e
he
br
e
ak
s t
he silence first
.

“
I
don’t
actually
like
coffee;
I
just
get
it
because
it
makes
me
look
sophisticated.
”

There
is
a
slight
pause
in
time
as
this
random
sentence
sinks
in.
Obviously
it’s
not
what
I
expected
him
to
say.
I’m
fed
up
of
this.
He’s
so
unpredictable.
It’s
grating
to
know
that
there
is
one
puzzling
thing,
one
problematic being, that I just can’t
work
out.
I
can’t
solve.

He
continues
watching
me,
but
now
stirs
his
coffee
at
the
same
time,
which
I
realise
he
hasn’t
actually
drunk
from.
I
can’t
believe
I
didn’t
notice
earlier,
and
I
feel
myself
crumbling
into
the
pit
of
self-pity.
I
call
myself
a
detective,
but
I
can't
even
get
myself
out
of
a
crime,
or
even
understand
one
person.

With
a
steady
gaze
to
match
his
steady
gaze,
Jayce
continues.

“
I
wasn’t
a
choirboy
in
the
Abbey,
”
he
leaves
another
pause,
perhaps
contemplating
what
to
say
next.
He
then
affirms
this,
as
though
to
reassure
himself
that
he
really
wasn’t.
“
No. No
I
wasn’t.
”

What
does
that
mean?
What
is
going
on?
What
is
he
doing?

“
I
love
the
colour
green…
I…
I
won
a
school
talent
competition
when
I
was
in
year
eight
for
singing
and
playing
a
song
I
wrote
on
the
piano.
I…
I
love
all
music
from
the
1980s.
I’ve
never
met
a
rich
ginger
girl...
I…
I
never
studied
philosophy
in
school…
My
father
isn’t
a
sumo
wrestler.
”

Some
of
these
sound
familiar
and
it
takes
me
a
while
to
figure
out
where
I
have heard them
before.

He’s…
He’s
telling
the
truth.
He’s
telling
the
truth!
There
is
a
wincing,
pained
expression
on
his
face,
the
look
of
someone
with
a
throbbing
headache.
It's
as
though
every
word
hurts
him.
There
is
something
about
the
truth
that does this to him.

I
don’t
know
what’s
going
through
his
head,
or
even
what
is
going
through
mine.
Because
right
now
I
feel
something
and
I
don’t
know
what
it
is.
My
chest
is
lurching in and
a
corkscrew
is tightening itself in my throat and
is
cutting
off
my
breathing.
Saying
these
things
is
hurting
him.
I...
I
have
to
make
him
stop.

STOP.

“
I’ve
never
been
to
McDonald’s
or
Burger
King.
I
don’t
really
care
about
the
environment.
I
never
went
on
family
fishing
trips.
I
never
got
given
any
Christmas
presents,
including
the
video
of
the
dancing
hippo.
We
didn’t
celebrate
Christmas
because
The
Woman-That-Gave-Birth-To-Me
thought
it
was
just
a
waste
of
time and
money.
”

PLEASE
STOP!

“
Ryo’s
not
my
friend.
Hell,
the
guy
picked
on
me
for
eight
years
and
then
randomly
decided
we’re
best
friends
forever
.
You
know
that
guy
Jeffrey?
I
used
to
be
him.
I
used
to
be
all
posh
and
clever
and
rich
and
an
easy
victim
for
all
bullies.
I
got
kicked
out
of
my
home
last
year
and
lost
all
of
that,
but
at
least
it meant I lost all the
bullies
that
came
with
it.
”