The Mute and the Liar (50 page)

And
keep
learning
to
fall again

Before
they
steal you
from
the
skies

Because
it's
just
no
good.

You're
too
proud
to
crawl
 

You
want
to
hear
me
tell truths

I
want
to
hear
you
say
anything
at
all

The
mute
and
the
liar

What
a
funny
pair
we
make

I'd
tell you it's
all just
a
game

But
that
would
give
the
game
away

It's
going
to
be
a
bumpy
ride

But
it
will be
over
far
too
soon

And
I'd
tell
you
to
hold
onto
your
mind

But you've
already
lost
that,
haven't
you?

The
mute
and
the
liar

What
a
tragic
pair
we
make

You'd
be
crying
if
you
took
it seriously

So
just laugh the
pain
away.

It's
going
to
be
a
bumpy
ride

But
we
were
over
before
the
ride
began

So
don't hold
onto
your
mind, Love

Just
let
me
be
your
reason
to
start
again.

W
e
sit
in
a
silence.
It’s
a
haunting
silence,
the
sort
of
silence
you
don't
just
hear,
you
can
feel.
He's
too
close
to
me.
Or
maybe
I'm
too
close
to
him.
That's
the
problem
with
dislocated
moments
like
this;
you
lose
your
grip
on
space
and
distance.
You
can't
tell
what's
near
and
far;
you
can't
tell
what's
right
in
front
of
you.
Everything
feels
like
a
photograph
-
you're
frozen in one place, one moment.

“
It's
awful,
I
know.
I'm
sorry.
I
shouldn't
have
done
that.
I
should
have
just…
given
you
a
card
or
something,
”
he
begins
jabbering,
his
apologies
taking
on
the
coherence
of
monkey
chatter.
He
slams
the
lid
of
the
piano
down,
an
unfamiliar
hollow
resonating
that
rips
through
the
silence
so
sharply
and
unexpectedly
it
makes
me
jump.

The
thing
is,
I'm
not
sure
what
I
should
do
now.
I'm
even
more
scared
than
I
was
before
–
I
can
still
hear
the song
sizzling
through
the
air
like
static.
He
can't
be
serious.
He
can't
seriously
think
that
I
didn't
like
it,
that
he
shouldn't
have
written
it.
The
song
has
some
kind
of
narcotic
quality
to
it;
I've surged
a
dependency
for
it.
I
need
to
hear
it
again.

I
don't
understand
why
he
wrote
me
a
song.
It's
such
a
weird
thing
to
do.
Is
this
just
another
way
to
try
and
scare
me?
To
make
me
go
mad?
Why
is
he
doing
all
of
this?
Is
there
some
kind
of
meaning
behind
this
or
is
he
just
really... odd?

The
mute
and
the
liar.

That's
something
he
was
singing.
Maybe
that's
what
we
are.
Just
two
polar
opposites
connected
only
by
an
'and'
between
our
names.

I
want
to
tell
him
I
liked
the
song.
A
lot.
Whether
he
wrote
it
for
me
as
a
scare
tactic
or
not.

It moved me.

For
those
few
moments,
the
rest
of
this
world
slipped
away.
I
forgot
I
am
a
hostage.
I
forgot today is the last day Father has to kill Lauren.

For those few moments, everything felt... perfect.

Before
I
have
even
considered
what
I
am
doing,
I
have
placed
my hand
on
his
shoulder.
He
swivels
around
with
a
gasp,
wide-eyed,
as though
I
have
just
given
him
an
electric
shock.

We
simply
sit
there,
side
by
side,
connected
only
by
my
hand
on
his
shoulder.
He's
pulled
away
from
me
slightly,
but
I
can
forgive
him
for
that;
I
was
already
leaning
backwards
away
from
him
.
I
can't
tell
what
he's
thinking,
what
those
evasive
lips
mean
or
what
those
puzzled,
turbulent
eyes
mean.
All
I
know is
I
have
placed
my hand
right
through
a
wall
between
us,
a
wall
I
was
the one who
built
up
in
the first
place.

Ding
dong.

I
startle at
this
foreign,
sudden sound
I
neither
expected
nor
understand.

A
few
seconds
of
confusion
are
suspended
in
the
air
around
us
before
I
realise
it
was
the
just
the
doorbell.
Jayce,
who
appears
to
be
faster
than
me
in
everything,
seems
to
have
understood
this
straight
away
and
jumps
out
of
the
chair.

“
He’s
here,
”
he
states
softly.

What’s
he talking
about?
Who
is
here?

He
doesn’t
look
ecstatic
about
this
but
gives
me
a
small
smile
in
reassurance.
“
Come
on.
Get
dressed
and
come
down
in
a
few
minutes
and
we can go.
”

Although
I’m
confused,
I
decide
just
to
go
along
with
it
and
I
follow
his
orders.
I
go
to
my
bedroom
and
change
out
of
my
nightdress
into
a
short
grey
skirt
and
a
plain
white
three-quarter-length-sleeves
t-shirt.
I
head
downstairs
and
brace myself
for
what
I’m
about
to
see.

Downstairs,
Jayce
is
sitting
at
the
dining
table
with
a
young
man.
He’s
tall
and
muscular
with
smooth,
dark
skin
and
he’d
be
good
looking
if
it
weren’t
for
an
unnerving
faraway
look
he’s
got
about
him,
like
he’s
not
really
here,
only
watching
his
life
through
someone
else’s
eyes.
His
eyes
are
droopy
and
his
face
drawn,
and
his
mouth
is
pulled
down
at
both
corners,
caught
in
a
permanent
frown.