Page 31 of The Sound of Him

Dr. Singh looks at me from where he’s standing by his desk, his eyebrows raised. He sounds amused when he asks, “Do I even want to know what that was about?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer, though, just waving a hand as if to wipe the topic away. “He’s like that - don’t worry about him. Come have a seat. We can sit with the desk between us, or you can take one of the chairs over there, or you can sit on the couch. Wherever you feel most comfortable.”

I head for the couch, everything else seeming too enclosed. He doesn’t comment on the choice, just grabbing a few things from his desk and moving them to the coffee table before taking a seat opposite me in one of the chairs.

When his eyes meet mine, all of the anxiety Ace had somehow managed to put on pause comes surging forward.

I drop my gaze, stomach swooping when I see I’m still holding the apple. It’s not bruised. There are still a few tiny drops of water that Ace hadn’t managed to wipe away.

I quickly tuck it into my hoodie’s pocket, making room for it by sliding my notebook and pen out. I’m sure I’ll end up needing them anyway. In the meantime, my bunny can keep the applecompany. Since it’s safe now. Since it’s just an apple. Since it’s not a grenade.

Dr. Singh is the opposite of Ace as I get situated, allowing himself to sit in the quiet instead of trying to fill the room with words. It’s probably supposed to be a comfort. I know it at least should be for me, logically. Silence has been my safe place for months now. It’s part of the reason I liked that spot under the bed so much.

This isn’t a comforting silence, though. It’s heavy and thick, clinging to me until I have to fight the urge to try to physically shrug the sensation off.

This silence has expectations.

This silence is already asking so much from me and I only just got here.

I wish Ace would come back.

What a stupid thing to want.

“That looks nice,” is what Dr. Singh eventually says to begin. I have to look at him to understand what he’s talking about, which might have been the point. He gestures at the notebook. I use it as an excuse to look down again. “I had a notebook for you as well, but that one is much nicer. Mine was just boring black.”

Something warm wraps itself around my chest at the memory of Ace babbling nervously when he gave me the bag of goodies the notebook was included in. I’d never seen a man with such energy and authority look like such a bumbling idiot. After his escort just now, it seems like maybe that’s just how he is. It’s endearing.

It'srefreshing.Usually when someone is like that, they expect me to match the energy. Or at the very least, to pay attention. But Ace isn't like that. He spins in his own little vortex without expecting a thing in return.

Dr. Singh, staring so hard at me I can feel it like pinpricks on my skin, is definitely expecting something in return.

What had he said?He liked my notebook and had one for me, too. A compliment and a gift.

I should thank him. I know how to do that. It’s just my hand with-

“You can have the notebook I got for you too, if you want. No one can ever have too many notebooks in my opinion.”

I drop the hand I had started to lift. The time to thank him has passed.Or has it?I could nod to let him know I’ll take the notebook, then follow it with a thank you, and he could give it to me.

It doesn’t seem to matter if I want it, though, because he’s handing me it already. Black, just like he said. I have to awkwardly shift things in my grip so I can accept it. This is a normal sized one, big and a little floppy. It definitely won’t fit in my pocket, but that’s okay. I don’t have to carry this one around with me all the time. Or… ever.

Do I have to use this one right now? Will his feelings be hurt if I stick with mine? Should this be my designated therapy one? But he said we didn’t have to do therapy today, we’d just be talking quickly, so should I still use it but not have it be just for therapy? Or should I save it for therapy and switch back to my blue one? But would that hurt his feelings then?

Maybe I won’t need either of them. Maybe this will be quick. Easy.

I should still thank him, the urge to do so even stronger now that I’ve accepted the notebook - even if he didn’t really give me the choice. I have to hurry up and do it before he talks again.

I try to concentrate - I just had the sign in my head a second ago - but I get distracted by my tongue moving in my mouth, as if the thing has suddenly decided it wants to work. It’s too heavy, though. Thick and wrong like it might lodge itself in my throat if I move it wrong. I can already feel the suffocation creeping in.

I swallow convusively.

It’s all in your head,I remind myself.It’s not real.

Focus.

Thank him.

You have to thank him.