Page 92 of The Sound of Him

Adam gave him a feelings chart.

Those things used to be the bane of my existence when I was young. I went through so many copies, always ripping them up or crumpling them in frustration. It wasn’t even that I had a hard time assigning words to my emotions, it’s that I didn’t know any of the words themselves. I didn’t know what the wordhappyorsadmeant, let alone all the shit likejoyousanddevastated. By the time I had learned most of them, my therapist had beenchanged to Adam. His version of the chart had been laminated. I always wondered if that was because he’d been warned ahead of time, or because he’d already learned the lesson from other survivors.

I notice Matt’s is laminated.

I also notice that he’s now pointing at a particular word.

“Energetic,” I read aloud. I smile. “Yeah? You’re feeling energetic? That’s great.”

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. It is a very pointed look.

“Oh. I see.I’menergetic.”

Now both eyebrows are raised as he nods.

He is a very expressive person when he wants to be.

I chuckle. “Is that you asking me to tone it down a little?”

He shakes his head before squinting back down at the chart and pointing to a new word.Amused.

“Well, happy to provide entertainment.” I grab the closest snack - fish crackers - and place them on top of his feelings chart. “Tonight’s entertainment comes with snacks.”

He bites down on his bottom lip before carefully shifting the notebook in his hands so he can pluck the bag of crackers off of it. I hold my breath while he hesitates, but it doesn’t take him long to decide he’s going to keep them, slipping the little bag into his front pocket that’s already bulging with who knows what.

He turns a few pages in his notebook and stops. I notice he already has something written there, but the way the notebook is tilted means the words are for him, not me, so I look a little to the side to give him privacy. He hesitates, looking like he might be reading the words again before glancing quickly at me.

After a few seconds, he nods to himself and turns the notebook so it’s obvious he wants me to look. The words are neat and big, just like histhank younote from before.WANTED TO COME LAST NIGHT BUT...

“Yeah?” I don’t ask him to finish the words. I don’t need to know why he didn’t come. I don’t bring up the fight Maison and Carter had that left Carter on his knees and triggered. I don’t mention that Nolan and Carter are currently getting drunk down at the fire in the living room. I don’t mention that he’s missed more meals.

None of that is the deal we made.

“That’s okay,” I tell him instead. “No pressure, remember? You can come whenever.”

He’s visibly relieved as he nods. It breaks me, just a little - knowing he was worried I’d be upset. I want to tell him it’s impossible for him to upset me, but he won’t believe it. I’ll just have to prove it. I’ll have to show him over and over until he realizes it for himself. Out of all the ways to live a life, that doesn’t seem like a bad one. Not one bit.

“What do you think, more music tonight?” I ask, reaching past him to turn the second lock on the door. He seems to breathe easier once it clicks, as if a weight has been lifted from him with the reassurance that no one can get him in here. No one but me, and he’s decided I’m safe.

He is so brave for that. So strong. He deserves to have any weight that’s on him lifted. I wonder what it would take to get him feeling weightless. I wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to get to be a part of the moment when he achieves the freedom of that.

Music, he signs with a nod, reminding me that I had asked a question.

He’s already heading over to the couch. He sits on one of the cushions and starts to unload his pocket, as if he’s planning to stay there instead of going to his hiding spot like he usually would.

It’s none of my business, so I start to head to my desk, but I stop when his head whips up at my movement. His eyes are locked on me, his eyebrows twisted questioningly. I don’tunderstand what the question is. This is how it’s always gone. He comes in, I go back to work. Adding music is slightly newer, but the rest of the routine still stands.

This is not routine.

He’s holding something in his hand. It’s a little drawstring bag. Blue velvet, from what I can tell.

“You want to show me?” I ask, trying not to sound incredulous. If he’s asking for more interaction, I don’t want to scare him away from it. I just don’t really understand what changed.

He’s nodding, though. Yes. He wants to show me.

Whatever changed, I’m going to try really fucking hard not to ruin it.

I move the coffee table over so I can take a seat on the floor in front of him, not wanting to sit beside him without an explicit invitation. I settle with my knees drawn up, elbows resting on them, and tilt my head to look up at him. “Whatcha got?”