Silent Laughter (Louis Tomlinson Fan-Fic) Book 3

Part twenty-seven

There have been bombs setting off in my head, the booms and pows reminding me of the reminded and the remained. I had felt weak, my appetite lost for a few days as the memories of that party continued to echo throughout my mind, screaming endlessly to make sure I would not forget. I wish I had taken pictures of everything, that I had my polaroid camera with me the moment I saw the first Keg. I could have hung it up on the laundry line. I could have forgotten again, however, I didn’t think anything through that night. I was just an endless puddle of agony with my shaky hands and pitiful whimpers that escaped my lips for hours.

 

Gene didn’t return the next day from the place she ran off to, and I didn’t really know how to react to that. I just walked downstairs the next morning, grabbing a glass of milk as I was surrounded by the infinite number of plastic red cups and shattered glass that was scattered all over the floor. My mum texted me, asking how it went and after about a few minutes of contemplating my own sanity, I responded with a ‘good’, my foot trying helplessly to scoot one of the cups away from my view as much as possible.

 

Though, that action was really quite a useless one since I ended up having to clean everything up either way. Well at least seventy percent since I nearly broke down when a bit of excess alcohol touched my fingertips from an empty beer bottle.

 

I texted Sylvia, asking her for assistance followed by countless apologies since I could not bring myself to touch another container or cup or anything that held liquid.

 

She messaged back, saying how it was not a problem at all and when she returned, her usual welcoming smile vanished when her eyes spotted the empty kegs that had been traumatizing me that whole night. Sylvia doesn’t really know much of the ‘incident’ that had happened when I was a kid. All my mother told her when she got the job was to not get too close to me (Any woman at that time still made me very uncomfortable) and to not bring any alcohol into the house which I think is really a rule for any maid anywhere, however, my mum emphasized that part quite intensely. As Sylvia began to grow on me, I began to say good mornings to her when I would awaken as well as allow her to bring in my clean clothes into my room instead of the middle of the hall like she had before, the two of us bonding. She then questioned one day why my parents were so against alcohol, Sylvia noticing how they didn’t even share one glass of wine for their wedding anniversary. I told her how they thought that I would scream again and Sylvia didn’t say anything to that.

 

I’m sure Gene has also confessed things about our pasts as well, however I didn’t really want to think about any of that. I didn’t want to think about Gene, at least for a while.

 

Sylvia picked up all the things I couldn’t, eyeing each one intensely with no comment or sound leaving her lips. I knew she was going to tell my parents, that she was going to ask where Gene was, that she was going to ask what had happened the night before, so I walked up to her and placed my hand on her shoulder to catch her attention.

 

‘Don’t.’ I mouthed once she turned around, hoping that she would understand everything I was trying to say in that one syllable.

 

She didn’t respond. Her eyebrows just furrowed as she stared at me a bit longer before she walked passed me to grab a used cigarette from the floor.

 

I was unsure whether to thank her or not for her silence since I was unsure whether she was going to actually listen to me and not even mutter a word to my parents since they would act very irrational.