The Mute Reporter

8- Six Years Earlier

Samuel Winters

**TW**

A hand pressed down on my throat, and his heavy body was on top of mine.

All I know was I just felt pain.

"Be quiet. Make sure no one can hear you. It's our little game."

His voice sent chills down my spine, and I couldn't breathe. His hand tightened.

Be quiet.

Be quiet.

Be quiet.

Sam...

A voice is calling my name in the distance. It's faded. It's familiar. It's not bad, it's not his voice.

Sam?

Sam!

———

A voice jolts me awake, and I shoot straight up into a sitting position.

A hand is on my shoulder. Even though it's gentle and comforting, I swat it off me.

"Sam, you're okay. You're okay."

I can't breath, and the person who's next to me leaves for a moment.

My throat hurts. The only noise I've ever made was when I was sleeping, having a nightmare. And it was a scream.

I begin to try and catch my breath, to shake off the nightmare, or memory. Could easily be both.

The person walks back in my room and hands me a glass of water, along with an advil. The pain medicine was for my throat, because it always hurt really bad after nights like these.

I look up to see Celia, tired bags under her eyes.

'I'm sorry.' I sign, before taking what she got me.

I swallow the pill and water immediately, and Celia says nothing.

She knows what happened and what I see. She's the only person who does. She never asks me questions other than one, every time without fail.

"Do you need anything?"

There it is.

I'm thankful that she never asks if I'm okay. She knows I'm not.

I just shake my head and finish off the water, setting the empty cup in my nightstand.

I wrap a blanket around myself, the soft feeling of the fabric calming me down.

Celia climbs into my bed, and lays down next to me, not touching me at all, which I'm also thankful for.

I lay down next to her, and I face her.

I'm scared to close my eyes. I'm terrified I'll see that memory again. It usually happens. When I fall back asleep on a night like this, I'll get the same dream.

"Do you want me to turn on the tv?" Celia whispers, and I look at her through tired eyes. I just nod.

She turns on the tv in my room, and plays the office.

I catch a glimpse of the time, and I have to be up in a few hours anyways to meet with Jensen.

It's been about three days since the press conference, and now that I was chosen to do an exclusive with him, I was required to go to all of his practices and games. Maybe something else if an event required it.

I didn't fall back asleep. I just let the office play and that distracted me enough as Celia fell asleep and I waited for my alarm to go off.

———

His house was huge.

Why does a baseball player, who lives alone, need a house this big?

It's a few million dollars worth at least.

I made it through the gate though, because it's a fucking gated home. I wouldn't expect anything less honestly.

And now I'm standing alone in his giant foyer. All I have with my is my bag with a recorder, a notepad, and a pen. I could easily carry everything in my arms, but it just looked more professional to have it in a bag.

I hear steps coming down the stairs, and someone I've never seen before emerges.

"Samuel Winters?" She asks.

She has shoulder length red hair, and is middle aged. A wedding ring adorned her finger.

"I'm the interpreter for Mr. Blackwell. Follow me." Is all she says, and I begin to climb the stairs.

I push down any feeling of nervousness. My stomach feels like it's in my throat for some reason.

When I catch up with the red head, she begins to lead me down a hall, and into a room.

When I entered, I just see Jensen sitting on a couch, reading a book.

I wasn't expecting that.

"Mr Blackwell, Samuel Winters is here to see you."

Jensen looks up, and sets down the book as he sees me.

I do my best to refrain from chewing on my bottom lip. So I just chew on the inside of my mouth instead.

"Nice to see you again." He says, beckoning to the couch.

This was weird. First time I met him he was an asshole. Second time he refused to answer my question.

And now he was trying to be nice? Who the fuck is this dude.

I don't say anything, but I make my way to sit down instead.

Jensen doesn't say anything as he watches me take out my things, and I set the recorder down on the table in front of the both of us.

As I reach to press play, he stops me by grabbing my hand.

I yank it away, staring wide eyed at him. My eyes catch that silver flash around his neck again. Is it the same one I saw on him earlier?

"Sorry, I just want to ask something before you turn on the recorder."

I stare at him, keeping the hand he just touched close to my chest.

"Did I do that to you?" He points to my face.

What?

Oh. The bruise right under my eye. He must've seen it under all the makeup.

It was faded now, yellowing a little bit. Celia still helped me put on makeup over it today.

I begin to sign, and the interpreter speaks.

"Why should I answer your question when you haven't answered a single one of mine?"

I was not going to tell him what caused the bruise. I also wasn't going to admit to him that he didn't give it to me either. The most he did was give me the now healed scrapes on my hands and knees.

Jensen leans back, crossing one of his legs over another, resting one of his arms across the back of the couch he sat on.

"Fair enough," his dark eyes look me up and down carefully.

His gaze pauses on my hand still close to my chest, and I notice. I rest it in my lap.

The interpreter takes a seat on the chair between the two couches. The one I was on, and the one Jensen was on.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Jensen gives me a grin, and I press record.