Loud Silence

Chapter Eight

Look at the clouds. Are clouds like snowflakes? No two the same? They separate and rejoin, attaching to other forms. No thoughts, no process. Just constantly moving, shifting, and changing. How extricating it would be to become clouds, spending all your days forming and reforming; no emotions, no attachments.

We arrive at a hotel, one of a few along this isolated freeway. Taylor grabs our bags from the backseat and I follow him inside without a word. We had initially planned on staying overnight before starting our seven hours drive back.

I sit on one of the chairs in the hotel lobby, waiting for Taylor to check us in, unable to carry a conversation at this moment, even with the concierge. We haven't spoken about the events of earlier, the unbearable scene of misery. I heard him calling Violet to update her, telling her everything, trying to lower his voice as much as possible with me sitting just a foot away. I've tuned out, not being able to play the scene back in my head. Once is enough.

I was told that Violet is contacting the detective, that he can find out whoever has jurisdiction here to visit the house and investigate, as if there's anything else to investigate. They're gone. Over a month ago. They were here, but now they're gone.

Taylor comes over with one room card, and I don't question why we are only getting one room. I just stare at the card, reminding myself to pay him back for half of the room.

"You are not staying alone. There are two beds," he tells me, taking my hand in his and leading me away.

I don't argue because I have no strength left to discuss something as minuscule as room arrangements. There is an eternal blackness inside me, my emotions and words trapped within it, as my zombie-like body moves without thoughts.

Once we've gotten to our room, Taylor opens the door and motions for me to walk inside first, as he follows. It is a rather nice room, still bright with the reminisce of the sunset shining through the balcony doors onto the two queen beds. I walk to the bed closest to the balcony and sit on the corner of it, looking out past the balcony railings. The room overlooks the bay, a beautiful view for anyone who can appreciate it. I am not that anyone. Beauty becomes gray, hideous, full of lies. I clutch the bed, pain jilting through my muscles. There goes one of my emotions escaping, one of the few that I am able to experience anymore.

Taylor approaches from behind me, as he lightly places his hand on my shoulder. "I'm gonna get us some food. You haven't eaten anything today, Jasmine."

Silence.

He lets out a defeated sigh before turning to leave to myself, the door shutting loudly behind him.

Should I feel something else right now? I want to fill the empty void with something other than pain, drained from too many years of it. I feel...hot. These clothes. They are constricting me. I can't breathe.

Running to the bathroom, I remove all my clothing, turning the shower knob to cold. A glacial spritz flows through me as I step in, dissolving the burning fever. With my face against the stream, the tears make their appearance, merging with the water, the taste of salt reaching the corner of my mouth, safe from visibility.

Slowly descending until I reach a sitting position on the cold floor of the tub, I allow the freezing water to drench my body, pulling my knees to my chin. My broken heart is set free to mourn now, letting myself feel, letting myself wallow.

I punch the wall, furious at no other than myself. Some parents might say they never saw it coming, that they couldn't have possibly forecast an event so wretched ever occurring to them, to their child. They would be completely in awe if the situation ever arises, slammed from the blindside, and their ignorance would be understandable, forgivable.

I cannot plead the same ignorance because I had forecasted it. It was a small confession behind a series of denial within my subconscious. I knew that everything could one day lead to this, that Tim would eventually take it too far, that either Daisy or I would get hurt, or both. But I let that glimmer of hope at a happy family blind me, stupefy me. I had allowed this to happen.

Leaning back, my head meets the tiled wall, feeling like it will implode any minute. I dig my fingers into the root of my hair, pulling on it, hoping that it will relieve the tension. Nothing. I am exhausted. Exhausted from fighting. Every step of my life has been a fight against fate.

As dire as it may seem, I have always been grateful to be alive. From the death of our parents, I wanted us to rise above their demise, in hope that from beyond the grave, they can be proud of us, that their souls can rest in peace. But my life now is in broken pieces. I want to be whole again, a mission deem impossible at this point. I cannot withstand this. Why did this happen to me?

Unable to contain the torment any longer, I scream at the universe, at the world, at fate. "Please take my life if that is what you want, because I have no more to give!" I holler through sobs and tears. Tilting my head back, I pray for the water to dissolve me and to carry me away, or somehow wake me from this treacherous nightmare.

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, the image made blurry from my watery eyes. I can make out an image of Taylor standing in the doorway, looking down at me, although I can't recognize his expression, nor do I want to. It's more than likely an expression of disappointment. I am surprised to see him there, not hearing that he had returned, yet, my fatigued body is unable to react, the shame of him witnessing my naked body nonexistent.

He approaches me slowly with no words. There are no words. Finally ashamed, I turn away, as I feel the water coming to a halt, ending with a squeak of the knob.

A large towel is wrapped around my shoulders, the cotton soft against my skin. I'm lifted into his arms, out of the tub, and leaving the bathroom as the light switches off. Residual of my tantrum causes me to dry heave against him, his chest warm and inviting, my bare legs shifting against his arm.

He carries me to one of the beds, gently placing my head on the pillow, tucking a white comforter over me, as my body starts to shiver from the cold. I hear his footsteps moving to the other side of the bed, my back to him. The room is quiet, only the sound of my huffing and the movement of the comforter and bed sheet as Taylor slips underneath can be heard. The smell of his cologne is getting closer, and I can already sense the comfort flowing over me.

Soon, the heat from his body embraces me, pulling me in closer, lips against the nape of my neck. I don't reject, not wanting to decipher the meaning behind his actions. I let myself be held by a man that has asked nothing of me. Lying together, our body fuses into one somber matter.

His fingers mingle in my hair, face buried within it now. There's a sigh. A sigh of longing, but knowing not to proceed further. Curling up, my body starts to shake as I'm weeping into the pillow.

It's wrong, I know this, but I want him. It's wrong because this lust would be to hide the hurt within. It's wrong because I would desire more, and I deserve nothing. His hands hold mine and I grip onto it, fearing that I might lose grasp of my own sanity. He never asks me a single question, never makes a single comment, yet has felt my sorrow, and as best as he could, pacifying me.

We don't need words, because our bodies already tell the story, a daunting story.

A story of a woman who had hoped, but failed, yet still searching and yearning for a brighter outcome, needing but avoiding, begging but denying, torn between pleasure and regret.

A story of a man, sharing her agony, wanting to relieve her burden, wanting to absorb all her pain, craving her affection, seeking her tenderness, as much as she will allow him, in this twisted destiny we call fate.

We drift to sleep, reveling in the grief, neither of us speaking a word, yet speaking too much, too loud. Because in the silence, the despair, we have found an unspeakable love.