mute

chapter 46

Chapter: Speaking Hearts

The day began with a quiet tension in the air, the kind that lingered when something big was on the horizon. Billie sat on the edge of her bed, slowly running her fingers along the soft seams of her favorite hoodie. Her fingers twitched with small motor tics—flexing and curling without her control—as she tried to prepare herself for therapy. Odessa gently squeezed her hand, her presence grounding Billie.

They arrived at the therapist’s office a few minutes early. The space smelled faintly of lavender, a small comfort to Billie’s sensory-sensitive brain. Her ear defenders rested around her neck, ready to be pulled up if the world became too much.

Odessa sat close beside Billie, rubbing small circles into the back of her hand with her thumb. Billie tapped her fingers three times on her thigh—a calming stim she’d picked up recently.

The therapist, Dr. Collins, greeted them both with a warm smile and signed, “I thought today, if you’re both comfortable, we could talk about your relationship and how it supports you, Billie.”

Billie hesitated, then nodded. She signed slowly, her movements purposeful. “Odessa is safe. Odessa knows how to help me.”

Odessa smiled gently. “Billie helps me too,” she said, her voice soft. “She makes me see the world differently. In color.”

They talked for almost an hour—about communication, boundaries, and how love looked different when it was built around understanding. Dr. Collins guided the conversation gently, allowing Billie space to stim when her emotions got big and to sign when words couldn’t come.

At one point, Billie signed something new. Something she had practiced quietly, alone, in her room:

“Odessa is my home.”

Tears welled up in Odessa’s eyes. She leaned forward and hugged Billie, slow and careful. Billie’s whole body shuddered with stims—her hands flapped rapidly, her legs bouncing with joy.

After therapy, they walked hand-in-hand to the nearby park. Billie wore her ear defenders, still adjusting to the shift from indoor quiet to outdoor sound. They found a quiet patch of grass under a tree, laid out a blanket, and Billie pulled out her communication device to tell Odessa she felt light today.

They watched the clouds, signed silly things to each other, and laughed when a breeze scattered a few leaves into Billie’s hair. She didn’t flinch this time. She was getting used to little changes.

Later, back home, Billie’s family had made her favorite dinner—mac and cheese with extra crispy bits on top—and Odessa stayed to join them. Billie surprised everyone by saying a few new words aloud, ones she’d practiced hard in therapy:

“I’m happy. I love you.”

The room fell quiet before bursting into soft applause and happy tears. Billie flapped her hands wildly, bouncing in her seat, stimming so hard she couldn’t sit still. Dinner was a blur of laughter and warmth, and afterward, Odessa helped Billie take a calming bath—soft bubbles, gentle candlelight, and quiet music playing in the background.

Odessa wrapped Billie’s arms in gentle compresses to ease her tension from stimming. Billie leaned her head back and signed, “Today was big. But I did it.”

Odessa nodded. “You did more than do it. You bloomed.”

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Chapter: Storms and Stillness

The next morning, Billie woke up to the sound of light rain tapping against her window. Normally, that sound was calming, a quiet rhythm she could tune into. But today, something felt... off.