Silence.

Chapter 19

Myah

It was gonna be a few days before any of us could see Rome, and I found myself spending an extraordinary amount of time with Jorie. When we were at his house, his mother and sister called him JB, so I had gotten into the habit of calling him that.

His mother, when we first met, had made the observation of me being underweight, and made it her personal mission to put some weight on me.

The third night I spent at Jorie's, his mom made food I've never seen before. My parents never cooked, and Mason was worthless when it came to anything in the kitchen. Layla tried so hard to give Mason and I homecooked meals, but nothing could have come close to what Mrs. Forrest had laid out in front of us.

To list a few: corn on the cob, collard greens, pork chops, mac and cheese, peach cobbler, apple cobbler, AND candied yams. green bean casserole. regular beans. barbecue beans. mashed potatoes with two different kinds of gravy. banana and bell peppers to the side.

I was in heaven.

-

"Well Myah, I'm shocked," as I finish off my 3rd helping of food, Mrs. Forrest speaks to me. I hurriedly swallow the spoonful of food, scared that I had over eaten and made her mad.

"You sure can eat, where does it all go?" She laughed. "Here baby, have some more potatoes." I accepted them happily and Jorie shook his head, chuckling as well.

Jorie's mom is a plump dark skinned woman with the sweetest, most inviting face I've ever seen. Her eyes are light brown, but two or three shades darker than Jorie's. Her afro, usually covered in silk wraps, is currently free and makes her look even prettier, floating around her soft face like a cloud. She always wears long flowy skirts with different patterns and plain tank tops.

Today her top was bright yellow and looked beautiful against her skin. I had to stop myself from staring at the pleasing contrast.

Jorie's little sister, Jamila, looks a little like him, but much shorter and a little wider. Her round face, which she gets from her mother, compliments the deep dimples in her cheeks. Her curls are less coarse than her moms and more coiled than Jorie's, and you would think she hates it because she keeps it in a ponytail all the time. She's only fourteen but the smartest in her class. Her eyebrows are absolutely perfect and she's never even plucked them.

After dinner, Jorie and I go to his room to watch movies. I've been staying here for almost three days, but it doesn't seem to bother anyone. I think Jorie knows I couldn't stand to be by myself.

We hadn't really talked about Rome since the night he drove us from the hospital. I don't know why, but everytime I go to bring him up I stop myself.

Halfway through Van Helsing, Jorie asks a strange and out of place question. "Have you ever had a boyfriend, Myah?"

I don't know if its the suddenness of the question, the quietness of his voice, or the closeness of our bodies, but I get stuck for moment. Finally, I shake my head, raising an eyebrow back at him to return the question.

"I've had my share of failed relationships."

I purse my lips, looking over at him. Lord, he's gorgeous. He cut off his curls yesterday, and now the curls are replaced with a fade and waves I could drown in.

Okay, maybe that was too John Green-ish, but my point still stands. He looks back at me, analyzing my face and suddenly I become very, very insecure. I resist the urge to hide my face and stare right back at him.

Our eyes meet briefly as we survey eachother, and I notice his are alight with something like amusement. "Kiss me, Myah."

I'm taken aback, half wondering if he's joking. I can tell from his tone that he wasn't. Tentatively, I lean towards him, my heart pounding in my throat. He cups my jaw, pulling me to him and our lips connect.

I know a first kiss doesn't really have fireworks and explosions and puppies and kittens rolling around, but everything I ever wanted my first kiss to be was right here. Happening.

Jorie's kisses satisfy me, but also leave me desperate for more. Like a child with ice cream. Or a dog with treats. Jorie knew exactly what to do to drive me crazy, and I both hated and loved it.

I tried to swing my leg over his lap to close the distance between us, to allow for more. Suddenly, however, he's up and out of the bed, breathing hard and turning on the light.

I sit, addled, on his bed, looking at him confusedly. "No. Don't sit on my lap, don't even touch me." Hurt registers on my face, because I genuinely didn't think I did anything bad. He looks over my features and his face softens.

"Myah, no, I- I didn't mean it to come out that way-" he tries to come close to me but I recoil, both embarrassed and scared to do something wrong.

He huffs when I pull away, resting his hands on the top of his head. "Fuck," he mumbles, walking out of the room.

I barely have time to reflect before he's back, bearing two bottles of water. I'm still thoroughly confused, so I sign a simple word I know he will remember.

Explain.

He looks so conflicted, different expressions warring on his face. Finally he sighs, shaking his head. "You didn't do anything, okay? It's me. I- I can't let you get on me like that, it-" he takes a deep breath. "Fuck it."

He stands up, and my confusion is far from relieved. He bends down and grabs the hem of his pant leg, ripping it up.

The shine of metal shocks me, and I know what it is without looking closer.

His left leg is missing, replaced with a fully functional metal prosthetic. My eyebrows knit together. I have no idea what this has to do with kissing me.

Obviously, Jorie is just as confused with my actions as I am with his. "Well?"

I make a face.

Your leg is prosthetic. That's cool?

He makes an even weirder face at me. "It doesn't- it doesn't make you feel weird? Disgust you?" I shake my head, realizing why he freaked out.

I'm mute, and you thought I was going to be turned off by that?

I would never think of finding anyone less attractive because of a prosthetic limb, or even lack of one. Disabilites do not define the person. A statement I know well.

Jorie doesn't seem to have anything to say. After awhile, he asks me again. "It doesn't bother you?" His voice is soft and quiet, like a childs whisper. I detect the slightest hint of fear.

I shake my head vigilantly, biting my lip.

Without another word he's on me, kissing me with the same sweet passion he had a moment ago. But the flame steadily gets bigger. Suddenly his lips are on my neck and his hands are gripping my thighs, holding them around him like a vise.

His soft breathing only makes matters worse when he leaves a hickie in the hollow of my neck, down by my collarbone. Blowing gently on it, he causes goosebumps to rise all over my body.

The night progresses without much difference. He doesn't try to push me past my limits, and maybe his limit as well. His kisses range from short and sweet to slow and passionate, and sometimes even rough.

Jorie treats my body like a map as we kiss, tracing each bone, each vein. It's hard to ignore when his hand presses into the small of my back, squeezes my hip or runs up the length of my thigh, toying with the hem of my shorts.

We laugh between kisses. Joke around and even playfight. Easy. Comforting. I don't have to second guess myself or worry about whether he's looking at me from the wrong angle.

He makes me feel pretty without words. Just in the way he looks at me, sending shivers down my spine.

Yet there's a constant doubt in the back of my mind, a nagging telling me what I'm doing is wrong. I should not be here, like this, with Jorie, as Rome lies in a hospital bed.

No, I thought, Rome should have had better taste in girlfriends.