Mute

1; Grimmer

        I'd been determined to crack the case of the lucky (or so I thought) aspiring writer girl that wandered the halls of Steamboat Springs High School. I knew everyone here and what they were like. Being one of the more "popular" kids in the school, I knew everyone's secrets. I didn't know her's though.

        Then again, I did.

        Charlotte Ladle, she was my best friend. In this seemingly minuscule place they call elementary school, she was my partner in crime as I like to refer. Her shoulder length brown hair and array of face freckles captured my attention the most. The way she presented herself too was phenomenal and she spoke with such creativity in her voice that it just made me want to sit down and talk to her endlessly.

        I knew her home life all too well. She'd been raised to be the proper girl her mother was and the family wouldn't settle for anything less. I knew she wasn't the most attractive in the grade, but since she was my best friend, I wanted to help her to the best of my ability. She deserved it, quite honestly.

        If she didn't comply by her parents rules, her father would beat and torture her no matter if what she did was a small or big mistake. What she did right didn't seem to be enough in her father's eyes. Her mother was more lenient than she liked to lead on, but she never talked about her too much. Maybe it was because she didn't want to be her mother, even though she took the most care of her.

         I knew what she was hiding and I bet she knew it too. Or I knew what happened in 3rd grade. It'd been 7 years since then and she was a sophomore in high school, as was I. Charlotte gazed at me with such intent, I thought I'd freeze right on the spot. She looked so desperate to start conversation.

        I wound up in her house a while after that day. No one was home and we sat in her room, her with a pen and pad of paper and me with nothing but my person. I studied the way her hand glided across the paper and how she bit her lip when writing or thinking of what to write. We'd been in treatment together and even then she didn't talk. Like I said, she'd been mute for quite a while.

        I waltzed into the group room, feeling high as fuck from the laced marijuana I'd taken last night. My eyes were bloodshot, I knew I felt good, but for some reason, I still felt anxious. This was a new treatment facility to the state, so I thought it'd be the same as the ones I've heard about, but this was so different.

        They allowed us to talk to our parents for the first couple days, but no technology or anything like that, it's just, they got to see us when visitation hours let them. The psychiatrists were watching everyone closely and whomever caused the most drama that was unneeded in one's life, they'd ask us to cut all communication with that person. Groups were co-ed, they observed our actions around other members at the facility to inform us what would be the best method to do for our individual treatment and so many other things.

        Again, I studied Charlotte and the way her hand glided across the page as she wrote. It's like the scene from Titanic where Jack is looking at Rose while he draws her. Except, I'm gazing at her with pure love in my eyes. Honestly, she couldn't have been more perfect.

        She wrote down everything and I mean everything. Everything she didn't say, she wrote. Maybe it was because her father was abusive. Then again, I wouldn't know, since I never grew up with a father around.

        He died before I was born from what my mothr tells me. She said it was better for us to live with some of her friends who tried to act like father figures to me. It didn't really have an affect, since I wanted to know who my real dad was. I mean, I got everything I wanted, but yet I still felt empty.

        There was no possible way to cure this void.