Words Unspoken

Chapter 1 - Bad Memories

Kaylee's POV

The door slams behind me, an excessively loud noise in the quiet morning.

I step out into the damp air and walk down my porch steps, the frustration in me hardly containable. I was about ready to burst.

My mom didn't understand anything. She didn't understand how hard it was to communicate when you were a mute.

The cold, biting air hits me in the face with a spray of mist as I wrap the circle scarf around my neck, trying to trap the little warmth I had left in me.

I was using my hand signals to try to communicate to my mom that I wanted to quit therapy. I was fine now, so why go anymore? It wasn't like it was going to help me forget anything that had happened six years ago. It was in the past now. And unless it was possible to bring someone back from the dead,  what had been done was done that night.

Plus it did nothing but make me remember in vivid details what had happened. I didn't understand the point of therapy, and my mother didn't understand the point of me fighting it.

My feet take me in some direction that I don't know of. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I just decided to trust my feet, which most people would find weird, but once you can't trust your voice, it's hard to trust your brain and your heart, so you go with your feet.

I walk with my head lowered, watching my feet to make sure that I didn't trip over any strange cracks in the ground. While I walked, I shoved my freezing fingers into my pockets to warm them up, shivering as I bent down to try to pull my brown boots up higher.

I turn a left around the sidewalk street corner and hurry up the front steps into a white, colorless building.

I walk past the receptionist, Brooke, who casually smiles and gives me a small wave as I walk past her. I lift my hand up for a small wave back at her, too.

I turn left into a long corridor and keep walking until I reach the last door, labeled: Dr. Joseph's Therapy Lessons.

My hand grazes the door as I almost turned it so that I could I could start our therapy lesson, but then I stop when I hear shouting.

"No." a boy's voice says.

"No what?" I could hear Dr. Joseph asking the boy.

"'No what?'" I could hear the boy mocking Dr. Joseph's voice. "I don't need these fucking 'therapy' lessons! I'm nineteen! It's been years," he stresses, "if I wasn't better then, what makes you think I'll be better now?"

"Will, please sit down, and please don't use that kind of language here." I could hear Dr. Joseph calmly say.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but there was something about the boy's voice that drew me closer.

"No! I'll fucking do what I want." Will replies loudly just to spite Dr. Joseph.

"Will, have you taken your medicine today?" Dr. Joseph asks patiently. I didn't know how he remained that calm, if it was me, and I wasn't a mute, I would've shouted my face off.

I lean in even closer without noticing it.

"Medicine? What am I? A psychopath? An insane human being?" Will is starting to sound hysterical.

"No, Will. You are none of those things you listed. But you need to take your medicine," Dr. Joseph says.

"You know what? You don't get beat up everyday because everyone thinks that you're a psychopath. People aren't scared of getting hurt by you. You don't have to go these fucking therapy lessons to 'get better' at controlling your anger. Your dad doesn't beat you up so that you have less strength to hurt someone else." I could hear Will breathing loudly, panting a little from his little speech.