The Mute [Elliot Alderson]

11 | r e m e m b e r

A/N: At the time of me writing this, we have 447 reads. I honestly feel like i'm about to cry. I know it may seem super lame but it really makes me feel good inside that people are actually reading my story. Thank you to all who have been reading since the beginning, I hope I don't disappoint you ❤️

BES

When I awoke in the morning, I smelled the savory scent of bacon being fried up in my kitchen.

When did I buy bacon?

I groan, roll over and push myself off the bed. I look down at my attire, and quickly remember that I didn't even bother to change last night.

Walking into my kitchen, I see my mother standing over my stove cooking a huge breakfast.

I search quickly for my phone and type, "You cooked for a damn army!"

She spins around and shoots me a big smile.

"Don't worry, darling. It's not all for you."

"Who the hell else would you make all this for?"

She laughs and points to the couch in my living room, and I swear in that moment I heavily contemplated setting myself on fire.

My MOM INVITED ELLIOT?!

This just simply won't do.

My mother notices my face drop into a deep frown and she begins to panic.

"Uh- I thought maybe-"

"You thought wrong."

I storm off back to my room and get my stuff around for the day, and clothes for after I get out of the  shower.

Standing under the hot water is where I find myself mostly contemplating my thoughts, feelings and actions. It's a safe place for me.

Sometimes I feel like speaking to myself in there.

I haven't used my voice to speak fully in probably about fifteen years, so even choking out small little words means a lot to me. Sometimes my throats feels scratchy, I assume it's because my dusty vocal cords are being put to use after lying dormant for so long.

It's not a paralyzing fear anymore, not as much as it was when I was five to at least age sixteen.

I'm sure I could talk if I really wanted to. Maybe.

But I don't think I want to.

Some people get mad at me and say, "You talk so much using your damn phone, why don't you just speak?!"

I don't ever really have an answer. Sometimes I think it's because I'm afraid if I open my mouth to someone, all of the secrets of that night will pour out, and I am not ready to deal with that mess.

On a different note, I'm maybe starting to begin to think that I'm being a little too harsh on Elliot.

Although I have a firm stance on hard drugs, treating him like how I have been is impeccably rude, and that's exactly what I was trying to avoid when I first moved here.

I mean, he did save me yesterday after all.

Never mind that. Penelope was an idiot for letting him into my place without even consulting me. She should feel bad.

In case you haven't picked this up yet, my mother and I have a little to non-existent relationship. After the death of my father, she became extremely unbearable and almost too much to deal with.

She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was eleven.

So, yes. Mental illness does play a factor. But Joe has insisted that it's not a big deal, that she shouldn't have to be on meds.

That sparked a flame in my mind, let me tell you.

I sigh, turn the shower water off and step out, drying myself with a towel. I finally get up to my hair and dry it off as quickly as possible, but it immediately becomes frizzy.

Thanks a lot, dad's side of the family.

Then I start putting my clothes on as quick as possible, otherwise I'm going to be super late.

When I walk back into the kitchen, I realize my mother is chatting up a storm to Elliot all the while he sits there, looking very uncomfortable as usual.

"Okay mom, time to leave the guy alone. We have to get to work." I informed her, really hoping she'd just stay quiet.

My mother nodded in response, and went back to fixing me a plate.

"I don't have time to eat that-"

"You'll eat it willingly or I'll shove it down your throat. Pick your choice wisely." She interrupted with a sweet smile that didn't match the words she spoke, which really should creep me out but doesn't anymore.

I look over to Elliot and he just sat there. Blank expression, like always.

I sit down, and begin eating.

• • •

Elliot and I have made our way out of my apartment, but he isn't following me down the steps to the street.

Maybe he's not going to go to work today.

Maybe I don't care. It's not like he talks much anyways.

Oh wow, that's ironic coming from me.

The hustle and bustle of the New York streets wasn't necessarily overwhelming today, probably because I'm remembering what it's like to have lived in worse areas. The Bronx was not the best area for anyone to be living in, let alone a five year old. But that was before I had all my.. issues. It didn't stop me from having anxiety, though.

There was really no need to ride the train or catch a ride from my mom because the weather had really taken a turn for the best, so I'm walking.

Birds are chirping, the sun is shining.

Makin' my way down town.. walkin' fast..

No, we won't go there.

I breathe in the fresh air and smile although I'm dreading walking into that building because I don't want a repeat of last time, especially with no Elliot there to save me.

All of a sudden, I hear loud footsteps and then, I get knocked off my feet.

WHAT THE FUCK?

I'm completely startled, 200% frazzled and absolutely anxious.

I tilt my head upwards to see who the culprit is, and I immediately feel bile rising in my throat.

There's no fucking way.

Ronnie.