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‘But none in here,’ I sign, eyeing every nook and cranny. ‘Maybe he trusts you.’
‘Doubtful,’ Jericho signs back, not wanting to alert anyone else in the room of our conversation.
Arrow and Jericho are the only ones in the family that have bothered to learn ASL for my sake. Even when my father took my voice, he still expected me to answer him when spoken to. Too bad he never got that. I refused to use a voice he didn't want present. Screw him.
“Use your voice, boy!” he booms from the dining table, ripping into his steak like an animal.
I swallow hard. Or try to. It’s difficult these days when he’s taken so much from me. I refuse to bend to his will any longer.
He narrows his eyes at me, gulping down another beer.
“I see,” he says coldly. “How about a trip to the basement again?” A sadistic grin pulls at his lips, and my mother and I are too weak to stop him from hurting us both. “You, too, Aurora.”
‘The day that man trusts anyone, Hell will freeze over,’ I sign with a grimace.
Gabriel Viotto trusts no one, ever. He barely trusts us but only does it because Jericho is his son, his heir and prodigy. He's under the impression he's trained Jericho without default, expecting him to be his copy.
Oh, how wrong he is.
Arrow snorts and signs, ‘Facts.’
I sit back in the leather seat, watching as they converse in sign language. My language. The one I had to pick up when my father… I suck in a breath. I hate those memories. I hate how they’re laced with violence and abuse from the man that was supposed to protect me.
Tears roll down my cheeks, but I quickly wipe them away. Pain gnaws at my mouth where my tongue should be, an empty space near my teeth. More pain tears through me when I attempt to move the back of my tongue, it’s the only part that’s left, but makes me feel useless. It’s a reminder of what was taken from me in the dingy basement of my parent’s home. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to compose myself before I have to face the world. He allowed me five days of recuperation. Only five days to live with the fact I lost a piece of myself. All for telling the truth.
“Shepp,” Jericho breathes, staring me up and down when I meet him in the halls of our elementary school. Concern laces his expression when he steps forward, examining my bruised-up face. “You’ve been missing.” He raises a brow.
I nod, unable to utter a word. Instinctively, I open my mouth to tell him what my father did now and how he took the one thing from me that I needed. That his suggestion to speak with his father about what’s been happening in the middle of the night went south, and now, I’m voiceless.
Broken.
I swallow hard or try to. It’s hard when you’ve lost the majority of your tongue. I’ve had to learn how to eat, swallow, and breathe without it. There’s so many things I can do without my tongue. Even speak without it, but I refuse. This is what he wanted. He took it from me for the sole purpose of keeping me silent. So, I will be silent for the rest of my life.
Jericho must see the anguish written on my face when he pulls me into a small room and shuts the door. For someone so young, he’s smart and awfully observant. Just how his father raised him.
“What happened?” he asks, nibbling his bottom lip. “Did my father…”
I shake my head, opening my mouth again. But the pain stops me. With a sigh, I take out my notepad and jot down a quick note and hand it to him.
Standing silently, Jericho stares at the note with wide eyes. The only sign his emotions are taking hold is the tremble of his hand. Quickly, he crumbles it up with a growl.
“It’s gone?” he whispers, looking me over.
I nod.
“And your voice?”
I lick my lips and write a note.
Gone.
Of course, my voice still exists. It’s just broken and locked away like the rest of me. I refuse to use it. My father worked so hard to crush my existence; in this one moment, I think he did.
And I let him.
The moment I came to Jericho with a notebook and pen, looking like someone had run me over with a truck, he didn’t hesitate in dedicating himself to learning sign language with me.
Through tutors and many months of studying, we learned the language one word at a time. It’s come in handy through the years in keeping our conversations private in front of prying eyes. Even Gabriel never had the motivation to learn, despite the encouragement he gave us.
