“Fuck off.” River wanted to say sorry but he couldn’t. He swallowed hard.Try!“Sn…st…ow.”Fuck.That was the most he’d tried to say for days.
“Were you by any chance trying to say sorry for freaking me out? Or was it—what are you doing in my room again, wanker? Or—is that book on the Romans any good? It is.”
River held up a finger. Not the middle one.
“The first?” Newt asked. “Sorry for freaking me out?”
River nodded.
“I apologise for overreacting. You startled me. I really am just trying to help you. I wish we could communicate. I wish you could tell me what you want. I know it’s not much fun for you but you can get better.”
River shrugged.
“I’ll assume that’s ayes, I understand.”
He could assume whatever the hell he wanted.
“Max said you can’t read or write. Are you just fluent infuck off?”
They were the only words he’d mastered so far.
“The fact that you can say those words whenever you like shows that language will come back. It’s a positive sign.”
Oh.River perked up. No one else had told him that.
“Sometimes people recover from aphasia to find they have a foreign accent. So don’t be upset if your voice sounds wrong. It can be fixed with therapy.”
What the fuck?River’s voice was his life. He was so tempted to tell Newt where to fucking get off but all that would come out of his mouth was a load of nonsense, so he pressed his lips together.
“If I ask questions, will you answer with a nod or a shake? Please?”
Being polite wouldn’t get this guy anywhere, but River was tired of fighting, tired of sandwiches and mashed up food, tired of not winning, tired of a life he didn’t want.
“Do you want to get better?”
Idiot. Of course I do. I’m not going to nod.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You’re fed up and frustrated. I would be too.” Newt paused. “This is going to sound weird but being miserable can be sort of comforting. It’s a state of mind that becomes a habit. People adapt to their surroundings and circumstances and if they expect to be miserable, then that’s how they continue to feel. You need to break the pattern. Do something different.”
Fuck the hell off.River didn’t like being miserable. But then, had he done anything to improve his mood?
“I have an idea for something we can do outside tonight, but you have to eat first. Sit at the table with me. Not bring your food up here.”
Outside?River didn’t want to be curious, but he was. And he was hungry.
“Will you come down?” Newt asked.
River shrugged.
“I’ve made enchiladas. They were on Linda’s list. I’ll go and heat them up. Twenty minutes.”
As Newt left the room, River’s gaze slid to his backside.Small and tight and…Fuck!Bad idea. Really bad idea. Exactly the sort of arse that River liked. He wasn’t into bubble butts. Not that he’d ever touched…Oh God.He couldn’t go down now for a bit.
He unzipped his jeans, slid his hand inside his boxers and… He went soft.Fuck my life.
When River went into the kitchen, and saw what Newthad done, his jaw dropped. Everywhere he looked there were strips of white paper stuck to things. There was writing on them. Labels.I can’t fucking read. Irritation surged. But what was he going to do? Have a temper tantrum and stamp his foot?
Newt was washing dishes. River came up behind him and waited to be noticed. When Newt turned, River let out a laugh. Newt had labelled himself: his forehead, chest, arm, stomach plus a long strip of paper that hung out the front of his jeans. Very long. Four letters. Could be penis but River suspected it was cock. Or dick. He looked at it carefully. It had to be cock. The first and third symbols were the same. So a C? He could remember how to spell?Oh God.His heart clenched.
