Page 124 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘I know.’

Troy punches his left ear as hard as he can.

✴

Weeks of total silence spent in bed should be a nightmarish punishment, but compared to the unending agony of the noise, it’s nothing but relief.

A few times Troy writes in scribbled cursive on a pad, explaining that both of Riley’s eardrums are ruptured. He asks if Riley is in pain.

Riley shakes his head, refuses the painkillers.

He’s lost all sense of balance when he finally feels able to walk. He careens to the side instantly when he tries one night and his fall brings Troy running to scoop him into his strong arms and settle him roughly back down on the bed. He thinks Troy is yelling at him, but he can’t hear it, can only smell the flash-fry of anger when it’s born from heavy skies of sodden worry blue.

It takes days for him to walk properly.

The silence remains.

Riley doesn’t mind.

It’s nice in some ways.

He’s always felt alone.

This way he actually is.

But when he’s well enough to sleep under his little pocket of moonlight on the windowsill again, sound slowly begins to creep back in.

At first, he’s terrified.

It brings tears to his eyes, anticipatory fear clawing at his heart.

But when it does come back, it’s not that violent, vicious screaming of a million things, all amplified simultaneously, anymore.

It’s clear, precise and painless.

He gets his normal hearing back after a month and with it a few other elements too, like the distinction of heartbeats. That never goes away.

Riley gets his hearing back… but he doesn’t tell anyone.

✴

Troy discovers the broken window just as the heat begins to wane.

Riley watches in silence as Troy, who thinks Riley can’t hear him, mutters angrily to himself. ‘Fucking knew it, swear to God,’ he grumbles.

Pretending he can’t hear anyone makes Riley feel invisible, outside the human race entirely. He knows it’s wrong, but it gives him peace and safety, and he’s never really had that before, so while it lasts, he’ll take it.

Troy examines the window and then shoots Riley a look. ‘Little sneak.’

He packs up Riley’s things, gestures for Riley to help, still muttering angrily under his breath, but there’s nothing interesting about it, mostly variations on what a pain in the ass Riley is, how much trouble he causes.

He points to his things, then at Riley. ‘Get your shit, kid.’

Confused and not daring to be hopeful, Riley gathers what things are his from this room he’s always been in. There isn’t much. He can carry it all in his arms, including Bunny. Troy empties a drawer, drops his stuff into it and then does the same for Riley’s load. ‘Work smart, not hard,’ he says. Riley is free from having to reply or engage. ‘OK, c’mon.’

Riley follows him out of that room.

He won’t see it again for years.