Read Online Wordless by AdriAnne Strickland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: AdriAnne Strickland
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could barely feel my legs. My life felt like a bag of trash with the bottom torn out, spilling its contents behind me as I ran and leaving me oddly weightless, empty.
If the drive to the garage had passed in a blur, I could hardly remember the winding trip back to the waterfront. I was suddenly there, standing in a daze in the shade under the bridge until Khaya poked her head out of the old utility room, spotted me, and let out a gasp. I vaguely remembered I was covered in blood again—not hers, this time—with a backpack on my back. And then I was aware of hands on my shoulders, turning me and guiding me to the door.
It took me far longer than it should have to realize it was Khaya doing this, and she was hopping on one foot. As soon as I was inside, she locked the door behind us and pushed me down on a cot. I fell over on my side and lay there, staring without seeing.
She said something to me, but I didn’t hear what. It didn’t help that I hadn’t slept the night before, but something else, too—the weight of it all—pressed my eyes closed. I shut out the entire world, along with her, and fell into a deep, black sleep.
seven
When I woke up, I thought I was on my cot back in Drey’s garage. Then I remembered everything that had happened, and that I was actually on a strange cot in an old utility room under a bridge. I hoped I was still asleep, since my life couldn’t actually be this nightmare. But it was, and there was no waking up.
For a while, I lay in the darkness without moving. I must have been crying, since my face was wet when I eventually stirred and rubbed my eyes.
There was faint light from the crack underneath the door. As my sight adjusted, I made out Khaya’s profile sitting on a metal folding chair, her head in her arms on a table, along with a coffee press and a microwave. A small mountain of wrappers sat next to her arm. An empty box lay at her feet, with a dim picture of a cookie on the front. She’d devoured enough for a team of hungry people. Maybe her hunger had something to do with her healing, like her tiredness.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, but it didn’t matter. I never wanted to eat again. Even the sight of the wrappers made my stomach twist.
I sat up and two things happened: I discovered I was in my boxers, and the cot creaked, cutting through the thick silence. Khaya jerked upright, her hand shooting for the light switch. The blinding glare didn’t bother me. It let me cover my eyes and shut out the world a little longer.
“You’re awake,” Khaya said from behind my hands. “What happened? You can talk. Your friend … Chantelle … is gone. She went home to sleep right after you left.”
“Drey’s dead,” I said, without further ado.
“Who’s Drey?” she asked, with her characteristic lack of feeling.
“My dad.” I hesitated, not wanting to clarify. “Close enough, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Not your fault,” I responded automatically.
“I didn’t say it was.”
I dropped my hand and squinted at her. “I never thought I would be the one to say this to anyone, but you could really work on your people skills. It wasn’t the bracelet keeping you from showing any feeling. It’s just you. So leave me alone right now, will you?”
She almost looked hurt—more hurt than when she’d had a missing thumb. “When I said I’m sorry, I meant that I can relate.”
“ You can relate to me ?” My scoff turned into a hiccup. “How?”
“My dad is dead too.” She looked away, at the wall, where the concrete surface was covered in an oriental-patterned cloth. The room smelled like heavy incense to match, overlaying a slight hint of mildew. “He was a Word, the same Word as me. He died when he gave it to me. I was five.”
I couldn’t really process what she’d said and I didn’t feel like asking why he’d died. But I didn’t need to.
“Since Words are carried on the breath of life, it takes a life to pass the
If the drive to the garage had passed in a blur, I could hardly remember the winding trip back to the waterfront. I was suddenly there, standing in a daze in the shade under the bridge until Khaya poked her head out of the old utility room, spotted me, and let out a gasp. I vaguely remembered I was covered in blood again—not hers, this time—with a backpack on my back. And then I was aware of hands on my shoulders, turning me and guiding me to the door.
It took me far longer than it should have to realize it was Khaya doing this, and she was hopping on one foot. As soon as I was inside, she locked the door behind us and pushed me down on a cot. I fell over on my side and lay there, staring without seeing.
She said something to me, but I didn’t hear what. It didn’t help that I hadn’t slept the night before, but something else, too—the weight of it all—pressed my eyes closed. I shut out the entire world, along with her, and fell into a deep, black sleep.
seven
When I woke up, I thought I was on my cot back in Drey’s garage. Then I remembered everything that had happened, and that I was actually on a strange cot in an old utility room under a bridge. I hoped I was still asleep, since my life couldn’t actually be this nightmare. But it was, and there was no waking up.
For a while, I lay in the darkness without moving. I must have been crying, since my face was wet when I eventually stirred and rubbed my eyes.
There was faint light from the crack underneath the door. As my sight adjusted, I made out Khaya’s profile sitting on a metal folding chair, her head in her arms on a table, along with a coffee press and a microwave. A small mountain of wrappers sat next to her arm. An empty box lay at her feet, with a dim picture of a cookie on the front. She’d devoured enough for a team of hungry people. Maybe her hunger had something to do with her healing, like her tiredness.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, but it didn’t matter. I never wanted to eat again. Even the sight of the wrappers made my stomach twist.
I sat up and two things happened: I discovered I was in my boxers, and the cot creaked, cutting through the thick silence. Khaya jerked upright, her hand shooting for the light switch. The blinding glare didn’t bother me. It let me cover my eyes and shut out the world a little longer.
“You’re awake,” Khaya said from behind my hands. “What happened? You can talk. Your friend … Chantelle … is gone. She went home to sleep right after you left.”
“Drey’s dead,” I said, without further ado.
“Who’s Drey?” she asked, with her characteristic lack of feeling.
“My dad.” I hesitated, not wanting to clarify. “Close enough, anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Not your fault,” I responded automatically.
“I didn’t say it was.”
I dropped my hand and squinted at her. “I never thought I would be the one to say this to anyone, but you could really work on your people skills. It wasn’t the bracelet keeping you from showing any feeling. It’s just you. So leave me alone right now, will you?”
She almost looked hurt—more hurt than when she’d had a missing thumb. “When I said I’m sorry, I meant that I can relate.”
“ You can relate to me ?” My scoff turned into a hiccup. “How?”
“My dad is dead too.” She looked away, at the wall, where the concrete surface was covered in an oriental-patterned cloth. The room smelled like heavy incense to match, overlaying a slight hint of mildew. “He was a Word, the same Word as me. He died when he gave it to me. I was five.”
I couldn’t really process what she’d said and I didn’t feel like asking why he’d died. But I didn’t need to.
“Since Words are carried on the breath of life, it takes a life to pass the
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