I Stopped Talking and They All Regretted It Chapter 06

I Stopped Talking and They All Regretted It Chapter 06

When I woke up, the hospital room was packed.

Mom, my stepdad, Theodore, Northridge’s program director, Coach Hayes, and two police officers.

It looked like they were about to hold a press conference at the foot of my bed.

The instant Mom saw my eyes open, she was at my side.

“Emma, does your leg still hurt?”

I looked at her and said nothing.

She blinked, then tried again.

“Are you hungry? I picked up some oatmeal for you.”

I still didn’t make a sound.

Theodore stood at the foot of the bed, looking rough.

“The doctor says there’s nothing wrong with your vocal cords. Don’t play games with your own body.”

My stepdad, Michael Sinclair, yanked him back a step. “That’s enough out of you,” he said, sharp.

“Am I wrong, though?”

Theodore’s voice spiked, then he forced it back down.

“She used to talk a mile a minute, morning to night. Why won’t she say one single word now?”

I turned my face toward the window.

Mom’s eyes flashed as she glared at him.

“You shut your mouth. If you hadn’t dreamed up that ridiculous isolation plan, would Erina be like this?”

Theodore’s lips went bloodless.

“I didn’t know something like this would actually happen. I just wanted her to learn how to be alone.”

The door swung open.

Cooper walked in carrying an insulated food container.

“Hey there, chatterbox. Brought you some beef stew.”

I turned my head.

Cooper’s eyes lit up.

“Still remember me?”

I nodded, my throat aching and tight.

“Mr. Cooper.”

The whole room turned to look at me at once,

I kept going.

“Did the headcount come out right on the way back?”

Cooper’s eyes went glassy on the spot.

“Came out right. From here on, I’ll count myself. Three times not enough? I’ll do ten.”

I tugged the corner of my mouth into something close to a smile.

Mom sank down beside the bed, tears dropping one after another.

“Emma. You can talk.”

I looked at her.

Didn’t deny it. Didn’t confirm it either.

The therapist had the family cleared out of the room soon after.

He explained I hadn’t lost my voice. This was trauma-related communication avoidance.

“She’s not physically incapable of speaking. She just doesn’t want to talk to the people who refused to answer her.”

Not a peep came from behind the door.

Northridge’s Director Grant walked in holding a proposed resolution.

“Emma, there was a serious lapse in program oversight this time around. The school’s willing to cover every medical bill and offer you a full scholarship, plus priority admission for next year at Northridge. This whole thing has caused quite a stir. We’d like to keep it in-house, if we can.”

I picked up my phone and typed out a line.

“Handle who, in-house?”

Director Grant’s expression froze.

“The coaches and campers involved.”

I typed again.

“Was the whole camp blocking me of their own free will too?”

“That… Theodore said it was a behavioral intervention.”

I looked up toward the door.

Theodore’s face had gone bone white.

He probably only realized right then that his one line, nobody’s allowed to talk to her, had left literally not one person in the entire program willing to respond to me.

I kept typing.

“Call the police.”

“Public statement.”

“Whoever’s responsible, answers for it.”

Director Grant mopped the sweat off his forehead.

“Emma, maybe think it over a little more.

Cooper planted himself right in front of the bed.

“Think over what? She nearly died and you’re still trying to cut a deal?”

The officer snapped his notebook shut.

“The school has no authority to decide anything on the victim’s behalf. We’ve already recovered the equipment room footage.”

Charlotte was called in.

Her eyes were swollen down to slits from crying.

“Emma, I swear I never wanted you to fall. I just wanted you to end up on the wrong trail. Aren’t you supposed to be so good with people? I figured whoever you ran into out there, you’d charm your way into a ride back.”

I stared at her.

She actually looked dead serious saying it.

So in their eyes, being outgoing wasn’t a personality trait at all. It was some kind of superpower.

Someone like me could get dropped anywhere on earth and land on her feet.

The officer set a tablet down on the table.

In the footage, while everyone gathered up, Charlotte peeled the red route card off my backpack.

Then she walked into the equipment room and dug the long-decommissioned blue card out of an old file box

in the back.

It hadn’t been a mix-up.

She’d taken her time picking it out.