Your Voice

I'm jolted awake by movement, and I whine because I'm not ready to wake up. I don't open my eyes, but warmth is spread around me. Something wet presses against my cheeks and forehead, making me smile some. I know it's Dylan kissing me.

I stayed over last night, Thursday, because Gemma and I were still arguing over what poem we were going to analyse. We eventually decided but had yet to get any real work done. I was suppose to come back over tonight after school, which sounded good to me because I wanted to stay over again. Dylan had come home from lecture late last night and we made out on his bed until nearly one in the morning. So yeah, I was exhausted. But it was well worth it.

"Dylan," I say. I can feel my lips move, feel the vibration of speaking against my throat, but I cannot hear the words nor do I know if they actually came out. Touch can be deceiving, I've learned.

But I know I spoke them because Dylan's lips move from my cheeks to my mouth. I smile against his lips, pulling away and wrinkling my nose. "Morning breath," I sign, and I think Dylan laughs. His face brightens and he shows off his white teeth, which smell minty fresh, making me believe he's already gotten ready for work. This is proven correct when he leans up and I see he's wearing a button-down and tie, his hair done but still a little messy. In a stylish manner, of course. I smile up at him, rolling onto my back and stretching. It's possible I made some noises too but I'm not sure. Dylan just watches me like a creep; his eyes hungrily look at where the shirt rises and exposes my hipbones, and hurriedly I cover them up, blushing bright red. I'll never admit him looking like that made me twitch inside my pajama bottoms. No one really needs to know that.

"I love when you say my name," Dylan says and signs, grinning. I blush bright red. "I love when you speak in general," he adds, kneeling up on the bed and hovering over me. I shrink into the pillow a little, my cheeks burning so bright I can feel the heat. "I feel so honored."

"Shut up," I sign, hiding my face in a pillow. But Dylan pulls me right back out, pressing a long kiss to my lips that makes me go slack yet stiff all at the same time, if you know what I mean. It's the morning, what more can I expect?

Eventually, Dylan pulls away and I'm pretty sure I'm breathing heavily. He can probably hear me and it probably sounds like some dog panting, I'm not sure, but he still smiles fondly and a little cockily, I might add. I've noticed he's pretty confident in himself. But who can blame him? Dylan's absolutely gorgeous.

"I have morning breath," I repeat.

Dylan just chuckles, shaking his head. He reaches out and rests a hand on the top of my head, squeezing my scalp a little. I watch his lips closely as he says but doesn't sign, "Your hair looks cute." I think my blush is going to be permanent if Dylan doesn't stop all these compliments and generally making me feel like a lovesick teenage girl. But I would so much rather wake up to his teasing and kisses than an empty bed and an even emptier house.

I wish I could just move in. I felt so much more loved here than I did in my own home. It's pathetic.

"Get up," Dylan signs now, getting off the bed and smiling at me as he helps me sit up. "I'll try and eat a little breakfast with you before I have to hit the road."

I nod, watching as he leaves the room and definitely not staring at his ass. Though it did look good in those trousers. I get out of bed, not wanting to leave it's warmth for the cold house, and set about putting my uniform on and brushing my teeth. Though I had to use a spare tooth brush Dylan bought me the first time I stayed over; it kept his company in the holder, and seeing it there made my stomach twist and turn and it made my mind think of that word I'd used earlier. Love.

I can't think on it long because it makes me queasy, so I run a wet hand through my hair and then head to the kitchen. Both siblings are there, Gemma with her shirt not tucked into her skirt and hair in a messy ponytail. She looks like hell but in a sexy way, as if she purposefully dressed messy. I never understood how girls could do that, I'm pretty sure I just looked like a homeless man.

"Hey baby," Dylan says. He doesn't sign, but hey was easy to recognize and I'd learned how his lips formed baby on our date to the Italian bistro. It was the one word I was positive on him saying. I could easily tell the way his lips formed around it. It made me feel warm; made me feel wanted, I guess. As corny as it may be. "You hungry?" He asks, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. I rest my head on his shoulder, wanting to answer his question with a no but deciding against it. If I said no he would frown and get all concerned about my weight. It was cute, albeit annoying simply because it was inconvenient. I wasn't anorexic, I just wasn't hungry. But Dylan worried over me and he wanted me to eat. Anything to please him.

I nod my head, and Dylan smiles and signs the word, "Toast," not bothering to say it. I nod again, but he doesn't move to make it. Leaving me to believe he'd already put it in the toaster, the sneaky bastard. Gemma walks by us and signs, "You are gross," before leaving the room, and Dylan laughs. I can feel the vibration in his chest, and it makes me snuggle closer, every line of our bodies now pressed together.

Dylan tilts my chin up, making me grin as he plants his lips on mine. Now that my breath is also minty fresh, I have no problem with opening my mouth and meeting his tongue with mine. They twist and twine, getting very good at the practiced dance. Dylan's hands are on my waist, on my shoulder blades, on the knots in my spin, on the low of my back, and cupping my ass. I arch into him, fisting my hands at the shirt on his shoulders, pushing closer and closer. His tongue strokes the roof of my mouth, making me turn to jelly in his arms. I can feel my throat vibrating but I don't know if I'm making noise, and quite frankly I don't care. I keep pushing closer, my lips closing around his tongue as if on instinct and sucking it further into my mouth. Dylan squeezes my ass tightly, and my hips thrust on their own accord. And suddenly, I can feel Dylan's penis through our trousers. I can actually feel it, legitimately, against my thigh. It isn't hard, not even a semi, but it's there.

He pulls away from me slowly, hands moving around to my hips. His eyes are hooded, breath panting out over my face. I wish I could hear it; hear his inhales and exhales, erratic because of me. Now that would be erotic.

He pulls away completely, our hips moving away from each other. "Wow," he says and doesn't sign. I nod in agreement, running a hand through my hair and smiling shakily. "That was a great way to start the day," Dylan signs, making me giggle a little and nod in agreement again, moving to hug him tightly. Dylan's strong arms wrapping around my torso makes me melt. Makes me forget about the awful week I've had, trying not to cry when I enter Mr. Roberts room and being unable to look my fellow students in the eye, afraid now that they are talking about me when I can't hear. Which is all the time. But being in Dylan's arms this morning, just like being in his arms last night, makes me forget about it. And it doesn't really matter, does it? Everything here at Dylan's, in Dylan's arms, is perfect. I dread the day it ends.

I don't want to go back to the boy I was before. For the first time, I'm happy with how my life is.

Dylan pulls back a little, saying, "I've got to go." I nod in understanding, pushing onto my toes to peck a kiss to his lips. He smiles, pulling away from me and going to get his keys. "Stay safe at school," he says. "Text me if anything bad happens, baby. I'll see you this weekend."

I nod, grinning because even though we haven't talked about plans for this weekend, we apparently had some. And that was the best thing in the entire world. I'd never had that before, and suddenly all of my weekends were precious time spent with Dylan. I didn't get him much during the weeks, only a small bit on Saturday. But all day Sunday he was mine. And who knows what could happen if I feel his dick again.

As Dylan leaves Gemma walks in, stopping to wish her brother a good day at work. They hug and I smile fondly; I find it attractive Dylan is so close with Gemma, though I should expect it considering they no longer have their parents. Which I try not to think about, considering it's none of my business. Gemma walks over to me smiling warily, making me suspicious.

"What?" I ask, staring into her eyes which are darker than Dylan's and not as inviting. Though if you heard Chris talk about her, you'd think they were the most gorgeous color on the face of the planet. I'm beginning to wonder if Chris has any other friends, because he's been spending an awful lot of time with me. Talking about Gemma, about how scared shitless he is of Dylan, and general things such as the football game I didn't watch or uni in the future.

"You know how we were going to come back here to work on the project?" I nod hesitantly, wondering what she could possibly be getting to and praying she didn't want to change our poem because I would not allow that. It literally took us hours last night to decide and this is due on this coming Monday. "What if we went to your house instead? I've never been there and it would be a change of scenery."

Well, shit.
~

I've had an awful day. It started so awesome, with a heated make out with my sexy boyfriend, yet it went to crap so easily. I hardly paid attention in Mr. Lynn's class, which he noticed and tried to talk to me about after class but I told him I was in a hurry to Photography, and Mr. Roberts made a particularly rude comment about Mr. Smith being in the way up there, and some kid knocked my books out of my hands like a jackass and laughed as I bent over to pick them up, and generally it's just been an awful day. I haven't texted Dylan either because I didn't want to bother him with my petty problems. I can handle them on my own, he didn't need to hear me whine and complain. Even though I wanted nothing more than to read his words on my phone's screen, as if he was reaching through phone lines to hug me.

To top the cake, after Gemma asked me if we could go to my house, I'd frozen. I hadn't said a word, just stood there like an idiot staring at her. Apparently in her book, that meant yes. She smiled and said that's where we would go then, that she'd been wanting to go to my house since we first met. Said it looked nice and it was bigger than hers and she wanted to meet my parents. And like a fool, I hadn't said anything.

The last class of the day just ended and now I was suppose to meet her out front so I could walk her to my house. Where both of my parents were off work and they would meet her and she would meet them and see how they didn't know BSL and they didn't know me.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how to feel. So I just sort of shut down. What else am I suppose to do?

Gemma is outside with Chris. Their lips are locked, and I want to say something sassy because that's what Gemma does when she walks in on Dylan and I, but I don't. I just roll my eyes as they pull away. Chris claps a hand to my shoulder and tells me to have fun and take care of his girl, making Gemma giggle. Or I assume she does, I probably would if Dylan referred to me as his boy. Chris surprises me with an awkward side-hug as goodbye, but I accept him and watch as he's off to his car where he will head into work. Otherwise I'm sure he would have offered us a ride.

"Let's go," Gemma says, grinning widely as she hooks her elbow in mine and pulls me down the street. I want to throw up everywhere, and I guess I groan because Gemma's elbow jabs into my side. "I'm excited to meet your parents,"she signs in front of us, making me shrug nonchalantly even though on the inside I'm dying.

I can't believe I'm letting her come to my house and meet my parents. I don't even know if they'll let me do it, I've never had someone over before. How pathetic can you be? I thought tons of kids had friends over when they were young, maybe even as they got over. But I guess I've never really had friends, so there's one side of the story.

Gemma keeps talking, most likely about Chris, though I don't pay much attention. I pull my phone out of my blazer's pocket, seeing I have a text from Dylan. I check it, the first smile of the day since I left him pulling at my lips as I read; Hey baby, Gemma said you were going back to your house for the project :( I'm picking you up maybe Sunday, I want to spend time with you xx.

I smile, sending something back though it was half-hearted. I added several kisses because if I was with Dylan in real life, that's what we would be doing now so it was fitting. Plus it was almost comforting to me, especially when I got a message back filled with nothing but little kisses, as if he's being an obnoxious jerk. But it still makes my stomach flutter in butterflies and a smile tug at my lips.

"You're obsessed," Gemma tells me, though she's smiling so I know she's joking. I just push her a little and look up as we come to her house, my smile turning down as I see my parents' car in the driveway. Gemma is smiling expectantly at me though, so with a metaphorical tail between my legs, I lead the way to the front door.

When we enter, no one comes running to see us. Which I think confuses my friend, because she frowns as she takes her coat off and hangs it by the door, craning her neck as if any moment someone will walk around the corner, welcoming smile in place and arms open for a hug. Yet it doesn't happen; I honestly don't think it ever has, not in any memory I have. Even from before I was sick. I was destined to live in this depressing household from the beginning.

I sigh to myself, sticking my hands in my trousers pockets and jerking my chin in the direction of the living room. Gemma perks up some, maybe able to hear a TV going and figuring no one heard us. She follows behind me, just a step in lag. I can feel her presence there, a hand reaching out to ghost my elbow as we walk into the room where my father is sitting on a recliner, feet kicked up, in nothing but shorts and a dirty t-shirt.

He jerks when he sees me enter, but I don't think it's me that surprises him. His eyes widen as he sees Gemma, and he hastily stands from the chair, dusting his shirt off as if that will help at all. His eyes, which I've found are the same color as my own, are so wide it's comical. Gemma grins from beside me, perking up with hello though I can't be positive, and she confidently holds a hand out for him. He takes it, saying hello back and stating his name, Thom, though that's all a guess as my dad has never had easy lips to read.

This is why I didn't want to bring Gemma. It's one thing to be an outsider with my own parents, but another thing to be an outsider with my parents and my best friend. It's like a right-hook followed by a gut-wrench. Completely unfair.

Gemma looks at me, as if expecting me to sign or say hello to my father. I haven't spoken to my father since I was eight; forget earlier this week when he told me I needed to keep cleaning. Forget any time he's said something to me and not cared if I caught it. None of those count. I don't think Gemma will understand that.

Deciding to get it over with, I lift my hands and sign to Gemma, "My parents don't know BSL." Her eyes widen, as if she can't believe it. But when she gages my father's reaction to my words, the reaction he doesn't have, she blinks once and then frowns deeply. She's good at acting, because as soon as the scowl is there it's painted over by a smile. A tight one as I sign, "Especially my dad. We just don't have communication."

She nods, as if I've told her something important, and then turns to my dad with a sickly sweet smile. She says hello again, her hands signing just in front of her chest as she speaks, keeping me in the conversation. For some reason, I want to cry. "Well, sir, Kade and I are in a group together for a project. My brother is not at home so we decided to come here, which I hope is okay."

"Of course it is," my dad says, grinning widely. Gemma signs for him, as if I need a translator for my own parents and that is the most sickening thought I've had all day. I've never seen my dad so happy as he says to me, now expecting Gemma to translate, "Your mother is napping. Is this the girl you've been spending so much time with?"

Though Gemma goes to answer for me, probably going to say it's her brother I've been spending time with, I nod my head. She looks at me oddly though doesn't comment, thank god.

My dad nods, almost in approval, then winks at me as he says, "She's gorgeous, son." Son. That's the first time he's called me that.

Gemma's eyes are wide, and she looks really awkward, standing there. Her cheeks are red, and I want to puke everywhere. I'm having the first conversation with my dad that I've had since I could hear, and it's all because my best friend is translating. Albeit uncomfortably, but she does it. Inside my trousers pockets, my hands are shaking. My legs are quivering. My muscles are clamping up.

And they release in the form of my hands lifting to sign, "Yeah, she is, isn't she?" And staring at me with wide eyes, Gemma says what I've signed. His hand slaps against my bicep, his grin huge as he nods at Gemma and says that he's going to wake up my mom, leaving the two of us alone. Just before he leaves the room, he looks over his shoulder and winks again.

"What the hell?!" Gemma signs angrily, her nostrils flaring and cheeks bright red. I look away in shame, being unable to say anything. Gemma grabs my arm, turning me to face her. She looks softer now, but her eyes are still confused. "What was that Kade? It's like he thought I was your girlfriend." I stare into her eyes for a long time, not knowing what to say. The words are in my throat, though I won't speak them. They're on the tips of my fingers, though it feels as if I'm paralyzed. Gemma waits patiently, relaxing more and more as I make us wait until she says, doesn't sign, "Kade..." And the way her lips move reminds me of Dylan.

"He looked proud of me," I sign, looking away again. "I don't think he's ever looked that way before."

Gemma hugs me and I let her. For the rest of the night, although Dylan texts me, I find that I can't reply. Like I've betrayed him somehow. And I'm disgusted with myself.