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Say One Word and I'll Save You

Novelix Completed

豪门内斗、家庭冲突、剧情反转、大女主、剧情/戏剧、现代/都市

Chapters (3)

第1章

I am mute. When I was five, I called out that I was hungry, and my foster mother locked me in the basement. She said I could come out the moment I learned to shut my mouth. From that day on, I stopped speaking. The year I turned eighteen, the Ashford family of Boston found me. They said I was their biological daughter. My first night back home, Vivienne — the girl who had lived in my place — packed her bags with red-rimmed eyes. "My sister won't even call me her sister. She doesn't want me in this house." "I don't have to make it hard for anyone. I'll leave on my own!" I froze for a moment, then lifted my hands to sign: No — I just can't speak. But no one in the living room understood sign language. Vivienne bit her lip, and fresh tears slid down her face. "I know you hate me for stealing eighteen years of your life." "You can curse me, hit me — but why won't you say even one word to me?" My brother Julian stepped between us, giving me a cold look. "Vivienne has already backed down. How much further do you want to push her?" "Say something. Right now. Tell her there's room for her in this family." They were all waiting for me to speak. I stayed silent for a long time. Then I took my phone out of my pocket and typed, letter by letter: I'm sorry. I haven't spoken since I was five. ... The living room fell dead quiet. My mother was the first to recover. She walked over in a few quick strides, her lips trembling. "What do you mean? What do you mean, you haven't spoken since you were five?" I raised my hands to tell her — Every time I tried to make a sound, that windowless basement rose up before my eyes. But she couldn't understand. I could only lower my head and keep typing. I can't get the words out. Julian's brows drew together. "When we found you, your foster parents didn't mention anything about this." My fingers paused. The day the Ashfords found me, Martha had clutched my hand so tightly it hurt, sobbing herself nearly senseless in front of the lawyer and the DNA tester. She said she had raised me as her own, wanted nothing in return, and only hoped I wouldn't forget her after I left. Not once, from beginning to end, had she asked me anything. Because she knew, better than anyone — I couldn't answer. Vivienne suddenly set down her suitcase and approached me, cautious as if I might break. "Sister, I'm sorry. I didn't know you couldn't speak." "I must have misunderstood earlier and upset you." She reached for my hand. The instant her fingertips touched my wrist, I flinched backward. Her eyes reddened at once. "You still don't want me to touch you?" Julian's face, which had just begun to soften, hardened again. "Elena. Vivienne has already apologized." I looked at him and didn't move. But my mother caught his arm. "Enough, Julian." "It's Elena's first day home. Don't push her." She reached up as if to touch my cheek. Her hand stopped halfway, and — as though afraid to startle me — she only lightly straightened my crooked collar. "Tomorrow, Mom will take you to see a doctor." "Whatever the reason is, we'll treat it, one step at a time." I nodded. That night, I slept for the first time on a bed so soft it seemed to swallow me. But I didn't dare turn off the light. In the middle of the night, hushed voices drifted through the door. "Julian... do you think maybe she just doesn't want to call any of us by name, so she's pretending she can't speak?" Vivienne's voice, small, tinged with tears. Julian was quiet for a moment. "We'll know once the doctor's done examining her." "And... what if it's real?" "Then we'll get her the best treatment." "What if it isn't?" "..." Silence outside the door. A moment later, Julian's voice, cool and even: "The Ashfords can make room for a daughter who is ill." "But not for a liar." ... The next day, our family physician, Dr. Harrison, ran a full battery of tests on me and finally removed his stethoscope. "There is no organic abnormality in her vocal apparatus." "This is not pathological aphasia." "Given her presentation, it's more consistent with psychogenic mutism — brought on by severe psychological trauma." My mother's face went white. "What kind of trauma would keep a child... from speaking for thirteen years?" Dr. Harrison's eyes settled on the faint old scars along my wrist. "That, I'm afraid, is a question for whoever raised her." Vivienne stood by the doorway. The expression on her face stiffened, just for an instant. ---

第2章

Martha and Frank arrived that afternoon. The moment Martha stepped in, she hurled herself at me, her hands clamping down on my shoulders as she looked me over. "Elena, why are you still playing mute?" "You've gone back to your real parents. Why are you dragging our house's bad habits over here?" Catherine — my mother — was stunned. "Playing mute?" "She's been like this since she was little. The moment she's upset, she clams up, makes everyone try to guess what she's thinking." Martha wiped her eyes, the words tumbling out fast. "When she was five, she stole money from our house. Frank and I scolded her a few times, and she sulked and refused to talk." "After that, whenever strangers were around she'd act all pitiful — but the second she was back home and got a talking-to, suddenly she could say anything just fine." My whole body went rigid. That wasn't how it happened. I had not stolen money when I was five. That day, Frank had come home stinking drunk and knocked over the kitchen pantry. The last half-loaf of bread had rolled across the floor, and he'd ground it into pulp under his heel. I was so hungry I finally crept over to Martha and asked, in the smallest voice I could manage, when dinner would be. She said my crying was bad luck, dragged me down into the basement, and locked me in for two full days. I signed furiously. She's lying! She locked me in for two days. It was dark. There was no water. No food. Martha couldn't read a word of it, but she'd come prepared. She turned to face the room and threw up her hands, weeping. "See? This is what she does." "Every time she won't admit she's wrong, she waves around these little gestures no one can understand, playing the poor abused child." Vivienne spoke softly. "Aunt Martha... did my sister really talk in front of you? Truly?" "Of course she did!" "Besides you and Uncle Frank, did anyone else ever hear her?" Martha's face stalled for a beat, then she smacked her thigh. "We lived together every single day. Why would we need witnesses?" "We raised her for eighteen years. Do you think we'd want to hurt her?" The tender ache on my mother's face began, little by little, to give way to doubt. Richard — my father — was silent for a long time before he asked me, quietly: "Elena. Would you try, just once, to call me Dad?" I opened my mouth. My throat felt stuffed with dusty cotton. Not even a breath of sound would come. Julian stared at me for a long moment. "You can't — or you won't?" I took out my phone. I really can't. Martha gave a long, weary sigh. "You'll all have to indulge her, going forward." "That child loves making trouble. The more you fuss over her, the worse she gets." Suddenly my mother asked: "Then what are those marks on her wrist?" Martha's face changed. "Country kids get scrapes and bruises. Isn't that normal?" I yanked up my sleeve. Beyond my wrist, the inside of my arm bore round scars burned in by cigarettes, and pale ridges where coarse rope had rubbed me raw again and again. Martha slammed her hand over my sleeve. "You — what do you think you're doing, undressing in front of all these people!" My mother's gaze locked on the scars. Her eyes reddened instantly. Just then, Vivienne clutched her chest, her breath coming fast and shallow, and collapsed onto the sofa. "Vivienne!" Everyone rushed to her side. Dr. Harrison hurried back in and, after examining her, said she was only suffering from acute emotional distress. Nothing serious. Cradled in my mother's arms, Vivienne still remembered to speak up for me. "It's my fault. I wasn't understanding enough." "Sister must have suffered so much in the past that she mistakes discipline for abuse." One sentence. It excused Martha and Frank for every scar. And it turned my memories into exaggeration — into revenge. Before Martha left, she came to my side and lowered her voice. "Don't you think for a second that stepping into the Ashfords' house lets you rake up old scores." "If you dare say a word out of place —" "I got them to bring you home. I can get them to send you right back." ... That night, my mother knocked on my bedroom door. She sat at the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance, watching me with soft, aching eyes. "Elena. Mom has hired a professional sign language instructor. Her name is Ms. Reyes." "She'll come tomorrow." "You don't have to speak. That's all right." "You don't have to change. We'll learn how to understand you." I lifted my head and looked at her. In that moment, for the first time, I thought — Maybe coming back here wasn't such a bad thing after all. But the door was half open. Vivienne stood in the hall, watching me for a long, long while. ---

第3章

A week later, I transferred into Vivienne's school. The advisor, Ms. Coleman, seated me right next to Vivienne. "Vivienne, your sister is new here. She doesn't know her way around yet. Look after her, please." Vivienne smiled sweetly and nodded. "Don't worry, Ms. Coleman. I'll take good care of Elena." And she did take care of me. When anyone was curious about why I didn't speak, she'd explain, her eyes shining with tears — that I'd had a very hard childhood, and please, please, don't judge me. Within a day, the whole school knew the Ashfords had found their real daughter. And they also knew that ever since I'd come home, my "muteness" had almost driven the family's beloved adopted daughter out of the house. ... At lunch, a small group of girls gathered around my desk. One of them had honey-blonde curls and long lashes. Her name was Chloe Bennett. Chloe smiled and signed a few gestures at me. "Elena, I've studied a little sign language. Can you understand this?" What she signed was: How many books did you eat today? A completely meaningless sentence. I assumed she was confused, so I corrected her, patiently — the sign for book and the sign for food were different. Chloe stared at me for two seconds. Then she burst out laughing. "Vivienne, she doesn't actually know sign language at all." Every pair of eyes in the room snapped over to us. Vivienne's eyes widened in shock. "How can that be? Elena uses sign language with us at home all the time." "Her hand shapes are a mess. So is her word order." Chloe held up her phone. On the screen were a few standard signs she'd looked up ahead of time. "My aunt is Deaf. I've been signing since I was little. Real sign language doesn't look anything like what she does." I pulled out my phone and typed: Sign language has regional signs and natural variants. What you just signed wasn't a complete phrase. Chloe read it and let out a small sneer. "Making excuses now that you've been caught?" Murmurs ran through the room. "Didn't her foster parents say she could talk, too?" "Probably just fishing for sympathy." "The real daughter just came back. Obviously she's going to do whatever it takes to push Vivienne out." I looked at Vivienne. She immediately took my hand, shaking her head, defending me: "Please don't say things like that about Elena." "Even if she really can talk, I'm sure she has her reasons." It looked like she was protecting me. But she had just confirmed, in front of everyone, that I was faking. ... That afternoon I went to the office to hand in some transfer paperwork. When I came back to the classroom — The notebook filled with my sign language notes had been torn to pieces, scattered in the trash can. Chloe stood there with her arms crossed. "Don't look at me. I didn't do it." I knelt down and picked up the scraps, one by one. That notebook had been a gift from Mrs. Whitaker next door, when I was six. Mrs. Whitaker was a retired teacher of the Deaf. Everyone else took me for a mute. Only she — an old woman who truly could not hear — never once tried to force a word out of me. The first sign she taught me was: I'm hungry. The second: I did nothing wrong. Vivienne knelt down beside me and helped me gather the pieces. But her tears fell first. "Elena, I'm so sorry." "If it weren't for me, no one would be suspecting you like this." I lifted my eyes to her. She leaned close to my ear, and, in a voice only the two of us could hear, whispered: "Guess —" "Are they going to believe someone who can't even speak?" "Or the daughter who's been with them for eighteen years?" ... Before the last class of the afternoon, Ms. Coleman sent me to the main office to sign off on another form. Once the classroom was empty, Vivienne picked up the phone I'd left on my desk and sent my mother a message: Mom, I'm having some trouble adjusting at school. There are some things I'd like to tell you in person. Could you all come to the school after classes? After school let out, Vivienne sent me a message of her own. I found the evidence — proof that Martha abused you. She's afraid Dad and Mom will find out, and she wants me to delete it. If you want it, come to the prop storage room behind the auditorium. I stared at that line of text for a long, long time. In the end, I walked to the auditorium alone. ---