A guttural gasp tears out of me at the sensation of my throat being cut open and I sit up in bed, my hand going to my neck.

Motherfucker.

I talked last night, didn't I? It wasn't a dream? I talked out loud to another fucking person after twenty-one years of silence. Just remembering it makes me shudder with panic and I break out into a sweat, flinging my blanket off.

I thought...I thought the fucking sky would fall on me the second I spoke. I've lived years in silence out of fear, the same fear that fucker Kane instilled in me since I was a fucking kid. The second I spoke, I waited for him to jump out and finish the job, slitting my throat until I bled out. But nothing happened. I'm alive and he can't touch me and...and I talked. I fucking talked to another person.

It was nothing like talking to myself, which I do all the time. In the sanctuary of my own home, I talk so that I don't lose my voice or ruin it more than it already is. I sound like a chain smoker when I speak because Kane grazed my voice box and the longer I go without talking, the more guttural my voice becomes. So I talk to myself and practice when there's no one to hear. For twenty-one years, I've only talked to myself. Never to another person. Not the cops when they asked me to describe what happened that day, not the nosy fucking reporters that followed me around town as I got older, not even Gramps who raised me until I could stand on my own two feet. He died without hearing me say a word. I figured if I couldn't talk to him, no one could make me speak. I'd be silenced for life.

I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I can't believe that I can even say I'm wrong. Never in a million fucking years did I think I'd be pacing my room and trying to comprehend that I overcame my greatest fear, that the most unbelievable fucking woman somehow did what everyone in my life failed to do. She gave me my voice back.

Melanie.

A reluctant smile escapes me when I realize she would kick my ass if she knew I call her Melanie in my head. She hates her full name but that's the one I use. I never think of her as Lenny. Lenny is the woman that pushes everyone away, the woman who pretends she isn't in pain and convinces herself she doesn't care about anyone. Melanie is the woman who cares so fucking deeply, the woman who made me feel seen and the woman who heard me long before I said anything out loud. She will never be Lenny to me.

I sound like a fucking pussy but it's true. I knew her long before she knew me. I used to see her around at the bar that I occasionally went to so I could practice being around other people. I'm no good with crowds. I scowl, I glare, I scare everyone off. I discovered that lonesome bar during one of my walks and when I realized it was almost always empty, I figured it was a good place to start. Only people like me hung out there — quiet, intense, alone. It wasn't exactly a place meant for clubbing. Completely my kind of crowd. That's why she stood out immediately, from the very first moment she discovered the place and walked inside like she owned it. My eyes had tracked her the whole time, wondering what someone like her was doing in a place like that. She looked tough as balls and wore a cocky smirk to match her attitude but she had too much life in her to be surrounded by people who looked burnt out. Didn't seem to stop her though. She became a regular after that and I did everything I could to not notice her because she made me so fucking curious.

That's why I couldn't believe my fucking eyes when Aria brought her to Asher's first professional match. All I could do was blink because I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, that I was imagining the girl from the bar. I was right to try and stay away because within minutes I was coming to her defence and knocking the shit out of the asshole that grabbed her ass. In that moment, I made myself known and for the first time ever she saw me. I didn't want to be seen by her. I didn't want to understand why she was so intriguing to me or why she pulled me towards her with just one fucking look. But it was like the more I tried to stay away the more I kept running into her. She was everywhere after that and when my curiosity became unbearable, I chose her as my tattoo artist so I could learn about her and hopefully put her behind me for good. Quench my thirst and all that shit. Again, I was so fucking wrong.

The more I learned about her, the more I realized there was so much more to her than meets the eye. If I thought I was curious before, it was nothing compared to my itching desire to understand her the closer we became. I couldn't fucking stay away anymore. I became addicted to her mischievous grins and confident laughs. I didn't mean for it to happen but she started pulling me out of my shell, made me feel safe around her. And I'm pretty sure I did the same thing to her because now she opens up to me and trusts me and she's in my fucking house and I don't know what the hell I'm doing or why I'm doing it. I don't know how or when she became the most important person in my life and it's fucking me up because I'm no good at this. Why did I think I could do this?

"Fuck." I whisper to myself, grabbing my throat. It always feels weird when my vocal cords vibrate and remind me that they work. "What am I thinking?"

I have no fucking clue. She's in my house somewhere and this isn't helping either of us. She didn't want to be here and I should have listened because I don't know what the fuck happens now. I acted impulsively but I couldn't let her leave. I would've gone out of my mind knowing she was alone after she got attacked last night. Anger invades me from everywhere and I clench my fists tightly, remembering the fear on her face when she fought her way out of there. Even now I want to go back and finish the job. If Melanie didn't stop me, I would have killed every last one of those fuckers. Gladly.

But that's all over with and now she's in my house and I don't know what to do next. I don't know if I can talk to her again, if she expects me to. No doubt she's looking for answers. She'll probably ask me a million questions because who wouldn't? Everyone wants to know what's wrong with me, what made me this way, why I'm so different. I don't know if I'm ready to answer all those inevitable questions. It's times like this I wish Gramps was here because he would know what to do. I can't believe I finally talked and he isn't here to see it. To hear me. I know how badly he wanted that even though he never pushed me. He let me live my life in silence and didn't complain once. I feel like such a fucking asshole.

There's a clatter somewhere outside and for a moment I forget I have company, my hand going to the baseball bat in my closet. Then I hear a loud "shit!" and smile because Melanie is definitely not a morning person and that's no surprise somehow.

I make quick work of brushing my teeth and washing my face, mentally preparing myself for seeing her. Will I be able to speak to her again? I couldn't stop myself from doing it last night. I was so fucking desperate for her to stay with me, for my own sanity, and she wasn't listening to me no matter what I tried. She was almost out of my house and I snapped. I blurted out "stay" before I could stop myself and the fucking world shook underneath me. I couldn't believe what I'd done. I still can't believe it. I just don't know if I can do it again but I guess I'm about to find out.

I leave my bedroom and quietly make my way to the kitchen, my bare feet inaudible on the hardwood floors. I've always been self-conscious of my large build and standing out so I've perfected being as invisible as I can, never making a sound when I'm on the move. I like being invisible. I've spent too many years under unwanted spotlights and being a mute doesn't exactly help my situation. It just makes everyone more curious about me so I'd rather go by undetected. Fucking sue me.

I hesitate a moment as soon as the kitchen comes into view. I can see Melanie messing around on my stove, her arm making stirring motions. But I could give a fuck about her cooking when she's in next to nothing — nothing except my shirt.

Jesus.

It falls nearly to her knees so it looks more like a dress on her. Her lithe frame is barely visible underneath the material, her long legs peeking out. Seeing her in my clothes is doing something to me, like I could thump my chest as if I were a fucking caveman or some shit. It's ridiculous how easily this girl drives me out of my mind. I've never had someone affect me the way she does and she doesn't even have to try. Maybe that's why I spoke to her; because she's never once asked me for it or made me feel like I had to speak. She just let me be, did her own thing, and without the pressure or expectations or fear, talking almost felt natural. It felt possible. And that scared the ever loving fuck out of me.

That's why I'm trying like hell not to fuck this up. I know Melanie has a lot of trust issues and could run out on me the second she wants and I hate to admit it but that would hurt like a motherfucker. I don't know when it happened but...fuck. She makes me better. She makes me someone I didn't know I could be and I don't know if I can be that person without her. It sounds so fucking selfish but it's true.

I clear my throat to let her know I'm in the room and she yelps, whipping around with a spatula in her hand. All I can do is blink at the less than stellar weapon made of plastic and then look back at her with raised brows. Her cheeks tint pink in a rare show of embarrassment.

"Hey. Morning." She puts the spatula down and uses her free hands to pat her hair down instead. It's kind of a mess but she makes it look good. I stop myself from telling her that. There are so many things I've wanted to say to her that I probably will never get the chance to. "Thanks for letting me crash."

She's being nice and we both know it. I practically forced her to stay the night and I feel like a dick. I should apologize. I swallow hard and try to force the words out but nothing comes.

Like so many times before, everything I want to say gets stuck in my throat as if there's an invisible barrier preventing them from getting out. I want to speak but...I can't, damn it. Maybe it's because I got caught up in the heat of the moment last night, my desperation for Melanie to stay so intense that I had no control over my voice. Now that all that intensity has fizzled out it's like my voice shut off again and is actively working against me, punishing me for using it in the first place. There are a thousand and one words in my head but none of them make it into my mouth, taunting me. I resort to a nod instead, disappointed as fuck with myself. I thought it would be easier to talk now that I've already done it but it feels even harder.

"I made some eggs," She sets a plate down in front of me and then grabs another for herself, sitting across from me on the island. Both of us start eating right away and it's obvious we're avoiding bringing up last night. Does she want me to talk again? I know she must have questions. I shovel more forkfuls in my mouth while I try to figure out if I even have it in me to talk again. Last night could have been pure luck for all I know and that pisses the fuck out of me because I want to be better than this. Last night made talking seem...possible. I had maybe a sliver of hope that I could try speaking again but now that's been completely obliterated.

"What did those eggs ever do to you?" I hear and look up to find her watching me in amusement. Her electric blue eyes are full of laughter and I look back down when I realize I'm stabbing the contents of my plate. I loosen the grip on my fork immediately. "You okay, big guy?"

I've always hated that nickname but I like when Melanie calls me that. I know she sees me as more than just a big fucking dude that doesn't talk. She sees beyond that so the term doesn't feel condescending the way it does when people I don't know call me that.

I nod to let her know I'm fine and go back to eating. I can still feel her eyes on me and it's impossible to ignore. Panic crawls up my spine because I know she wants answers and I don't know if I'm ready to give them but how do I tell her that without—

"Breathe," She commands softly. I didn't even realizing I was holding my breath. I do that a lot and Melanie has helped me on more than one occasion, including this one. She demonstrates a pace for me to follow and I mimic her until I'm calm again. That gets a smile out of her as she pats my hand. Out of everything I'm pretty sure I love her smile the most. It's so fucking genuine and real and she holds nothing back when she smiles. She feels when she smiles and it makes me feel too. "Let me grab you something to drink."

She goes to my fridge and pulls out a carton of juice, pouring some in a glass. I watch her curiously. She hasn't asked a single question yet and we're both done with breakfast. She hasn't bombarded me or demanded to know what last night was all about. She's not even being awkward about the whole thing even though she should. That takes away the fuck ton of pressure I've been feeling since I woke up so...should I try again?

I clear my throat, first trying to bring some life into my vocal chords and reminding myself that they exist. That I can use them. Mind over fucking matter. My lips part in preparation in case the words miraculously find their way out.

Thank you. Two fucking words, Emerson. You spoke more than that last night, for fuck's sake.

But it's nothing more than air. A gust of wind that blows out of me in place of my voice and reminding me what I can't do. I clear my throat again because I need some sort of sound to replace the failure. Anything to get rid of this silence that's somehow the loudest fucking thing in the room. My throat seems to burn with shame as I sign my thanks instead when Melanie hands me the glass and I avoid eye contact completely.

"You're welcome," I hear her say softly. I'm sure she can see the frustration on my face, can tell that I'm trying to talk but can't, and that's why I refuse to look at her. Instead I watch her hands as she cuts into an apple, focusing on the even slices she makes. "Did someone else used to live in the room I crashed in? Because it was completely furnished so I figured — Jesus!"

"Shit," I hiss at the same time when the knife cuts into her finger, not deep but deep enough that blood immediately pools over and takes us by shock. But then it's completely forgotten because we both freeze, looking at each other and holding our breaths as if being suspended in the moment. It's just like yesterday, when I spoke and that one word lingered in the air long after it left my mouth in case either of us doubted if that was actually me. Because it was.

Holy fuck. I talked again.

My pulse thunders with uncertainty because I'm not used to this shit. This...this is fucking crazy. Up until a couple of minutes ago I was sure yesterday was a fluke but...I just fucking talked again.

There's a flicker of shock in Melanie's eyes but she gets rid of it immediately, looking down at her finger and shrugging like it's no big deal. Of course that's insane because this is a big fucking deal but the way she's acting almost normal lessens the tension. My heart is racing a mile a minute but I'm pretty sure it would explode if Melanie wasn't keeping it as together as she is. Her casualness is contagious and my pulse actually slows down as she simply turns around and looks through cabinets. The fact that she's all but ignoring me is kind of what I need right now.

Maybe that's why it makes it easier to stand up and walk directly to the cabinet where I keep the medical kit, taking out some cream and bandages. I glance over at Melanie who's looking at her finger that's now completely covered in blood. Jesus. The sight of it is troubling enough that I gruffly blurt out, "Run it under water."

This time she jumps slightly, blinking at me and unable to hide her disbelief. Her and I both. I deliberately spoke instead of letting my voice get the better of me. Those words were very much intentional. I look away again.

I hear the sound of water running and busy myself with opening one of the bandages. The silence is so thick I swear you could choke on it. That's why I'm mostly relieved when she starts talking. "You don't have to talk, you know? You can ease into it or we can pretend like the last few hours never happened. Don't feel pressured to speak just because I've heard you."

I shouldn't be surprised that Melanie confronted the situation right away. She's blunt as fuck and doesn't take anyone's bullshit and I think it's fucking awesome. I never have to wonder what she's thinking or how she feels because she'll just tell me. It's refreshing, especially for a guy like me that's constantly reading people because no one directly talks to me. I'm background noise that goes undetected. Melanie never hesitates to acknowledge me. It makes me want to give her all of that back. As she walks over to me and gives me her finger, I wordlessly apply a bit of cream to the cut and muster up all the courage I have. I need to fucking to do this, damn it.

"You...must have questions," I meet her eyes. Jesus, I can't get over how weird it feels to be talking to another person but I have to start somewhere, right? And I don't think there's anyone I could do this with except her. I really don't.

Melanie searches my face, trying to read me too. We're similar in a lot of ways. She's observant and watchful of everyone around her and she prefers going by undetected, like me. So what the hell happens when two people who are used to being unnoticed are suddenly under the fucking spotlight?

"Why don't you like having your picture taken?" She asks.

I blink. Of all the questions I was expecting, that wasn't one of them. I assumed she might ask me why I don't speak of why I started speaking now or if I'm going to be talking from now on or something. I can't figure her out for the life of me. How can she be unlike anyone I've ever met?

I'm not sure if I'm grateful that her question doesn't have anything to do with me talking or more panicked because at least I was prepared to answer something like that. The answer to her question is more than I was willing to give up. But I can try. For her, I can try.

"My parents were murdered," My words are quiet but I know she hears them because her mouth parts in surprise. I try not to look because then I'll just think about our kiss and...yeah, now is not the fucking time. I don't know if it'll ever be the time. I focus on bandaging her up instead but even that's a distraction because I can't help the way my fingers graze hers, her touch doing something to me I can't seem to name. "My father was a detective so the news made headlines. For years I had reporters follow me everywhere, including right after the murder happened, so..."

I take a deep breath, clearing my throat roughly. I think that's the most I've spoken out loud at once and it feels fucking weird. My throat is actually starting to feel a little sore and it's making me realize how bad I am at this. Fuck. I should have tried to talk sooner, before I let it get this bad.

"What dickwads," She scowls and momentarily distracts me from feeling sorry for myself. I fight a smile as I close up the bandage. "That blows, big guy. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

I nod. "Me too."

When I'm finished with the bandage I finally look up and find her squinting at me. "Do you have an accent? I feel like I'm hearing it in certain words you're saying."

"Grew up in Australia. Lost most of my accent but sometimes it peeks out."

"Really? I would think you'd lose an accent altogether if you didn't talk."

"Well...I talk to myself. So I would not lose the ability." I feel so fucking stupid admitting it and the last thing I want is pity. That's what I expect which is why I'm surprised as fuck when she gives me a blinding grin instead.

"No shit? I have the worst habit of talking to myself too. Honestly it's really helpful. Nobody understands you like yourself, right? It's comforting."

I nod, once again taken aback by her. Every time I think she won't be able to understand me, she does. "Exactly."

"It's also scientifically proven that people who talk to themselves are smart," She goes on. "Which would explain why you're such a whiz."

I feel my cheeks grow warm. She's giving me way too much credit right now. "With computers. I'm decent."

Her brows go up. "Modesty doesn't suit you. You should be cocky as fuck."

"Then what suits me?" I tilt my head, genuinely curious. When you don't speak there's an unspoken agreement with the world that being mute is your entire identity. It's always been mine and for the first time ever, maybe it won't be anymore. Which begs the question...who the hell am I now?

"You'll figure it out," She says softly, reading my mind. "And, you know, I'll be here to help. If that's cool or whatever."

My cheek twitches with another urge to smile as she casually leans against the counter, studying her nails. She's always so afraid to show she cares and I'm not sure what made her this way but I know she cares about me. She wouldn't be here if she didn't. I wouldn't be talking right now if she didn't.

"Thank you, Melanie." I say quietly. I want to elaborate, tell her all the things I'm thanking her for, but then we'd be here all day. I don't think she even realizes how much she's done for me.

She blinks at me now, an odd look on her face. "Lenny."

For a moment her correction flies right over my head because I've never called her Lenny a day in my life. Sometimes I completely forget that's the name she goes by. It never made sense calling her that so I shake my head and hold my ground. "Melanie."

"Lenny," Her jaw ticks. "I hate my name. You know that."

"Yes," I relent. "But you're wrong."

There's no doubt she's been walking on eggshells around me all day, going out of her way to be nice given all that's happened. Now she's finally losing her patience and the fire in her eyes is directed at me. "Excuse me?"

Part of me doesn't want to anger her because I know the past twenty-four hours have been hell for her. I don't want to start a fight when she's been nothing but a loyal friend to me. But that also means I owe it to her to be just as loyal of a friend so I'm not going to bullshit her.

"I see you," I start and her shoulders push back in defiance. "Lenny is your armour. She saves Melanie from the world because Melanie has been hurt too many times."

Her chest heaves now and I know I'm speaking a truth she doesn't want to hear. I should stop but I care too much to let her continue to live in this bubble she's created for herself. It's not unhealthy and it's only hurting her. Has no one noticed or do they not care to look hard enough? It angers me.

"Lenny is a facade. She's cold and uncaring and resilient. But she is not you or who you really are. I see you, Melanie. You care too much, you're loyal to a fault, and you're in pain. Tremendous pain. But at least Melanie is real and not an act."

"Stop," She demands, facing me with an expression full of anger and frustration. "What is it with you? Why do you push?"

"Because I care," I close the distance between us in one stride, my fingers tentatively sliding into her hair. Touching her like this is child's play compared to what I want to do to her. "I care about you very much."

She flinches and rears back from my touch. I drop my hand and search her face, wondering what part of her I've triggered now. It's a common theme with us. We're always circling each other and reading between the lines, between the silence, in order to understand. She's staring at me like she doesn't want to believe a word I've said.

"You're scared," I observe quietly and step back to give her room. There's a flash of uncertainty in her eyes and I know I've called her bluff. I keep my voice low and steady when I admit, "I am capable of hurting others. I have done so before. But you...I think I would die before I ever hurt you."

A small breath whooshes out of her as she stares at me. My eyes hold hers and I don't waver for even a moment so she understands how dead fucking serious I am. In the end, her demons win and she breaks our eye contact with a clenched jaw.

"I need to get home," She says more so to the ground than me. "Are you going to listen to me this time?"

It's a goad but a fair one. Yesterday I asked her to do something unthinkable, to ignore her fears for me, and I won't push her anymore. So I nod because I owe her that much.

"Okay. I'm going to get ready."

She walks away and I find myself watching her, wondering if she'll ever trust me. Wondering if I'll ever trust her. There's so many ways shit could go south between us and I shouldn't be tempting fate but...haven't we already been doing that?

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A/N

JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL!!! Does Wolfe have you swooning or what????? I love being in his head. I love that he's talking. And I love how he adores Lenny (I mean Melanie...oops...sorry Wolfe).

I need wayyyyy more of his POVs. Who else?

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Happy Reading :)