12. Silas
Silas
W hen the last video call of the day finally ends, I get up and go looking for Lauren. I find her standing by the window in the living room, watching the sunset. The soft orange light of Manhattan’s skyline frames her perfectly. I can’t lie—I like that she’s in my apartment, that she’s been here all day. I step up beside her, stealing a glance at her face while she’s lost in the colors of the fading day. She’s been by my side all day, making sure I don’t keel over, and it hits me harder than I’d like to admit. Having someone who doesn’t owe me anything be this loyal it’s something I don’t take lightly. I swallow down whatever weird feelings are bubbling up and say,
“I want to ask you something,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper, like speaking normally might ruin whatever this is.
“I’m listening,” she says, her voice just as soft, her eyes still on the orange-tinted horizon.
“The day we wrote the dialogue between Persephone and Hades …” I begin, and she shifts her gaze to me, her expression unreadable. “You didn’t give me an answer that day. Was it because of what you mentioned today?”
“The selective mutism?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling out of my element here.
She nods slowly, confirming it.
I step forward, standing directly in front of her, blocking the sunset, but I don’t care. If I don’t ask her now, I think I might lose my mind. “Can you answer me today?” I ask, my voice low but insistent.
“Silas” she warns, her tone a mix of caution and something else, something I can’t quite place.
“I need to know,” I say, my words coming out more desperate than I intended. “I need to know what Persephone said to Hades.”
“I don’t even remember that dialogue,” she says, trying to back away from the moment, excusing herself.
But I don’t let her slip away this time. I take her hand gently but firmly, leading her down the hallway to one of the guest rooms. It’s my favorite one, and I have something I’ve been waiting to show her.
When I first moved into this apartment, my mother insisted I take all the old belongings still stored at her house. She said I finally had enough space to keep everything, so I did. While unpacking, I came across that old dialogue we wrote in school, buried in a folder I’d forgotten about. The moment I saw it, something clicked. I had it reproduced by a company that makes custom wallpaper.
I open the door and step aside, pointing to the wall behind the bed. There it is—our words, written out in neat, flowing script, the entire dialogue between Persephone and Hades covering the wall. Lauren steps into the room, her eyes widening as she takes it in. I stay silent, watching her reaction .
“Do you remember now?”