The Sounds of Secrets

by Whitney Barbetti

  “Fuck, Sam. You’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t you?”

  “I’m trying to clean it up. Lotte and I are going to get better, we’re going to get help.”

  “Lotte what? She doesn’t need help; you’re the one with the problem.”

  I hadn’t even meant to let it slip. I closed my mouth and silently cursed myself. “Right.”

  But Ames wasn’t fooled. He took a step toward me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head, and grabbed a cup to get some water. It was a million degrees in the kitchen, and not even Ames’ icy voice was cooling it down.

  “As you said before, you’re not good at hiding things. You’re lying to me about something. So help me, Sam, if you don’t come clean to me, I’m going to paste you.”

  “You wouldn’t.” But I didn’t believe that. He had a fire in his eyes that I could absolutely see turning into him hitting me across the face.

  “What’s going on?” Mila asked, coming into the kitchen. “I can hear you two arguing from out in the pub.”

  “Sam’s keeping something from me,” Ames said, pointing at me. “Out with it.”

  Fuck. There was no clean escape, no way to get out of this unscathed. “It’s Lotte’s business to tell you.”

  “And she confided in you? I find that hard to believe. I have a right to know.”

  “You don’t have a right to know anything. You’re not her father. You’re not even her brother—not by blood. You don’t own her, Ames. You can’t expect to protect her from everything, forever. I’m not interested in getting into an argy-bargy over this, Ames. Talk to Lotte. When she’s ready, she’ll talk to you.”

  “Bloody hell, Sam, just tell me.” Mila came up and stood beside him, looking concerned by how close we were. He was my best mate, and I didn’t want him angry with me. But I also didn’t want to hurt Lotte.

  “You’re asking me to betray Lotte’s trust.”

  “What do you care? You’ll have another girlfriend next week.”

  That time, I wanted to grab him by the collar. I clenched my fists instead, and tried to buckle down on my anger. “Do you really think so little of me? As my best mate, do you think I’d even touch Lotte if she didn’t mean something to me?”

  “Didn’t you already do that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The night of her going-away, you stayed the night. With Lotte.”

  He knew. How long had he known?

  “And then you went right back to Della. That’s not the way things work, not with Lotte. I know who she is, what she deserves. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

  “I fucking know that, Ames.” I couldn’t control my voice. “And you don’t seem to know her as well as you think. I mean, Christ, Ames, you live under the same roof as her, and you never noticed that she has pulled out her eyelashes, her eyebrows?”

  “What are you going on about?”

  “She’s hurting so much that she’s pulling out her hair. She lives here with you, and she’s hurting herself, and you didn’t even notice.”

  There was a sound from the doorway, and I turned, meeting Lotte’s stunned eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I stepped into the kitchen and had one second before my heart broke.

  I knew I’d forever remember this moment, the second before everything fell apart. When Sam’s words fell from his lips, confessing my secret to Ames, I wanted to crumble to pieces.

  “Lotte,” Sam and Ames said at the same time. Both of them looked equally guilty, and Mila looked furious.

  “I hope you’re happy,” she hissed, staring daggers at them both. “Behaving like children, hurting your sister,” she said to Ames, “and your … girlfriend. Whatever she is to you.”

  Sam didn’t look at her, he looked at me. He knew I was gutted, because I couldn’t hide how I felt from him. He’d taken my secret and given it to my brother.

  I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I didn’t want to keep standing in the kitchen, suffering through Sam’s silence too.

  I darted up the stairs into the flat, slamming the door to discourage them from following me. I wanted to rip my hair from my head, as much as I could, and had to shove my fingers into my pockets to keep from doing so.

  My bedroom was as I’d left it, which was both cruel and comforting. The last time I’d laid in the bed had been with Sam. The last time I’d been in the room, I’d pulled out enough hair that it’d left a bald spot.

  I sat at my dressing table and spied the hair sitting in the trash. I grabbed it, twisted the hair, and twirled it around my finger. There had to have been a few dozen plugs. I ran my finger over them, and tried to focus my attention on the hair in my hands, not the hair on my head.

  I didn’t want to lose any more hair. I didn’t. But Sam had just told everyone within ear shot my shameful secret, and I didn’t know how I’d ever face them. How they’d ever look at me without looking directly at my eyelashes, my eyebrows.

  The thing was, I wasn’t upset that Ames knew my secret. I was upset that I hadn’t been given the option to tell him, in my own time. I was angry that something I’d confessed to Sam in a moment of utter vulnerability had been blasted, like ammunition, in my family’s home, by someone who wasn’t me.

  There was a knock on the door and then, “It’s Mila.”

  I debated for several long moments before unlocking the door and backing away to my bed. I sat on the quilt, not wanting to meet her eyes quite yet.

  “I’m so sorry, Lotte.”

  “Sorry about what?” I grabbed a pillow from behind me and hugged it to my chest.

  “Sorry that your brother behaved like an idiot, and that his best friend behaved similarly.”

  I shrugged as if it didn’t matter to me, even though it did. I hated that I was in my bedroom, once again crying over Sam. I couldn’t do this regularly. I’d had enough heartache in my life, and I was looking for stability.

  “They shouldn’t have done that. Had that fight here, tonight, of all nights. Ames has been stressed, but that’s not an excuse. And I’m sure Sam is tired, but that’s not an excuse either.”

  “If those aren’t excuses, why are you mentioning them?” I picked the thread coming loose from the corner of my pillow, my mouth pressed down along the side of it.

  “Because sometimes, having a bit of perspective is a good thing.” She reached out and rubbed a hand down my arm. “Every couple goes through a rough patch or two. Ames and I had, our first being the day I tried to encourage him to let you go to America in the first place. He was real stubborn about that, and I butted in when it wasn’t my business.”

  I’d never known that. Ames and Mila had gotten together the year before, when the idea of going abroad on holiday had been a thought I wanted reality. And now here I was, a year later, back from that trip. “But you worked through it, obviously.”

  “We did, but it wasn’t easy. And that wasn’t the last time we’ve argued. It happens.”

  I looked up at her. “I’ve been hiding my hair pulling for a few years,” I told her. “I didn’t think it was a problem, because it was just here and there for a while. But after my sister died, it got worse.” I swallowed and tugged the loose thread until it snapped off the pillow. “I was so uncomfortable in America that one day, I woke up and almost all of my eyelashes were gone. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide this from you all forever, but I didn’t—and still don’t—know how to talk about it.”

  “Then maybe you don’t. If you’re getting help, and still not able to talk to Ames, your dad, or even me, then that’s okay. The last thing any of us would want is for you to feel uncomfortable. We just want you safe.” She squeezed my wrist. “And happy.”

  “I just wish Sam hadn’t told Ames, or you.” I looked up at her. “No offense. I just wanted to do it, when I was ready.”

  “To be fair, Ames pushed Sam over and over about it. Sam didn’t want to tell him.”

 
“No, but he did.”

  “He cares about you. Probably loves you. Any man that will go head to head with Ames about you is a man who cares deeply for you, there’s not a doubt about that.”

  It seemed impossible that Sam would love me, would care about me, in any bit of the same way that I cared about him. I closed my eyes, remembering our time in Utah, and how my feelings for him had only grown then. I guessed it wasn’t completely out of the question for his to grow, too.

  “I just don’t know what to think right now. I’m exhausted, and a bit sad, if I’m being honest.”

  “As you have every right to be. Ames and Sam need to apologize to you, but you also need to have a conversation with Sam about all this.”

  I laid back on my pillow, thinking only of sleep, and not of the drama with Sam and Ames and all of it. “I’ve had a really long day. A really long month. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  Mila stood and helped me under the quilt. She really was kinder than I deserved, especially when I was effectively shutting her out by laying down. “I’ll talk to Ames. And Sam. Just get some rest.”

  I closed my eyes before she left my room.

  Sleep was a balm for pain, because when I awoke the following morning, I felt much more level-headed than I had the night before. I left my room shortly after eight-thirty and ran into Ames in the kitchen.

  “Lots.” He met my eyes and backed up. “Good morning.”

  I poured hot water from the kettle into my cup and dropped a tea bag into it. “Good morning.” I wasn’t going to be a coward about this. I was going to admit my problems, and I was going to handle things with Sam afterwards.

  “I’m just going to tell you that I’m sorry you had to find out about my hair pulling from Sam.” Ames eyes instinctively went to my eyebrows, which I hadn’t bothered to color in. “I’ve had this problem for a while, and I was good at hiding it. It was easier to hide than to talk about it.”

  He nodded. “I’ve noticed you playing with your hair, but I didn’t think anything of it.” He looked down at his cup and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too, if you felt you couldn’t talk to me. I know I’m often overbearing, overprotective of you. You’re family, and maybe I was so busy protecting you that I didn’t even notice you were hurting.”

  “Oh, Ames.” I put my hand over his. “It wasn’t that I couldn’t talk to you. I didn’t think I had a problem, until it was too late. I had control over it—that’s what I told myself at least.” I dunked my tea bag into the water, watching the color seep outwards. “I told Sam because I was ready, I think, to admit it. He was good to me, I promise. Kind. Compassionate. Loving.”

  Saying the last word made my nerves stand to attention. Did Sam really love me?

  “I was pretty mean to him last night. It’s miracle he didn’t conk me in the head.” He sighed and dragged a hand over his face. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept all night. “He’s made a real mess of things, but he was gutted last night after he told me your secret.”

  “He shouldn’t have told you.” I had already forgiven Sam, but it’d be a million times harder to forget.

  “And I shouldn’t have pushed him to. I don’t know why I feel like I have to keep you safe, but that desire means I have to know everything. I know I don’t need to know everything, but last night I was so cheesed off. That I didn’t know this big thing about Sam—and I’m his best mate; I should know something like that. And then when he accidentally let slip that there were things about you I didn’t know, it made me feel, I guess, like I’d failed you.” He turned his hand over so it was holding mine. “When Mal died, I swore to myself I’d protect you, and I haven’t.”

  “You didn’t need to. You’ve done so much for us, Ames. You kept us upright, you kept us on solid ground. If you hadn’t been there,” warmth spread over my face, pricking right behind my eyes, “we wouldn’t have made it out.”

  He squeezed my hand. “You kept me upright too. And I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you.”

  “You were. Don’t question that. No one knew because I didn’t think it was something anyone needed to know.” I sipped my tea, not even minding that it wasn’t sweetened. I wanted it strong, so I’d have the courage to go over to Sam’s house next.

  “Don’t be too angry with him, please.”

  I met his eyes. “I’m not. I’m disappointed, and a bit sad. But I’m not angry.”

  “You’ve lost more than I have, Lotte, so take what I say with a grain of salt. But.” He paused, nodding his head as he looked at the floor. “I’m sick of loss. I’m sick of grief. I’ve been so fortunate to have found Mila, and I don’t want to see you sad. I’m not sure what it is that you want, but all I want for you is your utter happiness. You deserve it.”

  There was a lump in my throat that I was struggling to swallow. “I’m trying. I thought I’d find that happiness traveling the States, but, I didn’t. It did prove that I’m happiest here. My life here is what makes me happy.”

  He sat back for a minute and grabbed his phone. “I pulled this up last night when I couldn’t sleep. There’s a hospital that employs cognitive therapy to help … compulsions, like yours.”

  I took the phone out of his hands, looked at the information. “I’m going to make an appointment then.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief, like he’d been expecting me to say no. But I was ready. “No more secrets, okay?”

  I took a deep breath. I was done with secrets, too. I’d tended to them, as my mother had instructed me to, but I didn’t need to anymore. I couldn’t build trust with secrets standing in the way. My secrets had turned to weeds, and they were thriving.

  “Then you should know that I love Sam. I know about his addiction, I know all about how it started. And I still love him. Maybe even more than before.”

  Ames sighed. “I guess I’ll learn to live with that.” He sipped his tea. “He was here, you know.”

  “In the flat?”

  “Yeah. He stayed on the sofa. After he and I had our row, and Mila yelled at us for being idiots, he stayed. He left early this morning, though.”

  I glanced at the clock. “How early? It’s nine.”

  “Six or so.”

  “Think he went back to his flat?”

  “Probably. You know where it is?”

  I nodded and finished my tea. “I’ll be back later,” I said, standing up.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was half past ten by the time I made it into my flat. It’d been less than a week since I’d left it, but it had a stale smell that I couldn’t get rid of. I sighed, tossed the magazines on a table in the trash and opened the windows.

  I hadn’t slept well. I wasn’t sure why I’d slept at Lotte’s family’s flat. Lotte hadn’t wanted to see me, not that I blamed her, but I think I’d had some insane hope that she’d change her mind in the middle of the night and come to me so I could apologize.

  Since that hadn’t happened, I’d slept terribly, a combination of guilt and my withdrawals. I didn’t even have a desire for the pills, knowing that getting more meant seeing Della. Which I decidedly did not want.

  After getting up, I left for the appointment I’d made with my GP. It’d been humiliating to admit my weakness to him, but he’d been supportive, as much as a GP could be. We’d talked through options—with him at the practice or with the local drug service, but I’d decided to keep seeing him through my treatment, which would start with methadone. I wanted to try detox, but my GP had worried that because I’d already tried, unsuccessfully, to wean myself off that I’d slip up again.

  It still felt like defeat, but I knew my resolve to quit was stronger than my desire to keep taking painkillers, so I felt confident that I’d see this through.

  I grabbed orange juice from the fridge and downed it in one gulp, tossing the pill into my mouth at the end. I eyed the pamphlet from Narcotics Anonymous, deciding to make that call for meeting information that afternoon.

  There was a knock on
my door, so I abandoned my orange juice and answered it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s not much of a greeting, Samson.” Della strolled in, under my arm that blocked the door, and acted like she owned the place.

  “Get out, Della, and don’t come back. I’m done with you, in every way imaginable.”

  She merely laughed at me and plopped herself on my sofa. “Oh, that’s funny, Sam.”

  “I’m not laughing. Get out.” The one thing my GP had told me was to make sure to steer clear of anyone that encouraged my habit—which was Della.

  “But I brought you a welcome home present.”

  She produced the baggie of pills from her purse and shook them.

  I was proud that the temptation for them didn’t make me wish for them for even a second. “I’m not buying.”

  “I said they were a present, Sam. You don’t have to pay for them, just take them.” She tossed them to my end table and I strode across the room and shoved them back into her purse.

  “Get out, Della. I won’t say it again.”

  “What’s gotten into you? You were practically salivating the last time I waved a few pills in front of your face.”

  She was rotten, like a witch with a poisoned apple. She delighted in exploiting my weakness.

  “You went to Ames’ pub and told him I’m an addict, and you honestly believe I’d be happy to see you? Are you mad?”

  “Oh, come on. Like he believed me.”

  “He did, especially when I confirmed it. I’m done, Della. With your games, with the drugs. I don’t want to see you ever again. You’ve caused entirely too much chaos in my life.”

  “Sam.” The voice wasn’t Della’s. I turned to the doorway, where Lotte stood, taking in Della and me.

  Fuck.

  “Oh, Lotte. You’re here.” Della stood from the sofa and moved toward Lotte. I wanted to shove Della out the door, not let her even breathe the same air as Lotte, but I knew I couldn’t touch her. So I didn’t. Still, I balled my fingers into fists at my sides.