The Sounds of Secrets

by Whitney Barbetti

  “Bye Della,” Lotte said, stepping to the side and motioning for Della to exit.

  Instead, Della turned to look at me. She snapped her purse closed and gave me a sour look. “A week from now, you’ll be on your knees, begging me for more.”

  “You keep saying that I’ll be begging you, but the only one I see begging is you. Get out of my flat, now.”

  Lotte stepped out of Della’s path and closed the door behind her.

  She turned to me, her eyes wide and dark. My little bird. So beautiful.

  “Lotte, I’m sorry. I promise you, she was only here for a moment before you came. She tried to get me to take more, but I refused.”

  “I know. I know you want to quit, Sam.”

  “I have quit.” But that wasn’t the reason she was here. “I’m so sorry, Lotte. I should have never told Ames a word. I opened my mouth and I was wrong. You told me that in secret, and I betrayed your confidence.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around the room. “I know. Ames told me. He feels like shit about it.”

  “So do I.”

  “You look terrible.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” I ran a hand through my hair. I wanted to hold her. She looked at me over her shoulder as she walked around the room. Her eyes fell to the prescription on my island. “Methadone,” I told her. “I’ve been to my GP this morning.”

  She touched the bottle and then looked at me. “Already?”

  “I’m committed to getting through this.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” she said, and the tension she’d carried into my flat dissolved. “I need to do that next. But I haven’t pulled. I do this.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “Something I read on a blog.”

  “But you will get help?” I asked. It was as if my small sentence brought back the tension.

  “Yes. I have too many people worried about me. And,” she pulled her hands back out and laced her fingers together. “I want to get better. I don’t want to be a slave to my compulsions.”

  “That’s good, Lots. Really, really good.”

  She looked at me with something close to a smile on her lips before turning, and looking around the apartment. “I’ve never been here before.”

  I looked around, seeing what she was seeing. My flat was little more than one room with a bed and a kitchenette. “It’s a mess. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s the third sorry. Are you going to keep apologizing?”

  “I’m not sure.” I was restless, not knowing what to do with my hands. She walked over to the window and took in one of my painted canvases.

  “This is pretty,” she said. It was a painting of a woman’s back, flexed so that her muscles were pronounced. “You weren’t lying when you said you liked parts of women’s bodies.”

  “I do.” She was making me nervous, not continuing our conversation. “Why are you here, Lotte?”

  “To see you.” She turned around, hands clasped in front of her. “I shouldn’t have run away last night.”

  “But I did something terrible.”

  “It really wasn’t that terrible. I don’t know when I would’ve told Ames, or even how. You jumped the gun, sure, but there are worse things than confiding someone else’s secret.” She met my eyes and turned slowly, to look at another painting. “So, I’m sorry for running.”

  “You were tired.”

  She smiled sadly at me. “You’re making excuses for me. Don’t.” Her hands went to her hair, and because I knew what she was doing, without thinking, I echoed her word back to her.

  “Don’t.”

  She froze, and her hands came down.

  “You have no reason to be nervous, Lotte. There’s nothing you can say to me that I don’t deserve to hear. But I don’t want to see you hurt yourself. Hurt me before you hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

  “I’d deserve it.”

  “Why are you so hard on yourself?” she asked, sadness etched on her face.

  “I don’t know. Because someone has to be.”

  “Stop.” She said it so softly, but with such power that I had to obey.

  “Okay.” I took a tentative step forward. “So, you’re here to apologize, too?”

  “Yes. I’m two sorries behind you now, I need to catch up.” The side of her mouth tipped up in a smile.

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  “I’m sorry that Ames ripped into you because of me.” She held up two fingers. “And I’m sorry I didn’t come out to the living room, where you slept. If I’d known, I probably would have.” She held up a third finger.

  “It was probably for the best. You deserved to be mad at me for a bit.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. I just wanted to hold her. I just wanted to love her. I wanted everything.

  “I’m not mad at you. I’m upset that you took away my chance to come clean to Ames, but it’d done, and I’ve learned that I don’t have much room in my heart for anger. I’ve lost so much.” Her voice caught on that, and she pressed a fist to her stomach. “I don’t want to lose anyone else, and I don’t want to keep losing time.” She’d been looking at the ground but lifted her head. Her lips trembled open, her blue eyes wide. “Remember what you said in the hotel, about how you couldn’t get close enough to me? I’ve felt that way for so long. I didn’t really understand it until the last few years. I’m never satisfied, I always, always want more with you.” She took a deep breath. “I love you, Sam.”

  I pressed my palm to the counter that separated us.

  “I’ve loved you for, well, just about half of my life, so I am pretty solid on it now.”

  “You love me.”

  “That’s my secret. I’ve been holding onto it a long, long time.”

  I moved around the counter and after two beats of my heart, she was in my arms. “It’s the best secret I’ve ever heard.” I kissed her, the first time in our home country since the day she’d left. I picked her up and set her on my counter. She leaned in to kiss me, but I kept her back by holding her shoulders. I slid across them to her neck, cradling her.

  Her arms came up, and she laid her hands on mine. The back of her arm was in my view, and I stopped to look at the dots on her arm. “Lyra,” I said, touching each dot.

  She tilted her head to the side. “Lyra?” Then, understanding came over her face. “You said that at my going-away brunch.”

  “It’s the constellation of freckles you have here.” I drew the lines between them that matched the constellation.

  “No one knew what you were talking about,” she said with a laugh. God, how I loved her laugh.

  “No, because I’d blurted it out.” I brushed the hair away from her face. I turned my head over, looked at the canvas I’d started after she’d left. The Lyra constellation. “There.”

  She cocked her head to the side as she stared at it. “That’s the constellation?” She looked down at my arm. “You’ve drawn me, you’ve painted me. What next?”

  “Now,” I said, taking a deep breath. I felt the tremble in my arms. “Now, Lotte, I love you.” Her eyes got wider. “I realized it when we were in the hot air balloon, when you’d chased away my fears. But I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you for longer than that.”

  “Not as long as I’ve loved you.” She nuzzled my nose with hers.

  “Do you want to win that badly?” I asked her, reveling in this moment, with my little bird and her Botticelli eyes.

  “No one wins in love,” she breathed against my lips. “Because it’s a gift.”

  She was mine, she was in my arms. She didn’t hate me. My little muse, the one to bring my art back into my life. She was mine.

  “You love me?” she asked.

  I traced a finger over her chin, the lines of her body that I loved nearly as much as I loved what lay beneath all that alabaster skin. “I do. And you love me.”

  “For half of my life, remember.”


  “I guess I need to catch up.” She smiled at me, and I scooped her up in my arms, bringing her to my bed. “I hope you don’t have any plans today.”

  “Not a single one,” she whispered as I closed in on her.

  “Good. Because you’re not close enough for my liking.” And I’d work on that, all day and all night if I needed to. And all the days and nights that followed.

  The End

  When I set out to write this story, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

  Samson and Lotte experience things I’ve not personally, specifically, experienced. But, like Lotte, I do understand compulsions, and how giving into them can feel like the only way to gain control (when it’s actually the opposite). And, like Sam, I know what it’s like to not feel good enough, to be misunderstood, and to feel powerless and weak.

  If you are suffering from mental illness, know that you are not alone—even if it feels like you are. You are so brave for fighting, and please, keep fighting. This is a fight you can, you will, win.

  If you are in the United States and are in crisis, there are people who can help.

  National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – Call 800-273-TALK (8255)

  If you or someone you know is in crisis—whether they are considering suicide or not—please call the toll-free Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) to speak with a trained crisis counselor 24/7.

  The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline connects you with a crisis center in the Lifeline network closest to your location. Your call will be answered by a trained crisis worker who will listen empathetically and without judgment. The crisis worker will work to ensure that you feel safe and help identify options and information about mental health services in your area. Your call is confidential and free.

  Crisis Text Line – Text NAMI to 741-741

  Connect with a trained crisis counselor to receive free, 24/7 crisis support via text message.

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  If you are in the United Kingdom or Ireland and are in crisis, there are people who can help.

  Samaritans.org – Call 116 123 (UK) / 116 123 (ROI)

  Whatever you're going through, call us free any time, from any phone on 116 123.

  We're here round the clock, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. If you need a response immediately, it's best to call us on the phone. This number is FREE to call. You don't have to be suicidal to call us.

  As always, the first line in my acknowledgements belongs to my family. We endured many health problems as I wrote this book, and there was more than one occasion where I was POSITIVE I’d have to delay this book. But you all pulled through for me at the eleventh hour. Thank you to my brothers-in-law, Spencer and Nicholas, for being so understanding that I was practically chained to my laptop during your visit. Can’t wait until you move here <<< now you have to move here, because I put it in a book. Hurry up, the bears are waiting. Also, sorry Sheri for taking your boys away. You can come too.

  To Sona Babani, my best friend, my longest friend. You understand me more than probably anyone else, and you’ve never made me feel unworthy for my [many] flaws. I’m so thrilled that so many other people see how fucking special you are – I will always be grateful to them for loving you, but they’ll never love you as much as I do. Awna byenna, je t’aime. You’ll probably never read this, but in case you do – thank you from the bottom of my black heart.

  Jade Eby, my beebee. Thank you for letting me talk through this book, for helping me with Lotte especially. You gave me faith in my darkest hours, and reminded me of how fucking lucky I am to know you. We’ve been doing this together for three years, and I can’t wait to do it for many more. You’re a miracle, I love you, and I miss you.

  Whitney Giselle Belisle, thank you for being such a huge cheerleader for all my books. I’m not sure what I did to deserve all the support you give me, but damn – I’m a lucky bitch. Thanks for being excited, for talking me through my bouts of insanity and hopelessness. I love you.

  Talon Smith, world’s best mom, next to Steve Harrington and PA to the STARRRRRS. I still remember the first book I signed for you, not knowing who you were yet. If I could go back then, I’d tell myself how lucky I’m about to become, just by knowing you. You are beautiful, and kind, and trustworthy, and honest always. I love you, especially when you buckle up.

  Thank you to Lex Martin, for talking me off a ledge more than once with this book. Thank you for understanding how terrible I am at texting on the regular, and for being my cheerleader when I really need it. You’re a master at what you do, and I am so damn lucky to know you. You’re the kindest person in the business and you deserve all the good things.

  Thank you to Braadyn for the beautiful photos, Dale and Ash for being the PERFECT models for Samson and Lotte, and Najla for the gorgeous cover design, and for having patience with my many changes.

  Thank you to KP! I, really, love, commas, yo. To Alexis, thank you for squeezing me in at the eleventh hour! I can’t imagine not doing a book without you! To Amanda Marie, with AM to PM Book Services—I’m so thrilled I got to meet you last June, and talk to you about books! Thank you for the proofread, and the bonus beta comments. I adore you!

  A BILLION THANK YOUS to my beta readers. There are so many of you, and all of you were so very necessary for this book: Julia for being incredibly honest—I needed that. You cheered me on, thank you, thank you so much. Amy, as always, you’re insanely generous with your time and love for me and my books. Briana, thank you for that quick email to remind me of the plot hole you found—I took care of it right before paying attention to my acknowledgements! To Anna Laura, my German gem—you caught stuff no one else caught and fixed my commas. THANK YOU. Katy, you are so very special and lovely and kind and intelligent. Thank you for making time for this. Sara, thank you for being the first person to get beta feedback to me—you set the stage and gave me confidence that I desperately needed! Karen, thank you for educating me on all the British-isms and for being so quick to respond with feedback! Dyllan, thank you for being so freaking sweet and FAST! Can’t wait for that fanfic! Jenn, thank you for pointing out the missing parts I needed to include to make this a full standalone and for being so quick to reply! Thanks for saving my eyelashes too, and the Taco Bell you brought me two years ago. Sammie, for having a sharp eye and super quick turnaround—can’t wait to go dark next time! Thanks for all the comma help—hahaha. To Emm, for helping me with yet another book. Thank you for the many comments and being the first person to tell me this book is angsty—YESSS. To Zoe, for being speedy and giving me the kindest comments and for telling me about the couch/sofa situation. Tiffany, for being magic and for all the music and for the kindness. You are so wonderful, and so fucking talented. Tina, thank you for your honesty and specific and thorough in your thoughts—I needed to hear those things. You are such a special soul. Kristen, thank you for coming in and telling me what I needed to hear and explaining your thoughts so clearly! That email assuaged my fears and let me know what to tighten up. Thank you, Sharon, for another book and your kind comments! To Carol, for your sweet comments—thank you so much, and I agree the British accent is HOT. All of you are the reason I was able to finish this book, and I’m so grateful.

  To Christina Harris, Tiffany Elain, Tina Lynne, Kimberly Dodd—for cheering me on, for giving me inspiration and for being all around good souls.

  Cynthia Aponte and Samantha “SamPA” Hanson, thank you for our many late-night video chats, and for talking so candidly about stuff I don’t talk about with anyone else.

  Thank you to my Barbetti Babes—I love each one of you so freaking much. If I could, I’d buy all of you tacos. Thank you for traveling far and wide to meet me at signings, and for giving me all the feels with your love and support.

  I have one million bloggers to thank, for going out of their way to pimp my books AND me! I value your support and your time, so I thank you for all the times you shared my books with your followers. I know many of you also gifted copies of my books
to your friends and/or hosted giveaways for my books. I truly thank each of you from the bottom of my heart. You give so much of yourself for authors like me, and I hope you know that you are so deeply appreciated.

  Thank you to all my readers. One of the best things about being an author is the relationships I form with the readers who reach out. I love getting to know you on my Facebook fan page, in my reader group, on Twitter or Instagram or email and, if we’re lucky, in person at a signing or at an Applebees or on a London train or wherever we both happen to be. You rock my world.

  Finally, thank you to my Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ, for giving me strength when I am weak.

  SIX FEET UNDER

  By Whitney Barbetti

  Copyright 2017

  Coming Spring 2018

  Text Subject to Change After Editing

  Six Feet Under

  PROLOGUE

  The first time I listened to the voices in my head was when I was seven years old.

  It wasn't the first time I'd heard them. But it was the first time I'd obeyed their command.

  Lean over the railing, the voice taunted as I hung, black hair like wild streamers, over the side of the playground's slide.

  It was this massive yellow monstrosity, and the weather was windy and rain pelted the back of my purple windbreaker as I leaned over, more and more, until my body was parallel at the top, my hair whipping me in the face as I stared at the ground below me. Black gravel speckled by rain drops, loose rock kicked across as small children ran through the parking lot.

  Let go, the voice said, and I did. I stretched my arms to my sides and closed my eyes. The voices of children waiting their turn were drowned out by the echo of the voice in my head. It shouldn't have sounded as seductive as it did, not to ears as young as mine. But I'd seen a lot in my first seven years of life, and I'd see a lot more.