Lost in Silence (The Lost Series Book 1)(12)

“Are you hungry?” he points to the bag next to him. My stomach growls again. He smiles and slowly pushes the bag toward me. I fight the urge to grab the sandwich and inhale it in one bite.

Instead, I wait and I order my stomach into silence.

This man unnerves me. I feel safe in his presence and I can’t figure out why. If he were Erik, I would be a total mess of fear and compliance. I would be cowering in the corner lost to his control and abuse. The thought of Erik makes my stomach sick and kills my hunger.

My fingers move under the stranger’s watchful eye, a nervous habit of mine. They dance to the chords of music in my head. My favorite song, one I know backwards and forwards on the violin. Whenever I feel nervous or uneasy, thinking of my song put everything right. Erik hated it and he tried breaking me of it but I simply learned to hide it better. I feel safe right now with Hudson, so I don’t try to hide it.

I can’t help the sad feeling that washes over me. I yearn for my violin. It was my first love, now that I think about it, it was my only love. It never hurt me. It never betrayed me. It never hit me. It never threatened me. It never locked me away in a closet. No, it kept me sane. It kept me believing that one day I’d get to wrap my arms around it and strum it’s beautiful strings again. Hell, right now, I’d be surprised if my hands would be able to hold a violin after the many breaks they’ve been through.

“Do you play?” he asks his eyes on my fingers. I stop instantly, my eyes go wide and I wait for him to strike. Maybe I was wrong about him? He doesn’t move a muscle. “Guitar?”

I’m frozen in my spot on the floor. I can’t answer. I don’t know how.

“Banjo?” he names off other string instrument. “Bass?”

I want him to stop. I wish he would stop. I can’t answer and if I could, there wasn’t a way to explain it to him. I can’t play anymore because I’m not allowed to.

“Violin?” the word causes my eyes to fly wildly up to his face and gasp. I quickly remember my conditioning and cast my eyes down again. Cringing away from him, hoping he makes the strike quick. “You play the violin?”

I remain stoic and still, waiting for my punishment.

“I’m not going to hit you,” his voice is soft, my heart wrenches. I want to believe him. He leans toward me and I flinch backwards. His eyes widen and he moves back instantly. He isn’t trying to frighten me but my reaction is out of habit. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I relax, allowing my shoulders to sag. If he was going to hurt me, he would’ve done so by now. I scoot closer to him, trying to show him some trust. I don’t know why but I have the urge to comfort him.

“Do you talk?”

If I had the words, I would’ve given them to him. I wanted to tell him but it’s been too long since I used my words. An overwhelming feeling takes hold of me as I realize I would give this man anything and it frighten me.

“I’m Hudson. Is your name Alice?”

I slowly look up at him. His eyes are warm and kind. His body is relaxed. There is nothing threatening about the man before me despite his big and domineering presence. I have no doubt he can smash a person with one hit but in this moment, he is marshmallow soft.

“You can trust me,” sadness creeps into his eyes. I sense his need to know and I understand it. I give him a quick nod and relief fills his eyes. “You do understand what I’m saying.”

I nod. Yes, I understand what you’re saying.

“But you don’t talk?”

I shake my head. No, I don’t talk.

“I see,” he leans back onto the foot of the bed and watches me carefully. “Do you write?”

I shake my head. No. A lie but I’m not sure if it’s safe, I was already crossing the line looking at him directly.

“Is your name Alice?”

I nod. Yes, my name is Alice.

“Alice Scott?”

I shake my head. No.

I never got the chance to change my name in any official capacity because the abuse escalated fast. Erik wouldn’t let me leave the house because I fought against his ‘rule’. I was what he considered a flight risk. My last name is actually Michaelson but I have no way of telling him that. No form of identification to prove it either, Erik had destroyed it years ago.

“Was that man your husband?”

I look down at the dingy carpet. I don’t want to talk about Erik to him. I don’t even want to think about Erik. Because thinking about him meant I’d have to figure out what I am going to do next and quite frankly, I didn’t want to run anymore. I’m tired of running.

“Alice, I know it’s hard but I can help you, if you want,” he shifts forward, pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his thick arms on them. I peek up at him through my lashes. I want his help but I hesitate. The last person who tried to help me landed in the hospital with four broken ribs, a concussion and a swollen face. I wouldn’t let it happen again, to anyone.