<span style='font-size:21pt;line-height:100%'>I'M BACK!!!</span>
Yes yes, I am back. For those of you who ever read Recall, I am still so so SO sorry that I dropped that story. But I did however, inform those readers of Empty Reflection that I had a story called Sign Language in the works. I did, abandon this story. But the closer season 3 gets, the more I realize how much I miss ALIAS. So I decided to give you what I've written of this story. Plus, I've really missed you guys! I feel so out of the loop! Anyways, read, tell me what you think, and please enjoy!
Sign Language
For the first few months, we lived by writting on paper. Accasionally, he could lip read what I was saying. But things got too stressful. We couldn't communicate. Not the way we would like. So we, or I rather, decided that we should take sign language. It took months, but I have no regretts.
He didn't abandon words. He still talks. It's me who hardly ever says anything. Because he can't hear me. I could tell him I love him, I could vocalize it. But the rest came in hand gestures.
It's harder on him that it is on me. Sometimes at night, I wake up alone. And I'll find him in the living room on the couch. His stare would be fized on the front door, and he'd be clutching a gun in his hand. He would listen for footsteps, or voices. Anything that signified ambush. Other nights, I'd hear him behind the locked bathroom door, whispering to himself. Begging in agony for his ears to work.
I have grown to fear leaving him alone. Once I came home from the market to find him cutting words and designs into his sking with a piece of glass from the mirror he smashed. I've replaced that mirror four times.
I'm just afraid of what I'll come home to find if he's left alone. At night when he's in the bathroom, I can't help but think he's going to scream to try to hear himself. Or that he'll break the mirror and cut himself again. Or maybe something worse.
I haven't bothered searching for programs or companies to help. Nothing can help him heal. Not from what cause his new disability.
My father tells me that I am the only thing that keeps Vaughn sane. That only I can make him happy again. With time. I have hope but I am doubtful.
Out of the few times he sleeps at night, he is arroused by nightmares. And I can't sooth him with anything but touch. When I'm not awakened by his screaming from nightmares, I am shaken by my own dreams.
I found that we have to keep certain objects out of the house. Some things will cause him to have vivid flashblacks. Sometimes so vivid, he thinks I am someone else and takes a swing or tow at me. Afterward, when he see's what he's done, he'll hold me and whisper that he loves me. So we missing quite a few common household items. Matches, knives, sewing needles, paperclips. And a whole lot more.
It's hard on me too. For the first couple months it was the worst. I couldn't handle him being like taht. I couldn't talk to him, he couldn't hear me. That's still the same. But I use to go on nightly drives so that I could get away and pretend nothing ever happened. I stopped the nightly drives when he started to smash mirrors.
He once told me that he would rather be blind than deaf. I old him blindness was worse. Thta he wouldn't be able to see where he was going, what he was eating, or who he was talking to. He added that he wouldn't be able to see me face. That brought tears to my eyes.
I cling to this small hope that his deafness is only temporary. That his ears haven't been damaged permanetly. That soon he'll be able to hear. But that's a very rare case. However I still cling to that small hope.
When I woke up, I was not surprised to find myself alone. I walked silently into the living room, finding him on the couch. He looked tired. He always did. I came around to him and slowly pulled the gun away from his hand. He looked at me with an appologetic look. I whispered that it was okay. He easily read my lips.
In sign language, I asked him what he wanted for breakfest.
"Whatever you want."
I sadly smiled. The answer was always the same.
While I was making us breakfest, I noticed that he was still on the couch. That was normal. What also was normal was that he was wearing headphones. The volume on high. He was hoping the music would be loud enough to break into his ears and he would hear. It went like this every morning.
With his plate in my hand, I walked over to him and removed the headphones. They were of no use. I handed him the plate, but he just set it aside. As always. With my hands, I told him that he has to eat. It's not healthy not to. He wasn't hungry, I knew. But he ate to please me. Sometimes I feel guilty for making him eat. I know I shouldn't feel guilty, because it's what's best. But I do.
Once we finished breakfest, I carelessly tossed the plates into the sink. Standing over the soapy water, my fingers firmly coiled around the edge of the counder, I felt the tears coming. I use to think that I could cry out loud and not try to hide. Because he can't hear. Wheather he heard me or not, it didn't matter. He still could tell that I was crying. I felt his arms slip around my waist and pull me to him. Routine.
So, what did you guys think? Did you like it? It's sad I know...I almost started crying as I wrote it. Anyways, Please tell me what you think!!!!!!!!!!!!! :lol:
Yes yes, I am back. For those of you who ever read Recall, I am still so so SO sorry that I dropped that story. But I did however, inform those readers of Empty Reflection that I had a story called Sign Language in the works. I did, abandon this story. But the closer season 3 gets, the more I realize how much I miss ALIAS. So I decided to give you what I've written of this story. Plus, I've really missed you guys! I feel so out of the loop! Anyways, read, tell me what you think, and please enjoy!
Sign Language
For the first few months, we lived by writting on paper. Accasionally, he could lip read what I was saying. But things got too stressful. We couldn't communicate. Not the way we would like. So we, or I rather, decided that we should take sign language. It took months, but I have no regretts.
He didn't abandon words. He still talks. It's me who hardly ever says anything. Because he can't hear me. I could tell him I love him, I could vocalize it. But the rest came in hand gestures.
It's harder on him that it is on me. Sometimes at night, I wake up alone. And I'll find him in the living room on the couch. His stare would be fized on the front door, and he'd be clutching a gun in his hand. He would listen for footsteps, or voices. Anything that signified ambush. Other nights, I'd hear him behind the locked bathroom door, whispering to himself. Begging in agony for his ears to work.
I have grown to fear leaving him alone. Once I came home from the market to find him cutting words and designs into his sking with a piece of glass from the mirror he smashed. I've replaced that mirror four times.
I'm just afraid of what I'll come home to find if he's left alone. At night when he's in the bathroom, I can't help but think he's going to scream to try to hear himself. Or that he'll break the mirror and cut himself again. Or maybe something worse.
I haven't bothered searching for programs or companies to help. Nothing can help him heal. Not from what cause his new disability.
My father tells me that I am the only thing that keeps Vaughn sane. That only I can make him happy again. With time. I have hope but I am doubtful.
Out of the few times he sleeps at night, he is arroused by nightmares. And I can't sooth him with anything but touch. When I'm not awakened by his screaming from nightmares, I am shaken by my own dreams.
I found that we have to keep certain objects out of the house. Some things will cause him to have vivid flashblacks. Sometimes so vivid, he thinks I am someone else and takes a swing or tow at me. Afterward, when he see's what he's done, he'll hold me and whisper that he loves me. So we missing quite a few common household items. Matches, knives, sewing needles, paperclips. And a whole lot more.
It's hard on me too. For the first couple months it was the worst. I couldn't handle him being like taht. I couldn't talk to him, he couldn't hear me. That's still the same. But I use to go on nightly drives so that I could get away and pretend nothing ever happened. I stopped the nightly drives when he started to smash mirrors.
He once told me that he would rather be blind than deaf. I old him blindness was worse. Thta he wouldn't be able to see where he was going, what he was eating, or who he was talking to. He added that he wouldn't be able to see me face. That brought tears to my eyes.
I cling to this small hope that his deafness is only temporary. That his ears haven't been damaged permanetly. That soon he'll be able to hear. But that's a very rare case. However I still cling to that small hope.
When I woke up, I was not surprised to find myself alone. I walked silently into the living room, finding him on the couch. He looked tired. He always did. I came around to him and slowly pulled the gun away from his hand. He looked at me with an appologetic look. I whispered that it was okay. He easily read my lips.
In sign language, I asked him what he wanted for breakfest.
"Whatever you want."
I sadly smiled. The answer was always the same.
While I was making us breakfest, I noticed that he was still on the couch. That was normal. What also was normal was that he was wearing headphones. The volume on high. He was hoping the music would be loud enough to break into his ears and he would hear. It went like this every morning.
With his plate in my hand, I walked over to him and removed the headphones. They were of no use. I handed him the plate, but he just set it aside. As always. With my hands, I told him that he has to eat. It's not healthy not to. He wasn't hungry, I knew. But he ate to please me. Sometimes I feel guilty for making him eat. I know I shouldn't feel guilty, because it's what's best. But I do.
Once we finished breakfest, I carelessly tossed the plates into the sink. Standing over the soapy water, my fingers firmly coiled around the edge of the counder, I felt the tears coming. I use to think that I could cry out loud and not try to hide. Because he can't hear. Wheather he heard me or not, it didn't matter. He still could tell that I was crying. I felt his arms slip around my waist and pull me to him. Routine.
So, what did you guys think? Did you like it? It's sad I know...I almost started crying as I wrote it. Anyways, Please tell me what you think!!!!!!!!!!!!! :lol:
