When Adrian and Isla had another screaming match, both of them grabbed their suitcases, ready to walk out on me. He gripped my arm, his face dark. “Are you really going to stay with a girl like her? She’s reckless. Come with me.” Isla’s explosive temper flared, and she spat out the words without thinking: “Cut the righteous act, Adrian! Whose lace panties are those in your pocket? You think just because Maeve can’t speak, you can play her for a fool?” Panic seized me. I made desperate, choked sounds, my hands flying in a flurry of frantic signs, begging them both to stay. There’s a mistake, Isla. He’s not like that. Please, don’t go. But the screaming only escalated. By the end of the night, one had headed North, the other South. I was torn, caught in the wreckage of their anger, but in the end, I chose to follow Isla. She had always been the one to bend, to tolerate Adrian’s coldness just to keep the three of us together. I reached her apartment and turned the doorknob. The door wasn’t locked. From inside the bedroom, the unmistakable, breathless sounds of my best friend drifted down the hall. “If you’d just told me you bought them for me, we wouldn’t have fought so hard…” And then, Adrian’s voice. The cold, untouchable Adrian Locke, now thick with a raw, restrained lust. “As if you don’t scream loud enough already. Keep it down. What if she…” Isla let out a low, knowing laugh. “You know Maeve. She’s too busy trying to keep the peace. She’s so terrified of choosing between us that she won’t follow either of us.” She paused, her voice turning sharp and teasing. “Besides, when it comes to this, do you really prefer that quiet little mute girl?” Adrian didn’t answer. But the sudden, violent creak of the mattress was answer enough. My feet felt nailed to the floor. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Slowly, I raised my hand and knocked on the door. … Both of them turned toward me, their eyes wide with shock and guilt. “M-Maeve… how did you get in here?” Adrian scrambled to shove Isla away, hurriedly pulling up his pants. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the floor, completely unable to meet my eyes. I stood in the doorway. The mango cream cake I had bought in the city to cheer Isla up slipped from my fingers, splatting onto the hardwood floor. Isla’s tears fell first. She rushed over, grabbing my wrists. “Maeve, please, let me explain. It’s not what it looks like…” Her bare shoulders were covered in fresh, dark hickeys. I pulled my hands back. Slowly, deliberately, I signed: Don’t touch me. You both disgust me. Adrian pushed past her, barking, “Get some clothes on! Let me talk to Maeve!” He grabbed my hands, his palms burning and wet with sweat. “Maeve, listen to me. It was just physical. A release. If you’re angry, take it out on me. Isla saved your life once—please, don’t blame her.” It was sick. Even now, his first instinct was to shield her. I remembered the night Isla saved me from those thugs in the alley. She was a singer at a local dive bar back then. When Adrian finally arrived, he didn’t even thank her. Instead, he spat venom at her: “If Maeve didn’t hang around trash like you, she would never have been in danger!” He had even called her a whore. Because those thugs had strangled me so hard they ruined my vocal cords, leaving me unable to speak, the hatred between Adrian and Isla seemed written in stone. Adrian looked down on her, constantly warning me to cut ties. “You’re too naive, Maeve. She’s the neighborhood bicycle. I’m just looking out for you.” And Isla would sneer back: “He acts so clean, but he’s a closet freak. Watch your back, or he’ll leave you looking like a fool.” I had spent years playing peacemaker, secretly feeling blessed that the two people who loved me most were simply overprotective. But they were fucking. Looking at the red scratches on Adrian’s chest, my stomach churned. I raised my hands to sign: Adrian, let’s get a div— Before I could finish the sign for divorce, a sharp shriek echoed from the bedroom. Adrian bolted inside. I followed. Isla was slumped on the floor, her wrist slashed open, blood pooling around her feet. My instinct was to help, but Adrian shoved me away so hard my shoulder hit the wall. “Isla! Isla!” He scooped her pale body into his arms, throwing a look of pure, unadulterated disgust at me before running out. I followed them to the hospital in a daze. When the doctor said she’s out of danger, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I turned to leave, but the doctor’s next words froze me. “Her previous miscarriage already took a heavy toll on her body. As her boyfriend, how could you let her slit her wrists?” My chest tightened. A miscarriage? They had a child. Adrian didn’t deny it. “Doctor, will this affect her ability to get pregnant again?” When the doctor reassured him, the tension in Adrian’s shoulders melted away. Behind the door, tears streamed silently down my face. Isla caught my reflection in the glass. Panicking, she tried to sit up. “Maeve, don’t look at me like that! The baby… it was an accident…” Adrian’s first move isn’t to look at me; it’s to hold Isla steady. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with a suppressed, simmering irritation. “Maeve, she’s highly unstable right now. Can we talk about this later?” A choked, broken sound escaped my throat. I signed rapidly: Is this why you refused to have a baby with me? Adrian looked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard before he spoke. “You got pregnant once too, Maeve.” “But when you and Isla were pregnant at the same time, I had to choose. Be honest with yourself—you’re mute. How could you possibly take care of a baby?” My hands trembled as I sign: So you aborted my child behind my back? Adrian looked down, silent. The last fragile thread of hope inside me snapped. In their sick, twisted game, I had already lost before I even knew I was playing. I left them there, looking like a perfect, worried little family. I walked home in the pouring rain. My mind flashed back to when Adrian first tried to learn sign language for me. He was so clumsy, tracing the gestures with a fierce, earnest devotion. I don’t want to miss a single word you say, he had signed. I want to be the one you turn to when it hurts. Now, that patience was gone. In the middle of the night, a clap of thunder woke me. My phone buzzed with an anonymous video message. I clicked it. It’s Isla, her heavy makeup smeared with tears, screaming at Adrian. “Call me a whore! Call me a cheap slut! But don’t you dare pretend you don’t feel anything for me!” “I paid those guys to rough up Maeve. I wanted her voice gone so you’d see how much better life is with me!” The world stopped spinning. The room went cold. On the screen, Isla’s crazed voice continued: “Go on! Tell her! Tell your precious little angel that her best friend is the reason she can’t speak! Let’s see if she still looks at you the same way!” She beat her fists against Adrian’s chest, sobbing hysterically. Then, Adrian’s voice cut through the noise, chillingly calm. “Fine. We bury this. We bury it forever. She never finds out.” My brain exploded into white noise. That night. The dark alleyway. The hands ripping my clothes. My screams cut short as a rough cloth was tied around my neck, choking me until my throat filled with the metallic taste of blood. Just as the darkness was closing in, Isla had appeared, shattering a beer bottle over their heads. She was my savior. I had defended her against Adrian’s insults. I had even slapped him once when he spoke ill of her. And all along, the people who claimed to love me most were the ones who dragged me into the dark. I ran to the hospital, bare feet hitting the wet pavement. I slammed open Isla’s door, my hands moving so fast they were a blur: Adrian was right. You are a disgusting, pathetic whore. But signing those words felt like driving a knife into my own chest. Isla shrank back, her eyes wide with terror. I remembered when we were young, and she worked at that sketchy bar to feed her family. When men harassed her, I broke a glass bottle and stood in front of her, almost getting my face slashed. When I caught a high fever, she stayed by my bedside for three days and nights. I don’t care what they say, Maeve. As long as you believe in me. Suddenly, Adrian burst into the room. “Maeve! How dare you scream at her!” “You were pinned down by those thugs too! You’re no saint, Maeve. Stop acting so pure!” His words rang in my ears, deafening me. When it happened, he had hunted those men down. He had blamed Isla for dragging me into her world. Now, he was tearing open my deepest wound, using it to stab me. With tears streaming down my face, I signed one last question: You knew what Isla did to me. You knew the whole time, didn’t you? Adrian froze for three long seconds. There was shock in his eyes, but no remorse. “It’s in the past, Maeve. Let it go. Isla lost a child—isn’t that punishment enough?” Three years. Three years of silence. Three years of being looked down upon at job interviews, of having no one but her. I had wanted to end my life so many times, but the thought of leaving them behind kept me alive. And now, he wanted to sweep it under the rug. I clenched my fists, my chest heavy as lead. I pulled out the divorce papers and signed: Adrian, let’s divorce. Adrian blinked, his chest stalling. Then, a flicker of relief washed over his face. “Maeve… you’re doing this so I can take care of Isla, right?” I looked at his smug, confident eyes, and slowly nodded. He sighed with relief, quickly signing his name on the dotted line. “She’s your best friend. She’s lost so much blood and has no one. I’m glad you’re being sensible about this. Once she’s out of the hospital, we’ll get remarried.” They both relaxed, the tension in the room evaporating. Neither of them noticed the utter hollow deadness in my eyes. Even my consent to a divorce is just another convenience for them to play house. I took the signed papers and went home to pack. At 3:00 AM, the front door flew open. Adrian stood there, his face contorted in a dark rage. Before I could react, his hand flew out, striking my cheek. The force of the blow sent me stumbling, my vision spinning. I looked at him, bewildered, signing: What are you doing? What’s wrong? Adrian was shaking, his eyes wild. “Stop playing dumb, Maeve! You proposed the divorce just to clear your name, didn’t you? You knew I wouldn’t suspect you!” “She took your voice, so now you’re taking her life!” I shook my head frantically, signing over and over: It wasn’t me! I don’t know what you’re talking about! But he had no patience left. He dragged me out of the apartment, throwing me into his car, and drove to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. “Since you hired them, you go in and get her out. If we’re too late, she’s going to die!” Looking at the dark, menacing structure, I shook my head in terror, signing: It wasn’t me. If I go in there, they’ll kill me. Adrian hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, a curdling shriek echoed from the top floor of the warehouse. “Adrian! Help me! I’m so scared!” Hearing Isla’s voice, Adrian lost his mind. He dragged me up the stairs. Isla was tied to a chair, gagged, tears streaming down her face. “Take her instead!” Adrian yelled at the masked kidnappers. “Let Isla go!” Without a word, the leader unties Isla and shoves me against a concrete pillar, binding my hands tightly. With my mouth free but my voice gone, I could only make desperate, muffled whimpers. Adrian didn’t look at me. He was too busy checking Isla for injuries, whispering sweet comfort, inspecting her wrists. Only when he was about to carry her out did he cast a brief glance back. “You deal with your own mess, Maeve. Once Isla is safe at the hospital, I’ll come back for you. We’ll talk.” He turned and walked away. No matter how hard I thrashed against the ropes, he didn’t look back. As his shadow disappeared, I stopped struggling. The leader of the kidnappers pulled down his mask, revealing a scarred face. My heart dropped. Shane. He was one of Isla’s frequent drinking buddies at the bar. He had openly chased her for years. He drew a switchblade, tracing the cold metal against my cheek. “Isla told me to just ruin your face, but you made her slit her wrists. How can I let you off that easy?” He pressed the tip of the blade against my chest, right over my heart. I closed my eyes. I welcomed the silence. Suddenly, the metal doors burst open. “Get away from my daughter! Take me instead!” My breath caught. My mother. I shook my head frantically, begging her to run, but no sound came out. As I struggled violently against the ropes, a sickening squelch cut through the air. She had thrown herself in front of me, taking the blade meant for my heart. Hot, thick blood splattered across my face. The world lost all sound. The air froze. She collapsed to the ground, her body heavy and still. Her phone slid across the dusty floor, landing near my feet. The screen was lit up. A single name flashed on the caller ID: Isla. It was Isla who had called my mother. She had sent her to “save” me. I fell to my knees, my bound hands desperately hovering over my mother’s cooling body. “Let’s go! She’s dead! Run!” the men panicked, dropping the knife and fleeing into the night. In the empty, rotting warehouse, a ragged, guttural howl finally broke from my ruined throat. At dawn, with my mother’s ashes sealed in a heavy urn and my body covered in bruises, I boarded the earliest flight out of the city. As soon as the plane touched down, my phone exploded with hundreds of messages from Adrian and Isla. I didn’t read a single one. I blocked them both, deleted their numbers, and disappeared into the crowded streets. Keep playing your tragic, twisted love story, Adrian. I’m done.
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