Sign Language and Star Wars

my first attempt at writing romance. so yeah i apologise in advance. coz i can't write romance to save my life
also, the overuse, of commas, because, i am a douchebag.

Shards of broken glass sliced into my skin, neck was sore from the physical shock of sudden whipping every time the car tumbled and hit the ground. Hair tangled, with every breath I took I felt a sharp pinching at my lungs. A trickle of warmth came down into the corner of my eye. I carefully turned around to the driver's seat and saw Isaac unconscious, head resting on the wheel, surrounded by a plush of white. His nose was probably broken by the air bag and he too was bloodied and bruised. Groaning in pain, I reached for my phone and dialed 911.

I remembered again, the look of despair I have never seen before, etched onto his pale face after we got our treatment at the emergency room. I was fortunate enough to escape with a mild concussion, a few broken ribs and some stitches along my arm. Isaac, though. He was devastated. The doctor gave him a simple, solemn nod and he- the boy I have never seen shed a tear, even when his mother passed away, who was always happy and all smiles- broke down, collapsing to the floor, shoulders jerking sharply up and down sobbing into his hands. Me? I just stood there, shocked, feeling completely useless while trying to hold back the tears pooling up in my eyes. We had been best friends for 4 years. I had to be strong. For him.

We learnt sign language together. He also lost his ability to speak. Psychological shock, the doctor had said, traumatized by both the hearing loss and the accident. He was depressed for awhile but after a few months of sign language, we both mastered it and started to communicate, if not normally, again. He tried his best to stay optimistic and then started to be like his old self again. Bubbly, slightly blur and in his own world, and laughing, always laughing. It wasn't like his old laugh, it wasn't loud and hearty, but more like gasps of air. I accepted it anyway. After all, it wasn't his laugh that made me fall in love with him in the first place. Nor was it his adorable face, or his lean yet muscly build. It wasn't his intelligence nor our similarities.

It was his smile.

The corners of his mouth curving upwards to reveal the rows of his perfect, white teeth, his eyes crinkling. He smiled that way when he sees food, mostly, or when he finds something amusing, or before he pulls a prank on someone, or when he just got the joke 5 minutes later than everyone else. That smile alone could pull me out of my darkest days. It was infectious. Whenever he smiled, I smiled.

I didn't mind that I wasn't going to hear his voice again. I didn't care that he wasn't ever going to hear mine. But it doesn't mean we both didn't miss it. I made a joke about it once, 2 years after the incident.

Today my friends were telling me how annoying I got when we watch Lord of the Rings and I say the lines, I signed. They don't appreciate me showing off my inner geek. Or they just hate my voice.

I remember when you used to do that and I can tell you, your friends have the rights to be annoyed, he signed back, a smile creeping onto his lips.

I made a sarcastic smile that said 'haha very funny except not' and signed back. At least now you don't have to ever hear my annoying voice again, huh? 

Usually when I made a joke about his condition, he would laugh it off, giving me a proper comeback. This time, though. He just smiled sadly at me and then turned towards the television. I didn't bring it up again. It was movie night and we were watching The Matrix (with subtitles. Not that he needed them. He practically knew each and every line). I felt sorry for him and I hated myself for it, mainly because he hated it when people look at him with pity in their eyes and treat him nicely, just because he couldn't hear or speak.

I tried to pay attention to the movie, but my mind wandered to other things. How the situation would be like if it were reversed, how it never would have happened if I hadn't insisted we go watch the release of City of Bones, how he forgave me for dragging him out, making him drive, telling me over and over that it wasn't my fault, that the idiot who rammed into us shouldn't have been driving while clearly intoxicated. But of course it was. If it wasn't for me, he would be able to hear Keanu Reeves' voice, the punches and kicks, the background music, the fan humming, the sniffs I was so desperate to hide. I could never forgive myself for harming the boy I was so in love with.

Birthdays came and went, Christmases, the ultimate finale of Sherlock, and Supernatural was on its 13th season. We became so close that we almost saw each other everyday despite he fact that both of us  were working 5 days a week. It was a Monday morning, 8 years after the accident, 19th of April, when I received his text.

need to see you. 

where? I replied quickly.

hospital. ward 436. Visiting hours just started.

I swear to God, that was the only time I got out of my bed, showered, and drove off under 15 minutes. By the time I arrived, anxiety consumed me whole. I prayed in my heart, out loud, and in between sobs that he was okay. I started assuming the worst, and prayed again that it wasn't it. When the elevator doors sprung open, tears were already running down my face, leaving black outlines from the mascara it washed away. I stopped- heart beating like helicopter blades, panting like I just ran a marathon- outside his ward and composed myself. Pushing the door open, I felt my breath hitch upon seeing him, curly brown hair all mussed up, a smile widening. The nurse was just finishing checking his blood pressure, and had started to jot down something on her clipboard. WTF? I thought. Like, really, block letters just came into my head. If there was a facial expression for ????!!!?!??!?!?!, I would have been wearing that on my face.

What's going on? I signed. His smile was so smug and happy, it was like I was Santa bringing him the complete Classic Who box set for Christmas.

I woke up this morning, he started. I woke up to the sound of my neighbor's dog barking. 

So? What's your point?

Amy! I woke up to the sound of my neighbor's dog barking. He signed slowly this time, to stress on the last few words. My hands flew to my mouth, tears (again? geez) flooding my eyes. I tried to say something and guess what? My voice sounds weird. I came here straight away and they were amazed. They didn't think that it was possible. It's a miracle, they said. So now they're keeping me here for further tests.

'Then why aren't you talking to me now?' I whispered at him for the first time in 8 years.

He looked nervous suddenly. I... don't know what to say to you. It's the first time after so long, I wanted to say something meaningful? You know how sentimental I get.

I walked to him and he stood up, towering above me, his eyes a perfect shade of stormy gray with blue specks bore into mine. 'Don't be afraid', I said softly.

He cleared his throat, and for the first time in 8 years, I heard his voice say the words I have been waiting for ever since the day we met.

'I love you.'

And because my brain doesn't analyse what comes out of my mouth, because I was such a geek, and because I knew that he would get it, I quoted Star Wars.

'I know.'

A Cold Smirk.

Eyes, dark and ever vigilant. Hair, black with fringes scraping delicately below the eyebrows. Skin, pale and smooth like a baby's bottom. Cheekbones, high and prominent. Lips, thin and at the lightest shade of pink, twisted into a cold, evil smirk. 

He stared.

And she stared right back into his intense gaze, his almost-evil sneer, his lean build, his long coat. She noticed how he walked, graceful and certain; light steps on the white snow. His face stood out in the crowd of business men and women, school girls giggling away, children skipping about; all wrapped up in winter clothes. 

Madness. 

She jumped violently at the sudden voice in her head. It was deep and unfamiliar, yet she knew it came from the stranger across the street. She looked at him again just in time to see him turning away, his trench coat swirling behind him as he blend into the crowd. She never saw him again but his face had been seared onto her brain. She wished she had followed him that day but the unexpected warning and her primal instinct told her not to. 

People say not to judge a book by its cover, but sometimes- maybe most times- it was inevitable. Judging a person by first look is human nature, evaluating the worst case scenario before attempting to escape, if you will. An average person of average status, average IQ, and average knowledge of the world would have stayed away from the man who portrayed evil. She wasn't exaggerating. The man had a look that would have silenced the president in a second. 

Yet, she was intrigued. She imagined a splatter of blood splashed across his face and oh, she was intrigued. And her curiosity had almost nothing to do with the fact that she had heard his voice in her head. Somehow, she didn't even give that a second thought. She just wished she saw him again. She wished she had followed. 

She became obsessed with him after that, speaking of a mysterious man with telepathic powers who lead a cult of similar people with similar abilities. Finally after almost 6 years into her obsession that became more and more worrying, Ava Lancaster was admitted into Bethlem Royal Hospital For Mental Illnesses at the age of 28 and was diagnosed with schizophrenia.