Deafened By His Hateful Words

ll

had dried, leaving a tight, stinging sensation around my eyes. Emiliano's last text, his pathetic attempts to explain h

my door is always open. But this time, you come back on my terms. No more chasing after pipe dreams." S

ble, intelligent, from a good family. He admired you in college." I' d dismissed him as boring, too predictable. My heart had been

sounded like a sanctuary. I needed solid groun

er anything. Just... get me out of here." The admission of my newly restored hearing had been met with a stunned silen

resolve hardened, a steel rod replacing the fragile glass of my past self. I had thrown

ed at me in the rearview mirror. "You alrig

n my eyes. The old Adell, the one who lived for Emiliano, was gone. Buried under the weight of his

' s sneering face, his words echoing in my now-perfectly-functioning ear, fueled a cold anger that oversha

t is waiting at Teterboro. My driver will meet you at

ly, a single

rtments, the soaring successes. And then, the slow, insidious erosion of my self-worth, the g

ck anthem, but in the quiet, steady rhythm of self-respect and genuine love.

speck of light in a vast, indifferent world. Emiliano and Keisha, their tawdry affair, the

new. Something real. I just hoped I

to myself, a chance to reclaim the Adell Boone I had buried under layers of d

ough the clouds. The future was a blan

iano

laying of last night's disaster. Adell's face, pale and tear-stained, flashed before my eyes. Her voice, so quiet yet so fir

you see the new post about us? Everyone's talking about it!" she chirped, holding up her phone. I barely registered her word

cold, heavy stone. I tried from a different phone, a burner I kept for

y schedule, placated my label when I was difficult, smoothed over my public image. She was the one who remembered my mother's birthday,

ng on? The wedding announcement was supposed to be a PR goldmine, not a nuclear meltdown! Keisha Duk

ll's fault! She showed up at

e 'fault' it is. The public sees a rock star cheating on

rner held a memory of her, a silent accusation. The worn armchair where she read, the kitchen she sparingly used but meticulously

perfume, a stark contrast to Adell's subtle, elegant scent. I remembered Adell buying it for me, her eyes sparkling. "For my rock star," she

ke. A moment of weakness. She was my muse. My angel. I couldn' t lose h

y fingers flew across the fretboard, but the notes were discordant, joyless. The

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