He stared at me for several seconds before speaking.
I let out an invisible sigh. Maybe he wasn't deaf after all. His own screams had woken him up; he must have been able to hear something.
"I want to go back on tour. We're not done yet." Though his words were ironic, almost comical, his statement scared me. His voice jumped octaves and volumes as if it were afraid to stay in one spot for very long, just like he usually was. He sounded hoarse; probably from screaming so much. He started to cry when I didn't say anything, making my heart sink even further into the depths of despair.
Moonlight filled the room. He was eclipsed against it, and I couldn't see him well, but I knew he was upset. I tried to say his name, but my voice was dead.
"I miss Jamia. I haven't talked to her since this all started." I couldn't take it anymore. I started crying. None of this was fair. Why us? Why did something always have to happen to us? It was like we were doomed to a life in the hospital.
"My throat hurts. I don't know why, though. Do you?" he asked, voice cracking again. I did, but I shook my head. No one wants to hear they woke up because they were screaming. Not like I could tell him, anyway.
"Don't leave me," he croaked softly. "Don't leave me now."
'I won't, Frank,' I mouthed silently. 'Not now. Not ever.'
I knew he couldn't understand it; neither of us had ever been good at lip-reading. But I had a feeling he would become very good at it. He didn't have much of a choice.