Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke Audiobook Novels & Stories

There were not much voices playing in the background, so that made his whisper louder even though we both knew that it was too soft that it could only be heard by both of us. “How do you think is he doing by now?” I asked back, and yes I was admitting that it was too late for me to remember that I should have just whispered it instead. But because I was too caught up of thinking of him getting stuck in a black hole of yet another hot mess, I said my question three or four times louder than my chat-mate did. And to me, it was pure stupidity and ignorance. Despite the fact that I was saying it aloud, I continued, “For God’s sake I hope he is okay. I am trembling here.” which was true, because

Afterward Richard and I walked back to the car together through the cold. "The audit started this morning," he said quietly. "I know," I said. We walked in silence for a moment. Our breath made white clouds in the air between us. "Are you all right?" he asked. I thought about the question honestly. I thought about Damien in his office somewhere across the city, unaware that the ground beneath his empire had just developed a crack that would, in thirty days, become a fracture, and in sixty days, a collapse. "I'm better than all right," I said.

"Right. Sorry." More silence. Damn, this was terrible. "When did we get so bad at this?" I finally asked. "At what?" "At being us. Just talking. Being together." Jaxon set down his water glass. "I don't know. Somewhere between the fourth kid and the lawsuit and the trauma and the exhaustion." "We used to talk for hours." "We used to have time for hours." Fair point. "Tell me something," I said. "Something I don't know. Something that's not about the kids or logistics or schedules."

"Right? Pretending to be pitiful online when she had the darkest heart." "I heard she's still causing trouble in prison, screaming about filing an appeal because she claims it was 'capitalist persecution'." "Her? Please. She really thinks she's somebody." "Tell me about it. She brought it on herself. No sympathy." I took a leisurely sip of my coffee. Inside, there was nothing—no triumph, no pity. Just still water. When she did all those things to me, she should have known what consequences were waiting for her. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from my dad. 'Mal, the foundation launch is ready. Press is here. Waiting on your speech.'

Not easier. Just lighter. That morning we'd finished our first lecture and were heading toward the library because Benito insisted I needed to read a novel that had apparently "changed his life." "It better be good." "It is." "You said that about the last one." "The last one was good." "The main character died." "Exactly." "I hate talking to you." "You love talking to me." "I tolerate you." "Bullshit." Before I could answer, Melody caught up with us from behind. "There you two are."

For a second, it looked like he wasn’t going to answer. Then.. “The city you left behind,” he said. “It’s not just damaged.” A cold feeling crept up my spine. “…What do you mean?” His eyes locked onto mine. “It’s spreading.” My stomach dropped. “No,” I whispered. “That’s not possible.” “It is,” he said. “The cracks you created didn’t stop when you left. They’re growing. Consuming everything they touch.” My head shook before I could stop it. “No. I closed them. I saw it. I fixed it.”

I stood alone in the kitchen, my coffee getting cold, wondering what the hell just happened. Did we just have our first almost-civil conversation? Was that progress? Or was I setting myself up for more disappointment?

And I found myself eagerly waiting to hear the voice once more. "I don't know, sir. It was good yesterday—" "What do you mean, you don't know?" The same voice spoke up. However, unlike when he first spoke, there was an undercurrent of irritation. "I don't know—" "How can something normal yesterday turn this way today?" Despite the fury in his tone, I ached to hear more. And before I knew what was happening, I was already halfway across the halls and closer to the garden at the end of the adjacent halls.

Things still weren’t fixed, but they didn’t feel as broken as they did before. And for the first time since everything went wrong, it felt like we were actually talking instead of fighting.

“Now. This is getting worse.” He didn’t move. “They won’t let us leave,” he said quietly. “We don’t know that,” I argued. “I do,” he replied. Irene stepped closer. “Then we make it happen,” she said. “We’ve gotten out of worse.” Wilson blinked. “…Have we?” he asked. “Because this feels like the worst so far.” “No,” Irene said. “It’s just the most complicated.” “That is not comforting,” Wilson muttered. I turned back to Cameron.