She hates him. That's the only thing that's clear to him anymore. She hates him and even though he's trying as hard as he can to get her back again, he's not going to because she hates him and that's the end of it. There is no need for smiling without Norie around and smiles are the first thing to go. He will stop speaking in two months.

He loses his words next, his sentences getting shorter and shorter until one day, they're just not there anymore and he lets invisible words hang in the air without opening his mouth because it doesn't matter what he says, nothing will be okay anymore. He goes out, finds Tasha food, puts it on her table and wanders to god knows where to avoid people looking at him. It's been a week since he last spoke.

By now, they all know that everyone's dropped him like a rotten fish and all he can do is find a safe place to hide before he cries and the words he'd like to explain himself with die in his throat because no one wants his words anymore. They're just useless promises and attempts to make it better when nothing will fix it. It's been one month since he last spoke.

He loses his need for affection next, and with that goes all remaining traces of his humanity. Tasha hugs him when necessary and he reciprocates, going through the motions with absolutely no feeling in himself because his heart died the moment Norie left. He's just empty and there's nothing in him that suggests otherwise. It's been four months since he last spoke.

And then, bit by bit, his sanity slips away. He starts panicking whenever he hears something move and he slowly stops trusting people, purging his mind of any happy memories he had with anyone because it just hurts too much to remember that he actually felt wanted before that was ripped from him too. It's been one year since he last spoke.

The gun at his waist takes control of his attention in the worst way, so he locks it up, only taking it out when it's necessary to hunt, locking it back up after. He sits back down on the floor, staring out of the window as he pretends someone needs him for something other than putting food on the table. It's been two years since he last spoke.

The rest of his family is happy and he is thankful he's been given that last comfort. Darick's walking on his own again and he's much better of a father than he could have ever been. He has no idea where Norie is anymore, but he feels that's for the best. If he knew, he'd be following her like a dog at her heels like usual. She hates him and no matter how many times he tries, he can't fix it anymore. It's been four years since he last spoke.

Some days, when he's bored, he watches Noel and September enjoy their happiness with their children from a safe distance, leaving as soundlessly as he came. There is no room for jealousy or happiness in him, it's all been taken over by the gears that now force his body into operation. Tasha holds onto him only because she has to and he lets her. At least someone still cares that he's alive. It's been seven years since he last spoke.

Tasha finds him lying on the floor, staring at his gun intently, the key to the metal box it's usually in wedged into the floor. She asks him if he's feeling okay and he nods because he doesn't have the words to explain himself anymore. September still visits every once in awhile, but he doesn't let her see him. He doesn't remember what speaking feels like and he's not sure he wants to. It's been ten years since he last spoke.

He experimentally holds the gun to his head one day, wondering what would happen if he did go through with it. Sep would roll her eyes and say they were lying until presented with absolute proof. Noel would call him a coward and laugh at the fact that he couldn't even handle remorse and say he's only killing himself because he's too scared to face the fact that he ruined his own life. Tasha would miss him because no one would put food on the table. It's okay, someone would replace him. It's been fifteen years since he last spoke.

He's learned to cut down the time he spends outside by getting several days' food in one quick trip, keeping the rest cold to make sure he doesn't have to go every day. He doesn't spend time with anyone anymore. Darick's stopped coming to see him, Ro never did and Saria doesn't even know who he is. It's for the best. She doesn't know what a terrible person he is. Besides, who wants a grandfather who can't even handle himself? It's been eighteen years since he last spoke.

He's stuck in his room with all the weaponry he can't use without thinking up some way it could kill him and look like an accident and he stares up at the ceiling. The goddesses sure do ruin your life if you mess up once. People weren't kidding that they took everything from those who disobeyed them. Maybe this is his punishment for not believing. He is so tired of being alone but no one really wants him anymore. He might as well be dead. It's been twenty-one years since he last spoke.

Aside from Tasha's occasional glances his way, no one's questioned the fact that he won't speak anymore and accepted it wholeheartedly. He secretly believes they've been waiting for this day because they never wanted his words in the first place. He used to enjoy being alone, because he couldn't blame himself for everything, but now he does. He can't trust himself anymore. It's been twenty-five years since he last spoke.

He stops eating for a few days merely to see what'll happen and watches as his body slows down without enough energy to sustain it. Tasha is looking more worried lately and he stays out of her way, something that's getting incredibly hard to do now that she's concerned about him. He still nods when she asks him if he's okay but he knows it's a lie. It's been thirty years since he last spoke.

He's wasting Tasha's time so he moves out (he leaves his things there because he won't need them, not where he's going), nodding his promise to stay safe, and regularly drops food off to keep her occupied, knowing that Darick and Ro take care of her better than he ever could, and sneaks off into the forest. No one would look for him anyway and even if they did, he wouldn't be found in here. He can't stand himself anymore, but he can't run away. It's been thirty-two years since he last spoke.

He's halfway into the thirty-third year when he realizes he doesn't feel anything. He comes out of a hunt with one of his legs clawed open and there's nothing but a dull throbbing in the back of his head until he looks down and sees the mess. He cleans it and bandages it up and keeps going. He can't afford to stop or someone will find him. He misses someone being there to take care of him, but no one will anymore. He's got to watch out for himself. He builds himself a shelter miles and miles away from everyone else, knowing he'll finally be out of their way like they always wanted. It's been thirty-four years since he last spoke.

He finds a small cat and starts taking care of it to keep himself busy. He doesn't give it a name, because if he gave it one, it would mean that he loved it and he's not allowed to love anything. Loving things always gets him in trouble. He finds the cat dead on his doorstep on his birthday. He doesn't keep animals anymore after that. It's been thirty-six years since he last spoke.

He's dying and he calls out for Norie in his mind, staring up at the sky without making any efforts to save himself. He left Noel like this, so it's only right that he dies in the same way. He selfishly hopes that someone will find his body, that they'll be sorry, but he knows they won't. He'll be torn apart for food by the animals by evening and there's nothing identifiable about him anymore. He closes his eyes and he finally feels safe again, like he could be loved if he wanted. It's been forty years since he last spoke and he doesn't plan on speaking soon.