Seeing Sound (Tasting Madness #1) Read Online Albany Walker

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Tasting Madness Series by Albany Walker

Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)

I’m starting over.
Moving to a new town to start college, where I can try to be normal. Or at least pretend I am.
I’m willing to fake it, because I’m tired of trying to get better. Tired of spilling my guts to doctors and therapists to understand why I’ve heard voices since I was a child.
The meds are working… for now, but if they stop, I’ll never tell. I just want to live my life, and if that means ignoring why so many people think I’m crazy, so be it.
She’s the most silent storm I’ve ever witnessed.
Waylynn is as pretty as a picture, curvy, with hazel eyes that always seem to evade everyone’s gaze.
She’s been avoiding me since our first encounter, but fate intervenes and brings her right back to me… and my brother.
Now I need to know more.



Without a doubt, I’ve grown accustomed to sterile walls and soft edges—a result of spending too much time in treatment centers and therapists’ offices—but watching the rain trail down the pane of the large, thick glass window, I can almost forget I’m locked in my room for the last night.

I’m tired of trying to get better, it’s much more exhausting than pretending I’m well, so even if this next round of medicine stops working like all the others have, then I’ll never tell.

“Hey, Way,” Alexis rasps, her voice still hoarse from yelling at group earlier.

“Mm-hmm.” I don’t look away from the window. I’m afraid she’ll see the sympathy I feel for her if I do. I know from experience that’s the last thing she’d want. Rooming with her always makes my heart heavy.

“Do you think we would be friends if we weren’t in here?”

No. I don’t have a lot of real friends. I pretend to fit in, and nobody really pushes it beyond that surface level friendship. “Yeah, we would have bonded the first time we met. I wouldn’t have been able to resist your killer bunny shirt.” The lie slips off my tongue with ease.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Alexis plucking at her light green uniform shirt. Her parents are going to be pissed. She drew all over her clothes again, and we’re not permitted anything that’s individual, so she’ll need a new set, which isn’t cheap. You’d think they’d have a designer label or at least be comfortable for the price, but nope.

“How long before you think you’ll be back?” The longing in her tone is only amplified by the sadness emanating from her. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m leaving or because she’s locked in the same rinse and repeat pattern I have been for the past few years and doesn’t see any hope for herself.

“These new meds have been working really well,” I answer noncommittally.

“That’s really awesome.” She tosses herself back on the bed with a huff. “I wish they could find a cure for my fucked-up parents.”

“It won’t be long until you age out. You’ll be eighteen soon.” I try to sound encouraging.

“They are already talking about a conservatorship.” She rolls over on her side, facing the wall. Well, damn.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut. While my parents have put me into facilities a few times, their intentions are always to help me get better. Not so much with Alexis’ parents, if I can believe what she says at group. They think she’s “unbalanced” because she draws dark shit and likes to accessorize with sharp pointy things, and that’s not acceptable to most UHNW families.

I think about telling her that maybe if she just toned it down for a little while and let her parents think they converted her into the perfect scion, she could be herself when she moved out, but I keep my lips sealed. I can’t risk her wondering if I took my own advice and then telling someone.

When Alexis’ breaths even out, and I know she either cried herself to sleep again or ran out of tears for the night, I slip down from the wide windowsill. My butt is numb from sitting for so long, but the ache fades fast as I crawl into my bed and pull the covers up to my chin.

It’s hard to will my eyes closed. I have so much crap running through my mind. I wish I could have music to help with the silence, but that’s not permitted. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin one of the few useful techniques Dr. Tobin has taught me. Locking my lips, I inhale for four seconds, then hold my breath while counting to seven. Exhaling, I count to eight before I repeat it over and over until I lose track of the numbers and fall asleep.


“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable here, Waylynn?” My mom rests her hand on the granite island, trying to look casual in her Chanel pantsuit and loafers.