Page 17 of Deafened By Silence
“Why does having friends matter anyway?” I frown. “I have everything I need. More money and women than I could ever possibly use. I love my life.” I raise an eyebrow, challenging her to disagree. Harper shrugs again, but this time it’s slower, more condescending. Her eyes shift, something distant moving across her face, and then she hits me with it. That look. Like I’m a wounded dog bleeding out on the sidewalk and she’s debating whether to put me out of my misery.
“If that’s really true,” she says, her voice maddeningly gentle, “then I’m genuinely happy for you.” She tilts her head slightly. “But something tells me it’s not.”
The moment Harper finishes speaking, I lash out. My fingers find a handful of her hair, yanking her forward and holding her exactly where I want her. Clayton grabs my throat from behind in some strange attempt at restraint, but I barely register it. All he’s achieved is trapping Harper between us.
She’s close. So goddamn close. Her breath brushes my face and her stubborn refusal to cower has a low, primal feeling stirring in my chest. She’s still not afraid, and that won’t do. Resolve so strong needs to be shattered, one crack at a time. If I’m going to maintain control at Waversea, she has to fall. She has to beg. She has tobreak.
“I’m going to be your worst nightmare,” I breathe, the words laced with promise. Despite her injuries, Harper scoffs right in my face.
“Not likely.” My smirk returns, creeping across my face. I release her and Clayton releases me. Shifting back on the table, I swing my legs like a bored kid in detention. Her useless shadow remains looming behind her.
“Is that so?” I hum. “Tell me, then, Harper Addams. What are you scared of?” She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, her eyes lift to the ceiling, thoughtful, almost amused.
“Oh, well, if youreallywant to know…” She drags it out, hanging on every syllable. I lean forward on my thighs, hanging on her next words. Needing this piece of key information to destroy her for good, but there’s more to it than that. I want to feast on her fear and bathe in her pain.
“What truly terrifies me is knowing that insults to society like you don’t get the karma they deserve,” she finishes, eyes locked on mine. “Which is exactly why I’m going to give it to you.” Before I can even process her threat, her fist connects with my jaw.
My head whips sideways and I topple off the edge of the table with a crash that echoes around the room. It wasn’t the pain that knocked me sideways, but the shock of it. This girl, this new girl who was supposed to be meek and timid, just struck me. Despite the pleasure of a caress curving around my cheek, I jump up, shoulders bunched and fists clenched. I won’t be disrespected so easily.
Hunting around the room, there’s no sign of Harper. Clayton is still rooted in place like a useless lemon, arms folded, eyes on the swinging door she disappeared through. For someone who plays bodyguard, he’s spectacularly shit at actually guarding anything.
I shoulder past the scholarship scum clogging the aisle, refusing to remain standing there with a hard-on and a bruised ego next to my nemesis. Catching Hargreaves’ narrowed gaze, she doesn’t try to stop me, returning to her screen like nothing happened.
By the time I reach the courtyard, she’s vanished.Lost to a sea of faces I’ve refused to learn. People are expendable, everyone’s replaceable. After growing up with only my father present, I’ve seen first-hand how people can be used as pawns for personal gain. The rich and ruthless are hardwired to reach for unimaginable wealth and nothing else, even if most don’t know what to spend it on.
We are disciplined in the art of spotting and exploiting weaknesses in such a way, people don’t even realize until it’s too late. Once the viper’s fangs are embedded, they are hooked on our poison, eager to please. No matter what is asked of them, they always come running back, their loyalty emanating from greed.
Rain needles down on me as I stalk the path between the fountain and main hall, glowering at anyone foolish enough to drift into my orbit. I don’t know where the fuck to go, or what to do next, and I hate the unfamiliar itch of indecision crawling under my skin. One more minute in a lecture hall and I’ll combust. My patience is shot, my mood’s in the gutter, and if I keep playing the model student, someone’s bound to notice I’ve gone soft.
“Hey Rhysie,” a sickly-sweet voice sings from behind.
“Fuck off,” I hiss without even looking. If my father didn’t insist I accompany Klara to all of her family’s high-class functions, and I wasn’t appeasing my father so that he doesn’t see the bigger picture, I would have scared her off a long time ago. Not that I’m particularly pleasant to her now, butshe doesn’t seem to take the hint. She’s a means to an end, a necessity, but if she calls meRhysieagain I might just snap.
“Oh, come on baby, how about we?—”
Whipping around, I lunge at her and knock us both to the ground. Closing my hand around her throat, her eyes dilate and a coy smile plays about her lips. She’s more deluded than I thought, and if I hadn’t already decided to never take her to bed again, this would have done it. There are only so many fake orgasms I can moan into a pillow before I start reconsidering celibacy. Her shrieking could raise the dead and kill them again in the same breath.
“Don’t approach me unless I specifically ask you to. You play by my rules, or you can attend the Winterfest Ball alone. Got it?” Klara nods with a wink and giggle that has me rolling my eyes. Leaving her behind on the dampening grass, her friends dive in to help her up as I walk away. Her giggle chases me, engrained in my damn ears, and her words float on the wind.
“He just can’t keep his hands off me.”
I halt with clenched fists, having to force the next breath to pass my lips. Rage bubbles dangerously close to the surface, the image of Harper’s sympathetic look filling my mind. Her condescending tone pointing out what no one else would dare voice. My power is a fragile illusion. There’s an extremely thin line between who’s the puppet and who’s pulling the strings, and I haven’t questioned where I fit on that line before today.
This is ridiculous. I can’t let her crawl beneath my skin for a second longer. I need to recalibrate, refocus. Scare her off so thoroughly she begs to transfer before midterms. Then I can get back on track. Wipe out the charity cases, cripple the funding, tear down everything my father’s built with the investors he’s so smug about. One scholarship dropout at a time.
As if believing one into existence, I spot a grey beanie hat further down the pathway, heading directly towards thebasketball court, most likely for his private afternoon session. Taking off in the same direction, I struggle to keep to a regular pace as my mouth stretches into its usual smirk. It feels familiar, safe. Like a mask I can conceal myself behind. Then it doesn’t matter what is happening on the inside, as long as I remain cool and collected on the outside.
Clayton wants to act like Harper’s protector, and that’s fine with me. He can take the brunt of my anger on her behalf. The dull ache in my chest gives way, finally allowing my pulse to start thrumming with fury again. Harper is far too comfortable questioning my life, mocking everything I’ve built. But if she wants to declare a war and leave her stoic soldier behind to face the fiery wrath, then I’m more than happy to burn him alive. Not that I’ve ever needed a reason before.
Chapter Twelve
The week is slipping through my fingers faster than I can process, each night spent hunched over library desks doing little more than chasing a finish line that keeps moving further away. My efforts are swallowed whole by the mounting workload that refuses to shrink, no matter how many hours I throw at it.
Rhys has thankfully been a no-show in any of my classes for the past two days, and Clayton has gone back to pretending I don’t exist. Both of which have granted me the rare luxury of mental space to be productive. Although I’m starting to wonder if productivity is something I’m even capable anymore. The assignment due tomorrow feels laughably out of reach at this point. I could email Peterson to beg for an extension, but that goes against everything I’ve been asking for since starting here. No special treatment, no shortcuts.
I’ve taken over the entire table in the center of the library, covering it with half-open textbooks, aggressively highlighted notes, and the frayed charger of my overheating laptop. Just in case the messageleave me alonewasn’t obvious enough, the navy cotton t-shirt stretched across my chest features seven sets of hands spelling out ‘f-u-c-k o-f-f’ in neat fingerspelling. I don’texpect everyone to be able to read it, but Addy had a good snort about it this morning. Below the table, my legs are folded loosely in worn cream lounge pants, fluffy socks tucked underneath while my sneakers lay forgotten beside the chair. All of the home comforts I could want, aside from the tempting call of Netflix. Instead, the full soundtrack of Hamilton is playing through my implants, driving me to type with rabid focus.
It hasn’t stopped pouring all day, so the library is busier than usual. Students loiter around, mingling and waiting for a break in the rain. Several bodies bump into my table and one jean-clad butt even sits on the edge before I shoo them away. I don’t think they’ll be going anywhere anytime soon. Every time I glance upwards, the clouds above the glass skylight only seem to grow darker and fattened raindrops continue to fall. I’m a firm believer in the weather directly affecting my mood, and this ongoing shitstorm is crushing my spirits. Fuck you precipitation for sabotaging my GPA before I’ve even had a real chance to prove myself.
