Page 39 of Deafened By Silence
“She’s in my bed?!” I whisper-shout, looking at the dude like the moron he is. His black eyes turn impossibly darker, shadowed by lowered eyebrows.
“Did you call me here just to see her in your bed?” Clayton’s jaw ticks, the taste of violence crackling between us. If I weren’t vibrating with the kind of panic that makes my bones itch, I’d laugh in his face, because this would be the perfect torture for him, dangling her inches away like raw meat, but the one being tortured right now is me.
“Don’t you get it? No one stays the night in my bed. When she wakes up, she’ll be hopelessly in love with me like all the other mindless drones around here,” I spit the words at him, pacing like a caged wolf, my eyes flicking to the railing where bodies sprawl across every available surface, the debris of my parties consisting of youth and poor life choices. There’s even a few slumped across the stairs who will need a chiropractor when they sober up. “I can’t believe I’ve let this happen. I wanted to screw her and move on, not…this?! Everyone becomes obsessed with me after they’ve experienced Rumpleforeskin.”
“Fuck my life,” Clayton mutters, attempting to barge past me, but I slam my hand against his chest. For the first time since I woke up, a jolt of exhilaration courses through me as his body tenses under my palm. He growls, a sound that reverberatesthrough his ribcage, but he can’t intimidate me. Forget the private martial arts lessons, forget the home-installed boxing ring. I’m a ruthless bastard who strikes to kill and bathes in blood before anyone has the chance to disrespect me.
“I need you to get rid of her. Carry her back to her dorm or slip into the bed and have your way with her, I don’t give a shit. But you are leaving this house with her, and no one has to know I took pity on the school’s charity case.”
He goes for my throat, but we’ve done this dance so many times I know his every tell. The twitch of his shoulder before he lunges, the way his weight shifts to his right foot, the faint hiss of breath before he commits. Every fight has been a rehearsal, a script I’ve studied and memorized, every failure feeding me knowledge, sharpening and molding me into his personal nemesis. That’s why, on orientation day, I picked the biggest fucker in the room. Ripped muscle never beats a calculated mind.
I duck low and ram my shoulder into his ribs just left of center, the crack of impact sweet in my ear as I slam him into the wall, my fist driving into his gut hard enough to drag a strangled gasp from him. It’s not pain, it’s surprise, and I revel in it. Sweeping his legs, I crash down with him, straddling his waist and hurling a punch straight into his granite jaw.
The pain that splinters up my knuckles is pure rapture, and each punch after that only feeds the half-formed erection pressing against my zipper. Clayton’s hand finds my throat, clamping down, and the noise that breaks out of me is dangerously close to a groan.
“Tighter,” I rasp, slamming my fist into his temple to encourage him. His legs snap around my waist, bucking me off in a violent spin, and in one smooth movement I’m pinned, his grip even tighter around my throat. Black dots creep into the corners of my vision as his fist pounds into my face, each strikea violent and brutal. The split in my lip from yesterday reopens, the slice of pain almost getting me off quicker than Harper did. Almost.
“Fuck yeah. Give me more, Big Boy.” Clayton tears himself off me as if I’ve burned him, leaving me splayed on the floor with blood dripping down my lips, copper sweet and addictive on my tongue.
“You’re so fucking twisted. I’ll never understand why she let you near her,” Clayton growls, stalking away with his fists still balled. “Is that why you called me here, you sick bastard? To goad and then fight me?”
I open my mouth to reply that actually, I called him here because I can’t trust my lackies to carry a hot, naked woman out of my house and not be tempted. I may not want Harper maddeningly in love with me, because clingy girls give me the biggest ick, but that doesn’t mean I want her at anyone’s mercy. At least I know Clayton is too noble to touch her. And yeah, maybe a little bit, I wanted to goad him into a fight. But I don’t get to say any of that.
The door beside me flies open and a lithe half-dressed nymph bursts into the hall, hurdling over my body without pause. The shirt,my shirt, rides high as she vaults, flashing a glimpse of rounded perfection, her bed-tangled hair messed up divinely in a way that appears freshly fucked. My brain stutters.
“Oh Clay, thank God! Get me out of here before anyone sees me here!”
Hold up, what did she say? I shove myself upright, grabbing Harper’s shoulder and spinning her back to face me. Clayton’s chest rumbles when his eyes catch the hickey blooming on her neck. If only he knew there are bite marks all over her breasts and thighs, branding her as mine. Wait, no,fuck.
Harper’s gaze holds mine, not even tempted to dip to where my shirt is loosely buttoned over my stomach. To where her clawmarks bled me dry beneath my tattoos. Her lips are beautifully bruised, their deepened red and slightly puffy appearance sending an arrow of lust straight to my dick. Yet, all of the desire from last night has vanished, distaste left in its wake.
“Why are you in such a rush to leave?” I ask harshly, accusation in my tone. Harper reads my lips, not bothering to turn on the mic clutched in her hand.
“I don’t want anyone to know that I…” She waves in the air, gesturing to all of me. My left eye twitches.
“You’re ashamed? Of me? That’s not right,” I shake my head. Behind her, Clayton chuckles, tapping her arm for her attention. She blinks up at him with wide, green eyes. Looking at him like he’s her damn savior. Yeah, I’ve really fucked up here.
“This idiot,” Clay nudges his chin in my direction but maintains her eye contact, “thought one night would make you fall head over heels in love with him.” His grin is wider than I’ve ever seen, encouraging the same to grow over Harper’s face. She giggles, once, twice, and suddenly dies in a fit of hysterics whilst holding her sides. Clayton laughs too, taunting echoes booming around the hallway. Harper raises her hand to rest it on his chest, absorbing his laughter through her fingertips. All the while, I stand there, heat rushing to my cheeks, bile rising in my throat.
“You thought,” Harper manages to force through her hysteria, “you have some sort of magical dick.” She’s wheezing now, tears streaming through the smudged mascara from last night. I narrow my eyes, grinding my teeth. I don’t know if Harper has ever heard herself laugh, but it isn’t the cute, restrained, hidden behind a hand type that girls usually do. It’s full-bodied and loud, grating against my ears, particularly because it’s aimed at me.
Clayton winds an arm around her shoulders, making a half-ass attempt to put a finger over his lips to stop her from wakingthe entire house. Somehow, it doesn’t have the same effect when he is also howling, and the house is stirring already. I plaster myself to the wall, watching them leave like I wanted, despite the regret cutting deeper than any blade.
She’s walked out on me. Barely looked at me. I’m stuck rooted in place, unable to decide how to react until they’ve disappeared, finally out of my vicinity. I’ve never been laughed at before, not behind my back, not right in my face. No one would dare.
I chase after them, even though they’re long gone, emotions I don’t understand bringing me to the open front door. A bitter icy chill seeps straight through my shirt, freezing over the fire burning in the pit of my stomach. I welcome it, inhaling deeply, standing there until my toes go numb and my chest holds a different kind of burn.
This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Woo her, fuck her, forget her. That was the plan, and I got what I wanted. I had her screaming my name, clawing at me like I was the last breath in her lungs, begging for the strength only I can give. And somehow, I’m the one standing here furious, and dare I say lusting for her. How do I still want more? Why do I crave her like she didn’t just humiliate me? I don’t chase seconds. I don’t circle back. I’m in a house filled with women I could have at the snap of my fingers. Yet not a single one appeals to me. I didn’t ruin Harper. She’s ruined me.
Ugh, where is my self-respect? I’m not going to stand here andpinefor a girl who just left with someone else, regardless of my part in that scenario. Nor am I going to stand here being made to look like a fool. Slamming the door closed, I turn and kick a nearby inflatable ball with all my might. The neon orange sphere bounces off the wall to my left and slams right back into my face. I can’t contain my bellow now, grabbing the offensive piece of plastic and marching into the kitchen. Jagged knife inhand, I slaughter the shit out of it until the limp plastic falls to my feet.
“That’s it! Everybody out!” I roar, my fists clenched as tight as my jaw. Bodies suddenly jolt up and scurry like rats, most piling out of the door without their clothes. A pounding in my head starts to pulse as I spiral into a depth of rage I haven’t stooped to in a while. Now that it’s back, I suddenly realize how long it’s actually been. Around two or three weeks I reckon, just before a green eyed girl steamrolled into my life and turned my world on its head.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit stewing in misery all day. I need to purge it from my system, fast, because if I don’t, it will spread and consume every thought. I’ve learnt from experience I make shitty choices when I’m distracted. This morning is case and point.
Grabbing a female with electric blue hair by the arm as she tries to leave, I pull her outside onto the porch. A line of piercings follows the outline of her ears which instantly reminds me of Harper’s receivers. I physically slap myself to knock the image from my mind, much to her confusion.
“I need you to hurt me,” I rasp. Her brown eyes widen and she tries to step away but I latch onto her wrist to hold her in place. “No catch or repercussions. Just do as I say and I’ll make sure you graduate with honors.”
