Page 47 of Deafened By Silence
Vikki’s voice drowns out as she walks too far out of the loop’s range, signaling I need to get a move on. Just as I’m turning, the door slams shut and lights inside go out, plunging me in complete darkness. What the hell? I rush forward, catching my hip on the edge of the table and cursing. Pain blossoms instantly but I ignore it in favor of swiping my phone to turn on the flashlight. Suddenly and silently, a body barrels into mine. My phone skitters away, my back slamming onto the hard floor beneath whoever is pinning me down. Three guesses who it could be.
“Fuck’s sake Rhys, this isn’t the time!” I grunt, throwing my fists upwards to connect with his torso a few times before he manages to trap my arms beneath his knees either side of me. He really thinks after all this time and everything we’ve been through that he can pull another hazing stunt on me? Without holding back, I struggle and jerk with all my might. He is easily dislodged a few times, scrambling to pin me back into place. I’m starting to win, quickly learning his weak spots, until my hair is tugged so hard, my head is forced to the side.
“Okay this really isn’t funny anymore,” I snarl, white hot anger filling me. If Rhys thinks I find this sort of thing sexy, I’m going to show him just how wrong he is. Something cold brushes my cheek, metallic I reckon, working its way towards my ear. Locating my implant, my skull denotes.
I scream, my body arching against the unbearable shriek ricocheting through me. He thrusts my head to the other side, pressing the device behind my ear and it happens again. Tears stream down my face as I thrash, finally managing to break free. My hands fly to my ears though it does nothing, the shrill static carving me apart from the inside out. My voice breaks into pleas that beg for the agony to stop.
“Why would you do that to me?” I sob into the darkness. The weight lifts from my body and I curl up into a ball, unable to think or react. Barely able to breathe. Over and over, the high-pitched noise that feels like electricity crackling through my head bounces back and fro. Writhing around on the floor, I scream for Clayton, then for anyone. The dark envelopes me, and for longer than I want to know, I lie there completely alone in a world where only suffering exists.
Light brightens beyond my eyelids, a shadowed figure coming into view. Even without being able to focus properly, I can tell whose strong arms collect me from the ground and pull me into his hard chest. Clay’s earthy scent mingles with my senses, my nails clawing into his arms as I come back to reality.
The pain ebbs away too slowly, my limbs remaining heavy and sluggish whilst we remain huddled together. I feel the rumbles of his chest but I can’t hear or read his words. More people surround us, their movements erratic and painful to look at. Although, through my squinted blinks, there’s one person distinctively missing.
“Where is he?” I croak, peering up at Clayton’s face. He frowns, looking around and then realizing who I’m asking for.
“He went outside-”I don’t want around for the end of that sentence. Pushing upright, my legs threaten to give out but the crowd separates, allowing me to stumble into the elevator. I shrug off any attempts of support, being guided by more than just rage. There’s sadness there, and a whole load of regret. I truly thought Rhys’ threats were empty, that I was safe with him. I let my guard down, and he struck where it would hurt me most. At the small chance of hearing I have left.
I stagger out of the elevator on the bottom floor, making a beeline for the Porsche still parked at an angle out front. Rhys is leaning against it, a cigarette in his hand and a smirk on his mouth.
“Hey Babygirl, couldn’t keep away from me,” he grins as I approach and punch him straight in the face.
“You’re a coward, Rhys Waversea. A fucking coward!” I hit him a few more times before he straightens and grabs my wrists. I can’t stop my legs from buckling, the migraine in my head and ringing in my eardrums all too much. Rhys follows me down to the floor, softening the fall and holding me upright as I start to cry again. “I hate you. I hate myself for giving you a chance.”
Trying to shove him away, I pitch forward and end up crying into his chest. I feel the vibrations of him talking, presumably to someone else because his fingers release me and seek out the patches of skin behind my ears. I try to swatch him away but he’s strong. Stronger than the person who was holding me down.
This thought causes me to falter, and in the next second I’m being scooped up and placed into his passenger seat. I don’t care to ask where we’re going, my headache talking over all reasoning and as the Porsche speeds into motion, my world goes dark once more.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Not for the first time, I question why the fuck I am still sitting here. I may talk the talk about thriving in places steeped in despair, but hospitals make my skin crawl.
Even this so-called private clinic, chosen after I refused to waste my afternoon in a public one, reeks of death. Over-priced, pitiful death. Fancy artwork on sterile walls and plush carpets cannot mask the staleness of last wishes. Behind every door lies a rich body rotting slowly, dragging out the inevitable in designer pajamas. Wow, I’m gloomy today.
It has nothing to do with Harper crying in my arms, hissing words she knew would cut me the deepest. Or that when she passed out in my car, my heart rate rivaled the beat of a train hurtling down its tracks. I carried her into the reception and barked at a nearby nurse to get her a bed immediately. Just as Harper was stirring, I stepped out to give her some privacy.
The doctor has interrupted my brooding a few times, asking for more details I don’t have. All I’ve got is the hollering Clayton gave me through my Porsche’s Bluetooth speakers, something about a prank I supposedly took too far.
Trust me, if I wanted to prank Harper, it wouldn’t be shutting her in the dark and jamming a harmful device against her head. It would be removing one of my cock piercings and convincing her it was lost inside her, so I’ll have to fish it out with my tongue. Clayton did not care for this response. He ordered me to update him on where I took her, as if we’re texty little bitch friends. I don’t think so somehow.
Time bleeds slowly on the face of my Rolex. I chew my lip ring, craving a cigarette, but I remain here, sprawled across a mustard yellow sofa meant for three. Arms spread along the back, legs wide, I claim it as mine so no one dares to join me. Seriously, how freaking long does it take to check an implant? With the money this will cost me, they could have ripped hers out and built her brand-new ones from scratch by now.
My only amusement came when Malibu Barbie wobbled out of the elevator, immediately realizing this wasn’t the cosmetic level, and tried to retreat. Her heel caught, and she folded on herself as the doors closed. I can confirm I heard the snap of bone. If I had seen it pierce her tanned flesh, my day would have been made.
I have tolerated enough ‘aspiring models’ swanning around my father’s house to build a lasting hatred for the plastic and fake. That’s where the two rules for ending up in my bed came from. No STDs and no silicone.
Nurses and receptionists click past on heels designed more for catwalks than clinics. They eye me like I am the anomaly, even though they are the ones dressing up an impending morgue with coffee machines. If one more of them asks me if I want an icepack for where Harper nailed my jaw, I’m going to rip the vending machine off the wall.
I stand and crack my knuckles, pacing. Not because I’m worried or anything. Because I’m bored. It’s not like HarperAddams is the only person alive who has me tethered to the hallway outside her door like this. Except she is. Fuck.
I hate how she intrigues me. How she came into my life when I didn’t need the distraction, teaching me what real desire is. For a kid who had everything he could have ever wanted, even though I never asked for any of it, I’ve come to understand that possessions are pointless if they do not come with a chase.
Finally, just before I consider jumping out of the nearest window to avoid these internal therapy sessions, Harper emerges. I’m stretched across a table that once displayed cupcakes for some charity farce, licking frosting from my thumb when she appears. Her pink hair is tousled, her expression as bored as I feel. Missing her hoodie, she rolls her shoulders in a t-shirt that states,‘Deaf-inatley Too Good For You’. I snort, resolutely agreeing as I swing my legs beneath the table.
“Are we done here?” I ask the doctor accompanying her.
“Almost,” Harper answers for him, lifting her hair to reveal a pair of new receivers. They’re clunky and industrial looking. I’ll be sure to order bespoke, slimline versions and mail these stone-age monstrosities back as soon as we get back home. I mean my house. My frat house, where I’ll be returning to alone once Harper is safely back in her dorm.
Harper nudges my head aside, picking up a cupcake as she sits and somehow ends up with my head in her lap. I’m not sure how that happened.
