Page 49 of Deafened By Silence
Gently, my arms wrap around her as well. Harper presses her face against my chest and breathes me in as if she’s resolute on staying. The tightness in my throat deepens, not from holding back words but from something I cannot name. It burns. It soothes. It terrifies me.
I do not get hugged. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was hugged, and no, Klara hanging off my neck does not count. The few times I have returned Klara’s affections, it’s been because there’s a string attached, a threat held over my head, a performance to uphold. But Harper doesn’t seem to be using me for her own selfish interests. She just holds me as though I earned her comfort. I didn’t, but I take it anyway.
Something unwanted and dangerous pushes against the inner walls I have carefully constructed over the years. It is not lust. Lust is easy. Lust is mine to command. This is different, slow and warm, creeping in through cracks I did not know existed. I want to shove it back out. I want to keep it. Yet I just stand here, rigid as stone, my cheek finding the crown of her pink hair almost by accident.
As time stretches on, I hunt for a way to break the contact. For something to drive between us and give my mind a focus. Her disgust would be easiest if I were to say something vile, but Harper doesn’t deserve the easy route. Dare I say, she deservesthe truth. Just a snippet, just a tiny thread to prove to her that I’m not just a monster. Well, not one of my own making at least.
Reaching back, I peel her arms free and take her left hand in mine. I bring the back of it to my mouth, pressing a soft kiss there with the faintest tremble of my lips. On a deep inhale, I close my eyes as I raise that same hand to my neck, brushing her fingers against the raised scar hidden beneath an emancipated demon tattooed there.
“I’ve hated hospitals since the first time my father burnt me. He believed leaving a permanent mark would be a visible reminder to keep me in line. It didn’t work. As soon as I became old enough, I had the scars tattooed over and realized I could just keep doing it. My father’s attempt to discipline me became a twisted craving. I yearned for the pain. The burn of the cigarette, the burn of the tattoo gun. It’s one of the only ways I feel alive anymore. It’s how I remember who I am and why I can never be…”
I stop myself short. It’s pointless to hope for something that will never happen. Opening my eyes, I see a pinch to Harper’s eyebrows and glassy glaze to her green eyes. Her fingers smooth over the bump, too intensely for my liking. I’ve never let anyone this close to seeing my soul bared, but it’s clear now that I’ve been longing for someone to share that with. Someone who actually cares to listen.
She parts her lips and I grit my teeth, ready for it.‘Ahh poor Rhys, you never stood a chance.’But I should know better than to think Harper is predictable.
“Follow me.” She tugs me down the hallway like she has every right to command me, her small hand clutching mine with a force that brooks no argument. We pass a trolley of medical supplies which holds a cooler box marked, ‘Blood Products in Transit’. I pause, dragging on Harper’s arm to flick open the lid and take a packet of blood. She raises a brow as I shove it into mypocket and gesture for her to keep walking. She doesn’t need to know about the length my hazing tactics go to.
Down the corridor, past a row of silent doors, Harper pauses at a cupboard markedStorageand slips inside. There’s no hesitation from me, shutting us into a dark room smelling of bleach and cotton sheets. She turns to me, her green eyes shining in the strip of light spilling beneath the door, and then she launches. Her mouth collides with mine, no hesitation, no doubt. She kisses like she’s burning alive and I am the only oxygen she has left.
This is good. This is safe. I can do desire any day of the week, but talking emotions? Fuck no. I press Harper against the shelving, the metal rattling, her gasp swallowed by my tongue pushing past her lips. Her fingers claw at the back of my neck, dragging me closer, desperate and unapologetic.
I want to consume her. I want her to consume me right back. But then her pace falters, dragging me down a strange and unfamiliar path. She cups my face with both hands, softening the kiss, brushing her mouth across mine in a slow sweep that leaves me shuddering. Tenderness. That is what this is. I almost recoil from it, but she will not let me. Her thumbs stroke my cheeks and her lips press into mine like a vow.
I hold her waist, not to control, not to pin, but to keep her steady. The heat in my being surges to the surface, but it doesn’t take over. It aches to blend into Harper’s seamlessly, to be a part of whatever she’s offering. Her thighs press against me, and I want to lose myself, yet I ease the pressure of my hold, tasting the sweetness of delayed gratification. She taught me this on our night together. She restrained me, made me wait, made me crave. It’s as if the cuffs she used on me that night seeped into my skin, tugging me back to her every time I try to pull away.
Her back arches, pushing her chest into me on a gasp. I shouldn’t still want her this much. I’ve never wanted anyone thismuch. I kiss her jaw, the corner of her mouth, her throat, every touch fevered but careful. Harper winds her arms around me, chest to chest, whispering against my lips between kisses.
“Thank you for giving me something real.”
A sharp crack carves through my chest, a small, choked sound in the back of my throat. She’s thankingme? The man who planned to have her expelled the moment she set foot on campus. The fiend who couldn’t take no for an answer when he decided he must have a taste of her first. The bully who’s given her nothing but grief.
“Don’t thank me, Babygirl. You should hate me.” I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling her warmth, my teeth grazing the soft skin there. She tilts her head back and I hear the faintest sound escape her, a breathy moan that makes my blood thunder.
“Why?”
I snort. Why? Because everyone else does. Because it’s what I want. Because it’s easier. Yet none of that makes it out of my mouth. Whatever spell Harper has cast over me, I find that I don’t want to give her basic answers. I don’t want to give her the version of myself that everyone else gets to see.
“Because I’m broken.” I keep my face hidden from her view, pressing my lips to her collarbone like a coward. No doubt she already knew. Harper sees the world through silent eyes without prejudice. Lord knows she saw straight through me, into the secrets I have buried, beyond the broken pieces I hide behind ink and smoke.
“I think that’s why I appeal to you. I’m a little broken too.”
I keep my response to myself, grinding against her and licking a trail from her neck to her jaw, until my mouth finds hers.
Harper appeals to me for many reasons, and only a fraction of that is the darkness inside her which is all too similar tomine. Every time she’s backed into a corner, it appears with a vengeance, clawing and battling until she’s back on top. I know, no matter what I throw at her, Harper will continue to surpass my expectations, and I can’t fucking wait to see it.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“Hey Harp, how are—”, Addy’s voice cuts off as she takes in my appearance.
My bags have bags, my hair a catastrophic mess that could rival a rock back from the eighties, and there’s a coffee spill on my pajama top. I’d momentarily tricked myself into thinking I might have that cute bedhead thing going on, but judging by Addy’s shocked expression, I was totally kidding myself. It might be the weekend and the sun may be shining, but sleep continues to evade me.
The restless dreams worrying about Clayton and Rhys killing each other over me were bad enough, but that was before the lab. Before I realized the person I’m fearing doesn’t have a face. Now, sleep would be a mercy. Anything to switch my brain off, to stop the possibilities from running through my mind’s eye.
My only saving grace has been Clay’s own insomnia. Each night since the field trip, he’s stayed up to message with me for hours on end. It’s amazing how much one can say whilst remaining surface level, but we share reels and memes, finding a way to communicate without Rhys’ looming shadow always pressing in. Clay tells me what I’ve missed in classes while I’mtaking the ‘rest’ Dean O’Sullivan has ordered. He sends over his notes, and keeps me up to date on the disciplinary Peterson received for his negligence on an academy-funded outing. He’s been my link to the world whilst I hide away and pretend it doesn’t exist for a while longer.
Some of us aren’t having the same inner turmoil. Perky-and-Pink across the room has just returned from a morning jog in tight lycra that shows off her mid-section. Ugh, I hate her sometimes. Groaning, I slip back beneath my covers and pick up a crumbled paperback that I’m halfway through. My mattress dips, giving a moment’s warning before she wrestles the duvet off my face.
“Nope, we’re not doing this again. Get out of bed.” I wriggle and shout. The neighbors probably think there’s a cat fight happening in here. For a split second, I manage to grab the cover back and roll in it like a sausage, until Addy and her surprising strength whips it back off and sends me flying onto the floor. Giving up the will to live, I just lie there like a suicidal starfish waiting for a seagull to finish me off.
