Page 55 of Deafened By Silence
The soothing deep roast smell washes over me immediately, the scent embodied by wood panes covering every wall and rustic art hanging sporadically throughout. Large windows sit pointlessly along the right side, a view of the hallway beyond drawing away from the small corner of refuge. Symmetric patterns in black and yellow spread across the carpet beneath my sneakers, the only link to the Academy that this place has.
Walking the length of the counter, Rhys orders a black coffee for himself and something sweeter for me. He picks out a few pastries, more than we could possibly eat, and I leave him to it. My gaze wanders to the quivering stick of a boy behind the glass with an unfortunate shade of orange covering his head. A smile pulls at my mouth as I wave to Clayton’s roommate, but Rhys is quick to step into my way. I peer around him, noting Kenneth’s eyes have gone wide and glassy.
Without my receivers on, I struggle to catch the apparent argument the two of them get into, until Kenneth slams down the tray before us. Whilst my coffee sloshes in a tall, glass mug, Rhys’ is in a takeaway cup with the implication he should leave. “It’s Dockerson!”Kenneth seems to shout before running out back to cry into his apron.
I wrench Rhys into a corner booth, clicking a mini microphone to his t-shirt collar.
“Do I want to know what that was about?” I purse my lips. Rhys’ attention is on stirring his drink mindlessly, and when he looks up, he seems more vacant than usual.
“Hmm? Oh, with Dickerson? Just the usual banter. It’s part of our daily routine.” Rolling my eyes, I offer him the pastries first and he waves them off. Apparently, they’re all for me.
“You shouldn’t tease him. Not everyone is able to take your taunting as easily as others.”
“Are you offering to take it on his behalf?” The ghost of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but the light doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Sure, lay it on me. I can handle you.” Rhys huffs a small laugh, keeping his jaw tight. I distract myself, nibbling on a butter croissant and settling into the chatter and clinking cups around us. I’m more than happy with comfortable silences if that’s all this is about. Rhys is absent today, but it speaks volumes that he sought me out. He didn’t want to be alone. Draining my coffee, Rhys lurches out of his seat and returns with another, keen to keep me here. I’m not complaining.
“This is my favorite place to come after early basketball practice,” Rhys finally says, his head resting on the back of the booth’s bench. “They’re a weird bunch. Sometimes they bring in roadkill and gush over the amount of organs they can see, but the coffee is damn good. Plus,” Rhys rolls his head to the side, the sharp ridges of his profile pulling taut, “no one cares who I am in here. It’s one of the only places on campus I can just sit unbothered.”
“Except today, you’ve brought me here to bother you,” I quirk a brow. Rhys lifts his mug to his lips, hiding his words but the microphone picks up on them anyway.
“You’re never bothering me.”
I study him quietly, the restless tap of his fingers against the tabletop, the twitch of his shoulders that betray whatever is raging beneath the surface. He wants to be destructive, I know enough about him to sense that, but right now he just looks… tired.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or am I supposed to guess?” I ask, nudging my knee against his under the table. Rhys takes another minute to organize his thoughts, and when he eventually speaks, it’s on a deflated exhale.
“My father called.” His lip curls over the edge of his takeaway cup before he drowns the rest. I nod slowly, starting to understand. Encounters with his father seem to be a constant strain, no matter if they’re in person or simply a phone call.
“Another dinner to attend?”
“Worse,” Rhys shakes his head lazily, already resigned. “He spoke with the Dean. Wanted to let me know he’sproudof the rise in my attendance. Hecommendedmy efforts rebuilding Peterson’s lab. Several professors have noted that I’ve settled down and taken a real interest in my education. Fucking joke,” Rhys flares his nostrils, his breathing becoming labored.
I’m careful to mask my reaction, fully aware that I’m treading in unknown territory. Others work endlessly for the type of validation Rhys has been given, yet to him, it’s the desecration of what he’s working towards. From the little I know, his dad was a monster to him, and he’s constantly seeking his revenge.
Reaching across the table, I take his hand in mine. “I’m glad you sought me out.” Rhys brushes his thumb over my knuckles, tracking the motion with his eyes, before withdrawing.
“Don’t be. I blame you,” he glares with harsh blue eyes. “I’m just trying to decide what would piss my father off more. If I killed you and left your body for the board of investors to find on his next yacht party.”
“I’m eager to hear plan B,” I slowly pull my arm back, holding Rhys’ level stare.
“Or if I kidnap you, drive to Vegas and get us hitched so his arrangement with Mr. Kavanagh goes up in flames.” Ahh, of course. Both sound like completely logical conclusions for a freaking maniac.
“So I’m either dead or bound to your mood swings. What great prospects I have.” I let out a strained laugh that bounces around in the small booth. How can I be having coffee with a man who buys me every pastry, and then tells me he’s plotting to kill me? But alas, that is the whirlwind of Rhys’ psyche. “Counterproposal. I help you plan a revenge scheme for theoutlandishpraise he gave you, and you let me live another day as an unmarried woman.”
“You want to…help me…get revenge?” Rhys tilts his head, considering my face with sharp precision.Uh oh. I instantly realize my mistake as the malicious glint returns to his eyes. Rhys’ entire mental state evolves around pain and punishment. He thrives on destruction, only happy when he’s leaving a trail of anarchy in his wake, and I’ve just stepped into the circle of fire.
“I will help you brainstorm ways to get revenge,” I say carefully, “if you tell me why this is so important to you. I know he’s a bastard, I get that, but you could leave him behind. Leave it all behind and start fresh. You have the means to do so.” The rush of fury that radiates from Rhys’ being is palpable. Danger flashes through his features, and I almost forget we’re sitting in public. Holding my breath, I watch him shudder and roll his neck as if he’s itching to be free of his own skin.
“I can’t live in a world where he’s roaming around, respected and smug. He doesn’t deserve to get away with everything he’s done to me, and to my mom.” An arrow strikes me directly through the chest, my sternum spasming with an ache I wasn’t prepared for. Rhys never talks about his mom. I don’t knowanything about her, and now, I’m not sure I want to. I don’t know if my heart could handle it.
“Okay. I’ll help you, on one condition. No one else gets hurt.” Rhys exhales a disappointed sound, but I drag my backpack up onto the bench, fishing out the notebook and highlighters that were meant to be filled with study annotations by now.
“What are you thinking?” Rhys leans forward to watch me write. I have no idea what I’m thinking, but it’s okay. This is good. Rhys could have easily blown up this morning and done something awful in the name of his reputation. Instead, we’re sitting here, working out a solution. He’s like a chaotic kitten and I’m now holding the laser pointer.
“Something public. Extremely messy. Controversial, maybe,” I shrug. Rhys comes more to life with each suggestion. Writing Mr. Waversea in the center of the page, I underline it, circle it, and then draw a mini skull and crossbones underneath. Totally not stalling. “What’s something your dad cares about?”
“Money,” Rhys shoots back sharply. “Reputation. Power.” I write down each one, scoffing lightly to myself.
