Page 63 of Deafened By Silence
Clapping slowly, I give his little speech the deluded applause it deserves. Leaning against a table, I drag my eyes over him deliberately.
“I’ll be honest, in another lifetime, I reckon we could have been somewhat civil. If only you weren’t always standing right in my fucking way.” I make a dramatic show of checking my cuticles. “You will be leaving Waversea. Whether as a rich mantoday or through force tomorrow, I won’t stop making your life a living hell until you’ve gone.”
A noise cracks through the room, one I’ve never heard before. It takes me a second to place it, Clayton’s rambling laughter wrapping around me like a vice. I didn’t know he was capable of more than a small smile. For a split second, it’s like looking in a mirror, his head held high with an air of superiority he’s done nothing to deserve.
“I’ve never understood the saying that money can’t buy happiness until I saw you. You must be the loneliest, most miserable person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. I may have no money, but I’ll always be richer than you. And the funniest part is,” he leans into my face so we are nose to nose, “Harper tolerates you, but she actually likes me. She comes to my room without being forced and waits for me in the library every evening. How many times has she willingly spent time with you?”
For whatever senseless reason, I let myself feel the weight of that truth pressing against my ribs, squeezing until my chest carves in. Clayton turns to leave, his hand bracing on the handle, and my chest lurches. I’ve failed. I’ve finally found something money can’t buy, and it hurts in a way I don’t like. It burns harsher than any cigarette stub against my skin.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” I state, one last pitiful attempt to change his mind.
“So have you. You’ve shown your hand. Revealed what your dead heart desires, and you’ve given me the power to tell you no. What a successful morning this has turned out to be.”
The slamming of the door ricochets through my body, igniting a dull ache I thought I’d outgrown, but it always finds its way back. The kind of ache that is so unbearable, I do what comes naturally. I submerge it in rage. Clayton can think he’s better than me, that he’s noble and deserving of Harper. Who’sto say I don’t deserve her? That I haven’t suffered enough to earn a little light in my life.
Returning my attention to the desk, I rip the microscope from its station and throw it directly into the whiteboard at the front. The table goes next, flipped across the room I recently spent a week renovating. It all seems pointless now. The pining, the infatuation. I can’t share her. I’ll end up killing one of us and she’ll never speak to me again once I’ve picked out Clayton’s coffin.
He’s no one. He has nothing to offer. Yet he’s clawed back from the brink and found himself worthy ofherattention. And why do I even care? Am I jealous of the way she looks at him or the way she—Holy fuck, I’m jealous. An emotion I was incapable of before I set my sights on Harper fucking Addams.
I suppose I’ve never allowed myself to be vulnerable enough for such feelings to exist but she’s cut me open and left me to deal with the wound. I’m bleeding for her and she doesn’t even know it.
Lifting a steel ruler, I walk over to the washed test tubes next. Let her see the carnage she’s caused, the resulting mess of luring me into an exposed state I can’t handle. By the time every breakable item is broken, including Peterson’s desktop, I’ve begun to relax. The red curtaining my vision fades and my breathing levels out.
This is what emotions do to me. What she does to me. But even still, I know I won’t be able to stop pursuing her. I must feed on her rage to ease my own, revel in her brutal honesty to clear a pathway for my mind to briefly function. And I want her to want it too. To want me too. Not for the money or the parties or the fame. Just for me, in all my fucked-up glory.
Chapter Thirty Eight
“What are you doing?”
Kenneth’s voice makes me jolt so hard I nearly slam my laptop instead of just closing it. The tinny sound ofHow to Learn Basic Sign Languagestill plays from beneath the lid. I’d been so focused I hadn’t even heard him enter our dorm.
“Oooh, are you trying to impress a certain lady?” Kenneth’s eyes light up like he’s just unearthed my deepest secret. “Does she know? Please tell me it’s a surprise, like you’re gonna sweep her off her feet, carry her into the sunset, the whole deal.” He twirls in the middle of the room, arms spread wide like he’s waltzing with a ghost. I’m starting to wonder if he needs professional help.
“Fuck off, Kenneth.” I snap, sharper than necessary. My temple throbs, so I press a hand there and let out a breath. Kenneth has been… well, the closest thing I’ve got to a friend here. Even if his actions are questionable and I will never forgive him for Iron Man 2.0, it doesn’t mean I have to be a complete dick every time he opens his mouth.
“I just thought it’d be a useful skill to learn, alright?” I shrug, playing it off. He smirks like he knows better, but I swiftlychange the conversation. “Why are you even back? Didn’t you have a double shift at the café today?” I grumble as I shove the laptop deeper under my pillow. After yesterday’s blow up with Wavershit and an awkward lunch where Kenneth talked to the side of Harper’s face, even though it was obvious she’d switched her receivers off, I was counting on some time alone.
“Oh, that!” Kenneth stops spinning and launches straight into a monologue at machine-gun pace. “So, Danny called in sick, right, but it turns out he was just hungover, and the boss dragged him in. It was so funny. He was in his dressing gown and I was like how’s he going to work in that, and the boss was like give him your shirt so I said okay but it’s lined with baby powder to stop the polyester from irritating my skin, but boss said give it over so I stripped off in the middle of?—”
“Okay,okay. I get it!” I cut him off before the image gets any worse. Now I can’t help but notice his powdery skin is bare beneath his half-zipped hoodie. “Christ. Go wash that shit off before someone thinks you’ve been rolling in chalk.” Thankfully, my phone buzzes on the mattress. There’s a message from Coach.
Get to the basketball court. Now.
Without hesitating, I scramble for gym clothes. Any excuse to get me out of here. Of course, half my wardrobe has been swallowed by the dorm washers again. I swear those machines eat fabric for fun. Socks vanish, T-shirts too. At this rate I’ll end up a nudist out of sheer necessity.
After a hunt that takes longer than it should, I drag on a pair of black sweatpants from under the bed, two mismatched socks with identical holes, and a hoodie that smells faintly of stale laundry detergent.
When I glance up, I find that Kenneth has ignored my instruction to shower completely. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, organizing his bottle caps collection. “Don’t follow me,” I tell him as I grab my phone and head for the door. My eyes snag on the dried mud caked into his work shoes and trousers, all crusted up his laces, and I cringe. I don’t even want to know.
For once I leave the beanie behind, letting the winter wind run its fingers through my hair. The season’s shifting, rolling into a bitter cold I’m not prepared for. The air feels fresher, like it’s trying to scrub off the last of the frost. The grass edging the pathways is starting to turn green again, a green that reminds me of Harper’s eyes. Maybe it’s not just the weather making the weight on my shoulders feel a little lighter.
That vaguely blissful feeling evaporates when I round the corner to the gymnasium. Coach is pacing by the back door, rubbing his bald patch like it’s a lucky charm. I’m about to pass without caring what’s got him all riled up until I see Huxley and Garrett are also waiting for me just inside the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” I breathe deeply, knowing from experience not to let emotions rise until I know what I’m dealing with. Too many times in the JDC, I leapt into a fight too fast, letting my anger rob me of the advantage. Some instincts can’t be taught, but scars carve lessons you’ll never forget, and I learned mine the hard way.
When no one answers, I push through the cluster of bodies and stride into the locker room. At first nothing looks out of place. The showers stand empty, patiently awaiting their next visitor, no flickering bulbs overhead, no eerie shadows creeping in the corners like every horror film has conditioned me to expect. The tiled floor even looks freshly mopped, the sharp scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. Then I round the bench and see the lockers.
Liquid has been splashed across the grey metal, thick and glistening, and the way the overhead light hits it confirms what my gut already suspects. It’s blood. Real, fresh blood. A soft pattering drips to the floor, the sound slicing through the silence like a clock counting down to detonation. My combination lock dangles open, smeared red, swinging like someone wanted me to know exactly where they’d been. Shoving it aside, I wrench the door open.
