Page 64 of Deafened By Silence
Something bulky has been crammed inside, shoved in a heap so I can’t make it out until I grab hold and drag it free. Eyes burn into my back as I unfurl the cotton, and when the heavy fabric falls open, I almost drop it.
A black Waversea Weavers jacket with yellow sleeves, the crest stitched neatly on the chest. It should be a symbol of pride, but masses of shredded paper pour out of the lining, scattering over the bloody tiles at my feet. My knuckles tighten around the thick trim, the weight dragging at my arms like an anchor, but when I flip it over, the floor disappears from beneath me.
The number seven stretches bold and proud across the back, but around it, stitched into the material in neat yellow thread, is a name. Jeremy Michaels. My brother. And slashed across that name in white paint is the wordMURDERER.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The world tunnels until all I see is that word carved into the fabric of his memory. My mind stutters, unable to comprehend what I’m looking at. Huxley crouches to snatch up strips of paper. He turns one toward me, a grave look on his face.You don’t belong here,is typed over and over onto every strip.
The last thread of resolve snaps. Wavershit has gone too far. This time I’ll kill him. A rush of blood floods my ears, my chest tightening to the point of suffocating. I’ve stayed indifferent for long enough, refused to give him the rise he so obviously craves, but not anymore. Now I’ll break every bone in his body until hebegs for mercy that will never come. He’ll finally learn I’m the bear you don’t poke unless you want your throat ripped out.
But the thought ices over with doubt almost instantly. How the hell could Rhys know I blame myself for Jeremy’s death? That I’m responsible. All of the police reports stated that I wasn’t even there when the knife that took Jeremy’s life was plunged into his neck, and my actions afterward were out of grief.
My chest caves in as another possibility slams through me. She wouldn’t. Harper wouldn’t have told him, sharing my deepest secrets with the man who wants to destroy me. She promised. But what if…
My throat constricts, nausea choking me. What if she ran straight into his arms with my confession, with my shame, dangling it like a trophy? What if they’ve both been playing me from the start, laughing behind my back, testing how far I’d go for a pair of fluttering lashes and curves I never stood a chance against? What a fucking idiot I am.
I slam my fist into the locker next to mine. Metal crunches under my knuckles, skin splits, but I don’t even feel the pain. All I see is red. The wall I’d stupidly started to let crumble, brick by brick, comes crashing back down with brutal finality. My armor is all I’ve ever had to rely on, and I should’ve known better than to let it slip for anyone.
Hands grab my shoulders, voices blur around me, but I shrug them off with a violent jerk, shouting at everyone to get the fuck out. No one moves. Their hesitation fuels the fire roaring through me, turning it to wildfire.
The jacket is still clenched in my fist, heavy as lead, and all I want is to swing it into someone’s face. My fists fly instead, air splitting around me as I throw punches at ghosts, at anyone stupid enough to step closer. My vision’s gone scarlet, my thoughts gone black. Only one thing remains, the raw need tohurt, to burn down every obstacle until I get to the bastard who dared drag my brother’s name into this.
Dropping low with a roar, I grip the wooden bench and hurl it across the room with every ounce of rage burning inside me. It slams into Coach’s metal grate-caged office with a deafening crash, the sound ricocheting through the locker room but doing nothing to ease the inferno tearing through me. A guttural noise spills from between my clenched teeth, half growl, half sob, raw enough to scrape my throat. My fist connects with a jaw before I can even register whose it is, and the shockwave of bone against bone floods me with a twisted kind of satisfaction. A blood bath is coming, and I’ll be the one to paint the walls.
Two bodies ram into me, smashing me back into the lockers several doors down from mine. Metal bites into my shoulder blades, the clang reverberating up my spine. I thrash wildly, almost managing to shake one off until another pair of hands clamps down on my wrists, dragging my arms wide. Strained voices shout over me, but all I can hear is my own pulse pounding in my skull. I buck against their hold until it finally hits me. This fight is wasted. I need to save the hatred for the bastard who deserves every last shred of it.
The second I stop struggling, I expect them to let me go, but they don’t. Instead, the two in front of me press closer, lowering their heads onto my shoulders, wrapping their arms around my middle like a pair of idiots.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl, trying to shove them off, but their hold only tightens, tangled arms locking me in place like some fucked-up version of family therapy.
“This is the Shadowed Soul way. We hug it out, then fuck shit up,” Huxley grunts.
“That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever heard,” I snap back, pressing my head back against the lockers like I can somehow put distance between myself and whatever the hell this is.
“Barely. I’m not even hard yet.” Garrett lifts his head, earning a sharp slap to the back of his head from his friend, though the bastard chuckles low like he finds himself hilarious. Eventually I realise this isn’t ending until I let it, so I stand there, seething, waiting it out with whatever shred of dignity I can salvage. Coach peeks around the back door, eyes wide, only to duck back again when I bare my teeth in his direction like a cornered dog.
Finally, the pair release me, stepping back with smug grins plastered across their faces like they’ve solved the world’s problems. I roll my neck, flex my fists, and spot the jacket on the floor. Jeremy’s name is there as it always should have been, but now it’s tainted. Marked with the very thing I’ve been running from. I can’t bring myself to let it go, so I scoop it up, clutching it like I’ve won back a piece of him, even if it’s been desecrated.
“Now you’re calmer, let’s think rationally about this,” Garrett says as he and Huxley drag the bench back into place and drop onto it, staring at me like they’re some jury panel. “Who would?—”
“Wavershit, obviously,” I cut in, my voice dripping with venom. The long exhale through my nose is more animal than human.
“Are you sure it’s him?” Huxley asks, and I scoff.
“Of course I’m sure. He’s had it out for me since day one, and he threatened me just yesterday. He…he tried to make a deal with me and I said no.” My eyes burn with unshed tears of frustration. I fucking said no, thinking I had a brighter future here than elsewhere. Yet Harper stabbed me in the back and left me to bleed out.
They exchange glances like they’ve been watching a different game than the one I’ve been living, like from their perch at the back of the bleachers they’ve mistaken my survival for a performance.
“Okay then,” Garrett shrugs, his tone maddeningly casual. “Rule one of revenge, know your target. What does he want, how does he move, where are his weaknesses? You calculate it, then you hit him where it hurts most. So, what can we use against him?”
“We? This is my beef. Stay out of it.” I take two strides, but Huxley appears in front of me. He refuses to let me sidestep around him, carefully easing a hand onto my shoulder.
“I met Jeremy,” he says, the words I never expected to hear. I shake my head, tired of the trickery, sick of people trying to fuck with my mind.
“There’s no way?—”
“We did our trial days together. We would have been in the same year.” The floor seems to tilt under me, my balance knocked sideways. I search Huxley’s eyes for the lie, for the smug flicker of satisfaction that would tell me he’s full of shit, but I don’t find it. His face is open and carrying something close to reverence.
“He talked about you all the time, Clay. Said his little brother was coming up right behind him and how proud he was. You were all he mentioned, every fucking break, every conversation. He kept saying he couldn’t wait for you to walk the same halls, for everyone to see the kid he knew would make it big. Said we’d have to look out for you when you got here.”
