Page 12 of Deafened By Silence
Just breathe, Harper.
It’s probably best this way. Once the fascination has passed, everyone can go back to ignoring me and I can have a half-decent college experience from the shadows. Wait, no. That’s not why I came here. I won’t hide. I will thrive on their misconceptions, prove to everyone I don’t need my hearing to succeed.
Squaring my shoulders, I throw the door open and come nose to nose with a blue-eyed glare that could cut glass. I recognize her as the girl hanging from Rhys’ arm. Her hairshines like liquid gold spilling onto her unnecessarily exposed cleavage. Her pink lipstick matches the barbie-style mini dress she must be freezing in beneath a white fur coat, but her hands-on-hips stance doesn’t show it.
When she doesn’t move or speak, I step around her until she snatches my arm tight enough for her talons to mark my leather jacket.
“What the hell is your problem?” I yell. She grabs a chunk of my hair to tug me back to face her sneer, her chest heaving.
“Keep your hands and eyes off my boyfriend,” she barks. I’m momentarily struck speechless, unsure at what point of the exchange in the cafeteria she thought I was making a move on Rhys.
“Are you serious right now?!” Twisting my hair free, I shove her hard. She stumbles in her heeled boots, knocking against the basins. “Trust me, he’s all yours. Every bitter word and pathetic payback. You suit each other.”
Her screech hurts my head as she lunges for me again, but I manage to duck aside and witness her falling into the cubicle doors. Leaving her screaming behind the closed door, I jog through the now empty hallway to class.
I’m not used to so much, if any, drama before ten in the morning but at least it’s done with now. No more lies or secrets. Everything is out in the open for the world to take or leave, I’m just going to keep being me. At least I have the distraction of Biochem and an afternoon of lectures to distract me.
Reaching the lab, I mutter an apology for being late, turning on my phone’s mic and placing the device on the professor’s desk. Rushing for my usual stool, I pull up short to find it occupied by the still-bare tattooed torso I was hoping to avoid. Thrumming his tattooed fingers on the desk, Rhys is smirking mischievously as Peterson walks over to greet me.
“Ahh, there you are.” The professor shifts from foot to foot nervously, his hands wringing the edge of his white coat. “Master Waversea has decided to rejoin our classes, and has requested you to be his lab partner for the remainder of this semester.”
Rhys’s smile grows impossibly wider, his lip ring glinting in the light. I’m sure it’s thrilling to have the power to control people like puppets, or to have the amount of money that makes others feel inferior. But if there’s one lessonMaster Waverseais going to learn today, it’s that I won’t be intimidated or bought by him.
“Is that so? Well, unfortunately, I would like a partner who will put in half the effort so I’ll graciously decline.”
Rhys’s eyebrow raises but he only appears more interested as I curtsey in mockery. Peterson’s voice fills my head and blocks out everyone else as I stride through the tables, heading for an empty stool at the back of the room.
Taking my notebook and highlighters from my bag, I sit to listen to the lecture, despite the prickling apprehension I’m being watched. A certain type of heat is beaming over the left side of my face, drawing my attention to my neighbor. My gut flips and the air locks in my lungs.
Orbs of onyx black trap me, holding me captive. Stubble trails his strong jawline, his full lips sit slightly parted. His blond hair is trapped beneath a beanie hat, like the first time I laid eyes on him.
“-did you catch that, Miss Addams?” Peterson’s voice filling my head jars me from my exploration of Clayton’s broad shoulders in an army jacket. Giving myself a little shake, I quickly relay the parts which filtered through my daze and he continues his lesson with a small nod. Daring another look sideways, Clayton has hunched over his workbook in a way that totally blocks me from his view.
That’s for the best. My libido is telling me all sorts of conflicting stories right now.
I lose myself in the study of enzyme reaction rates, preferring what’s written in black and white. What’s clinical and factual. I underline keywords in violet, highlight transitions in gold, and circle concepts I don’t quite grasp yet, etching asterisks in the margins to come back to later. Thankfully, time slips past unnoticed, my page now a battlefield of arrows and color-coded logic.
It’s only when a wall of bodies blocks the whiteboard that I realize the lesson’s over. Chairs scrape. Voices rise. The lecture hall begins to empty, everyone knowing they have other places to be. Except for Rhys.
Spinning around on his stool, he kicks his feet up on the desk and watches me, his usual smirk in place. I try to ignore him, but as the class files out, my attention is drawn back to the way he is dragging his thumb along his bottom lip. Peterson rushes passed in a flurry of white, dropping my phone before me and scurrying out of a fire door at the back of the room as if a bomb is about to detonate. Perhaps I should take the hint.
“It’s about time you fucked off too,” Rhys’s deep voice makes me jump as it filters across the room. Opening my mouth in protest, movement shifts to my left and I realize Mr. Broad and Brooding is still sitting beside me.
“Nah, I’m good here,” Clayton replies, nonchalantly. His voice sounds much louder as my phone is sitting directly between us, his rich baritone rolling through my skull. It’s smooth, and considering it’s the first time I’ve heard him speak, rather delicious. Enough of that.
Deactivating my phone’s mic, I switch to my receivers. My hair rustles against them in a way that still makes me cringe. Rhys pushes himself upright and moves towards us in a slow prowl, knocking every book off each desk as he goes. Stopping atthe edge of my table, Rhys cracks his inked fingers together in a clear threat, his eyes narrowing on the guy to my left.
“I said, fuck off.”
“And I said no.”
I barely manage to suppress the shudder that rolls down my spine. Attempting to rise from my stool, a hand from either side lashes out to clamp down on my shoulder or thigh to hold me in place. I gasp, both at the atmosphere and at their desires to keep me here, acting as the buffer between them. Heat oozes from each tensed palm, colliding with a mix of raw masculine power and a darker undertone. The air crackles with tension as the moment stretches out, the feeling that I’m a chunk of meat sitting in the middle of two lions seeping into my bones.
Eventually, Rhys releases my shoulder and slides himself forwards until he’s resting on his forearms on the desk in front of me, his face inches from mine. With the slightest tilt of his head to look directly into my eyes, his lips are merely a breath away.
“Tell him to leave,” he says in a little more than a whisper. The hand on my thigh retracts, Clayton’s back straightening in determination as if he’s decided to remain no matter what I say. Opening and closing my mouth, I give Rhys a barely visible shake of my head which causes him to sigh dramatically. Then the smile rolls back around, this one holding the threat of malice.
“Oh, Babygirl. I don’t think you meant to, but you’ve just picked a side. And it’s the wrong one.”
