Page 16 of Deafened By Silence
Curling my fingers around the back of Clayton’s neck, I lean forward just enough to offer the invitation of a kiss. He inclines his head and my blood remembers heat. A quiet ache stirs beneath my skin, a hunger not just for closeness but for comfort. I want to be wanted. I want to feel like more than something discarded and damaged.
His fingers skim the edge of my jacket, his palm inching upwards until he closes it around mine, making my breath catch in my throat. I close my eyes needlessly and tilt my head upward just as he gently peels my hand away from his neck.
Bracing his arms tighter around me, Clayton pushes us both from the branch, causing my hair to rise, my gut to plummet and a scream to become caught in my throat. Landing on his feet with bent knees, it takes me a second to release the way I’ve coiled myself around his shoulders. He places me down on shaky legs and steps away immediately, leaving me to steady myself.
Using the briefest of touch to turn me in the opposite direction, he places a hand on my shoulder to direct me forward and walk me through the wood like a dog on a leash. Embarrassment claws at my cheeks, a blush consuming my entire face. My nostrils flare in frustration at the complete fool I’ve just made of myself. The man came to save me and I threw myself at him.Could I be any more desperate?
Shrugging out of his grip, I pull the collar of my jacket higher around my neck and storm onwards. I don’t need to see his body language or hear his false words to understand his kindness was purely for my benefit. And if there’s one thing I hate above all else, it’s other people’s charity. Sure they mean well, using my needs to boost their own self-esteem or to validate all the shittythings they may have done, but this is my life. I’ll fight my own battles, and I’ll manage alone if that’s what it takes.
The moon has decided to finally grace us with its presence, breaking clear of the clouds for long enough to illuminate the woodland around me. Even if I had a choice, we would be walking back in silence as there’s nothing I have to say. Nothing I could hear to make me feel any less like an idiot.
Nevertheless, I sneak a glance back every so often to check Clayton is still following, just in case the crowd of pig-faced jocks return. I hate that I’m still hyper-aware, flinching at the shadows. I hate that I was coaxed into Rhys’ weird hog fantasy. But that’s fine. I can use my humiliation and channel my frustrations for a better cause, one that will see Rhys freezing his balls off and face-down in the mud.
Revenge is a mean bitch, and this one might just be his downfall.
Chapter Eleven
Weaving a cigarette between my fingers, I tune out Professor Hargreaves’ coma-inducing drone and start questioning my life choices. This is the third class I’ve sat through today, all with the same unspoken hope that Harper might show up for reasons I haven’t quite admitted to myself. At first, I’d told myself it was just to see her expression when she realized her worst nightmare was planted in the front row, watching her every time she dared to walk through the door.
But as the day drags its sorry ass forward, I’m starting to wonder if she ever made it out of the woods. Maybe I should’ve sent a search party instead of spending the weekend stoned out of my skull, eating my way through the daily buffet my ever-loyal disciples laid at my feet.
I snort, remembering the way the other stoners had stared at my toffee cheesecake like starving orphans, praying I’d spare them a crumb. I didn’t. I finished every cloying, sickly-sweet bite with the kind of spiteful determination reserved for kings and sociopaths. Even now, the sugar sludge coats the back of my throat like regret, but I devoured that whole damn thing out of principle. The only scraps I leave behind are the ones crying forjust one more taste of my cock. Even that became boring rather quickly, but my reputation needed to be upheld.
Besides, I had cause to celebrate. From the haunted look in Harper’s eyes on the forest floor, she’s probably halfway back to whatever deadbeat town vomited her out, and her no-show today is the confirmation I needed. One small step closer to burning down everything my father built, one scorched soul at a time. Still a mountain to climb, but the smoke at the top is starting to smell a little sweeter.
Although, if I’m being brutally honest, and I always am, some small, pathetic part of me thought she’d put up more of a fight. I’d actually looked forward to dragging this little game out. I guess I overestimated her. Now I’m back to tormenting the scholarship scum, which doesn’t quite thrill me the way it did last week. Back to tedious basketball practices, which did nothing to rid the tension corded tightly between my shoulders. There’s something numb in the predictability of it all.
Even now, as Clayton stares daggers into my back, there’s no sense of accomplishment to help drag me through this lecture. Dude is like a dog with a bone. Just by being in the same room, I can feel his anger rising, tiptoeing closer to breaking point. It’s the only reason I’m still sitting here. Again, the things I do to uphold my hard earned reputation.
Smirk held firmly in place, I slot the cigarette between my lips and lean back, kicking my feet up onto the desk. Flicking open my lighter, a flame snaps to life, burning with that familiar hiss as I spark up and inhale. Professor Hargreaves clocks me immediately, her beady eyes narrowing before she rolls them with theatrical exhaustion and carries on rambling about the effects of embryonic development when exposed to smoke. The irony isn’t lost on me. My smart watch buzzes with a message from Klara, no doubt dripping in desperation, asking to meet later. I delete it without opening.
The door creaks open to my left and my cigarette slips from between my lips before I even register what’s happening. It hits my thigh, ember-side down, searing a hole into my jeans and scorching skin beneath. Fuck,not the Armani. I clamp a hand over the burn, cursing under my breath, but my eyes are already locked on the girl who just walked through the door.
Harper is standing there, pale eyes locked on mine, a scowl possessing her features that is fierce enough to turn a lesser man into dust. But not me, never me. She doesn’t blink, just radiates unfiltered fury so sharp, it cracks through the mundane haze I’d become victim to.
Her legs are clad in high-waisted leggings, a glimpse of abdomen showing beneath a black crop top and leather jacket. Hmm, resilient I see. A purple bruise has bloomed on her forehead and there’s a raw graze across her cheek. I can’t hold back my grin, envisioning her hair matted with dead leaves, her skin coated in filth, tears cutting tracks down her face while she curses my existence in the dark.
“What the hell happened to you? Pick a fight with a tree?” I ask, just loud enough to carry. Harper doesn’t react aside from flipping me off. My chest lightens with giddy excitement. She strides past, keeping her spine straight. And just like that, something shifts in my psyche. Something crazed and dangerous.The game’s back on.
I tune out Hargreaves completely for the rest of class, my hand moving of its own accord as I doodle in the margins of my textbook. A few rough sketches of new tattoo designs. Then, without meaning to, a cartoon Harper strung up like a marionette starts taking shape, her limbs pulled by my inked fingers.
One minute before the end of class, I stand with a tall stretch and saunter to the back of the room just before everyone else begins to pack up and pile out. Perching on the edge ofHarper’s desk, I notice she’s chosen a table in the opposite corner to Clayton.Interesting. They were best buddies the other day. Leaning over her scattered belongings, I spot a small black microphone tucked beside her notebook and lift it between my fingers. My thumb finds the ‘on’ switch.
“I hate to say I told you so,” I say into the mic, amused by her sudden flinch, “but you really should’ve accepted my party invite.” Harper stands, snatching the mic from my grip and shoves it deep into her jacket pocket.
“I have my receivers on, you idiot. And what are you, twelve?” she snaps, pulling on the backpack Igenerouslyhad delivered back to her dorm. She winces, clearly sore beneath her layers of stubborn pride, but it does nothing to quell her set jaw and smart mouth. “Clearly there’s been some gaps in your social maturity, which is evident by your lack of friends.”
I barely have time to frown. Before Harper can slip away, I grab a hold of her wrist and tug her back to face me with enough force to have her between my legs in an instant. Her breath catches somewhere in her throat. Her pulse thrums beneath my fingers, defiance crackling in her eyes like live wire.
Clayton is over her shoulder in the next second, his black eyes blazing with the promise of pain I would enjoy more than he can comprehend. Ignoring him, I center my attention on Harper. She lifts her chin defiantly, my dick jumping at the sight.
“I have friends,” I scoff, sounding every bit like the petulant child she’s painting me to be. “So many, I don’t even know any of their names.”
Harper just shrugs, twisting her wrist free from my grip. She steps back and collides with Clayton’s chest. I watch amused, as her whole body tenses. She whips around with a snarl and shoves him as far as he’s willing to move. A standoff takes place, the two of them locked in some silent tug-of-war I’m suddenly excluded from. Harper decides to ignore Clayton but findsherself still boxed in on both sides with no room to breathe. She releases a pitiful sigh.
“Whatever.” Those green eyes roll. “All I know is, I’d rather have no friends than fake ones. If you went bankrupt overnight, I wonder how many of yourfriendswould still be there in the morning.”
Her words sink into me before I can swat them away. The thought of waking up broke and alone in an empty frat house with echoes for company doesn’t sit well. I chew my lip ring like it’ll anchor me back into the version of myself that doesn’t care.
