Page 22 of Deafened By Silence
Yanking my hand back in disgust, or at least what I tell myself is disgust, I catch his eyes waiting for my reaction. With a sigh and a roll of my eyes, I jab a finger toward my phone on the front desk and return to ignoring him. The lessons are fast-paced, and I’m determined to keep up from now on. Not that my partner has any intention of letting that happen. Rhys leans in and grips my thighs with both hands, spinning me on the stool until I’m facing him.
“How does it all work?”His hands remain on my legs, warmth bleeding through the denim. I try to loosen his grip, but he’s deceptively strong for someone with such a lean frame. I give up. For once, his cocky smile is absent, and there’s a flicker of something real in his eyes.
“Microphones transmit sound via Bluetooth directly into my inner ear through an implanted disc. Same with music,” I say, shrugging like it’s nothing. Turning back toward the front, his hands shift fast enough to make me flinch. One cradles my jaw, the other pushes my hair aside, his thumb dragging acrossthe metal disc beneath the skin behind my ear. A shiver rolls through me. I’ve never shown anyone before, let alone had someone touch it with inked fingers and quiet curiosity.
I stay still while he explores it, not entirely comfortable, but enjoying the attention far more than I should. Around us, no one seems to notice. The class goes on like this is just Rhys being Rhys. Eventually, his hands fall away, and he studies me with a tilted head.
“That’s actually pretty awesome.” His voice carries a genuine note, and the surprise in his own expression confirms it. I shrug again. Maybe it sounds cool to others, but for me, it was just survival.
“I don’t like to wear the aids. This way makes me feel a bit more—” I stop myself. His blue eyes wait for me to finish. “—normal.” Clearing my throat, I pull my notepad closer and try to catch up on what I’ve missed. Most of it doesn’t make sense, but I jot it all down anyway. If Rhys keeps this up, I’ll be in the library for the fourth night this week.
“So for today, you’ll be investigating the components of plasma and how we can isolate the fibrinogen using real blood samples, essentially turning it into serum. Make sure to include in your findings how this could be applied in a case study situation.” Peterson smiles like it’s all straightforward and starts handing out sealed vials of blood to each table.
“Is this human blood?” I ask, holding the tube up and squinting at the thick red liquid inside.
“No. We were able to trade some equipment with the veterinary medicine department for rodent samples,” Peterson replies, already moving back to the front of the room. Rhys nudges me with the back of his hand.
“Yeah, we’ve got our very own rat expert in the house,” he says, bobbing his eyebrows in the direction of the red-haired boy in the row behind. “Dickerson knows ’em inside and out.” Rhyswinks as I cringe at what he’s implying. I glance at poor Kenneth, who looks like he might cry, then shove Rhys hard enough to knock him sideways on his stool before going back to work.
With my head down, I jot down every fact I can remember about blood before twisting off the cap and pouring the sample into a test tube on the wooden rack. Rhys leans close enough that I can feel his breath against my cheek, but I ignore him. Grabbing a second vial, I repeat the process, lifting a pipette to collect a drop for the glass slide. That’s when Rhys knocks the entire rack over.
I jerk back as blood spills across the table, soaking my notepad and dripping onto the floor in syrupy red lines. Rhys stays perfectly calm, dragging his middle finger through the mess to draw a lazy figure of eight before finally looking at me.
“Don’t ever ignore me again.”
Finding my resolve, I pout and give him my most lethal puppy-dog eyes.
“Aww, did the wittle wich boy not get enough attention growing up?” I mock, laying it on thick with a baby voice before straightening up, sharpening my expression. Rhys might not have met his match before, but he’s met it now. He’ll learn soon enough that I’m not someone he can intimidate.
I don’t even see Rhys move, I only feel his bloodied hand slide around my throat, his long fingers tightening at my pulse. His eyes, blue and ice cold, bore into mine with a solid resolve. Peterson has gone strangely silent, and for a second, everything seems to freeze. Then, in a blur of motion, Rhys is wrenched from his seat and collides with the solid chest of Clayton, who is suddenly standing between us.
I peek around his wide frame to see, but I didn’t need to. Clay slams Rhys down onto the blood-covered work surface like a ragdoll. The glass beakers shatter beneath Rhys’ back, not thathe appears to have felt it. An easy smile spreads across his face, despite the thickly corded, veined arm pinning him in place.
Clayton bends low, speaking words I can’t hear, but whatever they are makes Rhys’ smile slip. He releases him with a final shove into the tabletop and walks away without so much as a glance in my direction. Rhys slips off the desk, grabs my stool from where it must have landed, and slides back into his seat like nothing happened, swinging a look my way.
“Sit down, Babygirl, we have work to do.” I gape, not realizing I was out of my seat. Rhys snaps his fingers high in the air, and a group of students—mostly girls—swarm in to clean up the mess and replace our equipment. Peterson arrives with a fresh set of vials, casting a wary glance at me while Rhys is distracted. I watch him closely, signaling with my expression, ‘where the fuck were you three minutes ago?’. Regardless, Peterson retreats, and I’m left beside a madman, pretending my fingers aren’t trembling as I open a brand-new notepad and begin to write again.
This time, Rhys is the perfect lab partner, calmly dividing the vials into test tubes and pushing the microscope over so I can examine his first sample. He doesn’t speak again, at least not that I can hear, only pointing out my incorrect notes or signaling when I should record our findings. The curiosity is eating at me, gnawing beneath my skin like an itch I can’t reach, needing to know what changed everything so suddenly.
“What did Clayton say to you?” I finally cave. If there’s a magic spell or a safe word or a voodoo combination that unlocks the cooperative side of Rhys Waversea, I need it. Rhys chews on his lip ring, considering his answer but when he opens his mouth, Peterson’s voice cuts into my head.
“Harper, Rhys, can I see you both at the front?” I glance up to see the professor holding two assignments, his brows pullingtogether as he looks between the pages and then directly at us. “Seems like I’ve got the same essay from the both of you.”
My stomach flips and my jaw goes slack, heat crawling up my neck.Oh no. The first time I’ve ever cheated in my life, and I’ve already been caught. Rhys will be fine, but I won’t. A mark on my record, a formal reprimand maybe? Panic spreads like wildfire, tightening my chest with shame and dread.
I glance toward Clayton, hoping for something, anything, but he just stares back blankly. After a beat, he turns to his beakers and resumes his work. I have to stop my mouth from dropping open. So much for his protection. Flames lick at my cheeks as I face forward, inhaling deeply and bracing myself to get up and walk to the Dean’s office.
“That’s on me, I’m afraid.” Rhys suddenly stands, his voice clear enough to be picked up by my mic. I whip my head toward him as he strides up and plucks one of the assignments from Peterson’s hand. “I cornered the new girl and made her print me a second copy. Didn’t think you’d actually notice, so props to you.”
He pats Peterson’s shoulder with mock praise before turning to me with a wicked smirk. I figured Rhys would return to the table, but he opts for a dramatic exit instead. His gaze pins me on the way out, the classroom fading around us. Only his sharp grin and the threat in his eyes remain. Those slanted lips move and even from here I can tell, it’s only for my benefit.
“Now you owe me.”
Chapter Fifteen
I was murder-level pissed about Clayton ruining my Hugo Boss polo today, until a sweet little prize landed in my lap. Or rather, was swiped by my hand.
Striding out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel around my waist, I snigger again at the ridiculous stream of messages lighting up Harper’s phone. The nonstop vibrating is edging into harassment territory. Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I scoff with a mix of humor and disgust, marveling once again at Harper’s lack in security.
