Page 32 of Deafened By Silence
The flare in my nostrils is instinctive. I take the coffee from her hand and burn my tongue on the first sip, but at least the heat covers the metallic taste of blood still pooling at the corner of my mouth.
“Don’t thank me yet. I have plans for you later,” I reply gruffly. Harper doesn’t show any reaction, most likely because she can’t hear the threat in my tone. I haven’t fully decided what those plans are, but I’m certain Harper won’t like any of it. Whether I like it or not, Harper stirs something dangerous in me, something possessive that does not just want to win, but to take. To overcome. To own.
Turning to leave, I stop her by grabbing her wrist and pushing the coffee back into her hand.
“Wait.” Reaching behind my neck, I pull the collar of my jersey over my head in one motion, cool air skating across the sweat covering my chest and abs. I fight a shiver, soaking in the blessing of an early winter evening. Shoving my jersey between us, I exchange it for the cup.
“You’re wearing this tonight. Nothing underneath.” Harper’s gaze drops to the jersey and she turns it over in her hand.
“There’s blood on it.”
“Then wash it, but that is your outfit. Got it?” A beat passes between us, my heckles raised and ready for this fight. However, for once, she doesn’t argue. I must look deadly serious. Harper disappears around the building with my jersey in hand whilst I’m left grappling with warm fuzzies spreading through my insides. That heat gives me a false sense of reality, the need for power overriding my brain. I don’t even realize I’m shivering until Klara bursts out of the rear door and asks me if I’ve fallen ill. I believe I have, fallen victim to a virus that smiles sweetly and then whips the world out from beneath my feet.
Running a hand through my sweat ridden hair, I head in the direction of my house. Klara rushes to keep up. “Where’s your shirt?!” she continues to badger me with questions that I continue to ignore. My steps are clipped, the shower calling my name. Specifically, an ice cold one to rid me of the lasting tension riding my dick.
Just a few more hours, I tell myself. Then I will be done with Harper. My attention has never lasted long enough to enjoy the same girl more than twice. I just need to cut off this game of cat and mouse and take back the reins Harper has stolen from me. Steal back the control she’s somehow gained.
Chapter Twenty
Your New Master: If you’re not in front of me in the next five minutes, I’ll come find you and drag you here myself.
I stare down at the message on my phone with one eyebrow raised. Rhys must have added his number to my contacts when he stole my phone, adding a profile picture of his tongue toying with his lip ring. I thought I’d broken through a barrier earlier, somehow managing to bend his will and then reward him like a pup with a treat. Although, now I’m becoming more than fashionably late to his party, the beast seems to be rising back to the surface.
I toss my phone onto the dresser beside my receivers, not about to let him boss me around like he does with the rest of this school. After the disaster that was today’s game, I had anticipated his mood, but he’s going to learn that no matter the circumstances, I am not one of his subjects.
My fingers drum against my thigh as I turn in a slow circle. I’m stalling, waiting for Addy to return from drama club and talk me out of wearing the jersey that is now air-drying overmy headboard. Call me weak but the breakthrough with Rhys this afternoon doesn’t fill me the same stubbornness to fight his every whim. For tonight at least. I’m generous like that. A flash of white catches my eye, a piece of paper slipping beneath the door. I bend to pick it up, reading the scrawled message.
‘Have fun at the party.’
I open the door, finding no one in sight. Leaning forward, my toe nudges a small pink gift bag on the doorstep, a big bow tying the handles together. I return inside, planting the gift bag on my dresser to consider it.
So much for Addy being my last line of defense. She must be running really late and feeling extremely guilty to have someone run this up to me. We’d planned to get ready and head over to the party together. I suppose I’ll have to dig deep and find the resolve to go on my own.
Untying the bow, I pull out a tub labeled ‘Hair Mask’ along with a spotty shower cap. The directions say, ‘Apply generously and leave for fifteen minutes for a luxurious shine.’ I glance at the time on my phone, deciding I’m already late so there’s no reason not to squeeze in a quick shower since Addy went to this much effort.
In the communal bathroom, where the mirror is fogged over and steam is curling around my shoulders, I smooth the mask from root to tip, applying generously as instructed, and twist up into the shower cap. The heat from the cubicles makes the clinical scent bloom and my nose itch, but that must mean it’s working. Everyone is in full pre-party prep mode, so I patiently wait my turn. Setting a timer, I sit on the countertop by the basin, shaving my legs while a R&B mix plays in my inner ears. My timer goes off by the time I finish both legs and my underarms, and still none of the showers are free. I suppose a few extra minutes won’t hurt, I’ll just be extra silky smooth. My mind runs away with me, the thought of Rhys’ tattooed fingersrubbing the strands of my hair seeming all too appealing until a cubicle door opens.
Finally. I wash and rinse until the water runs clear, wrap my hair in a towel, and hum softly as I pad back into the room. The music in my ears is louder now, the bass thumping through my skull. My scalp is tingling and the smell isn’t as pleasant as I’d hoped, but I’m not going to complain. Swinging the dorm room door open, I smile to find Addy is back. Flushed from the cold with a scarf around her neck, she quickly finger signs and apology for being so late. I wave her off and drag the towel from my head. Her fingers freeze in mid-air.
What happened to your hair?Addy slowly asks, her eyes wide. I frown.
“I used the mask you left me,” I say, my voice faltering as I glance down. The strands are… lighter. Not just lighter. Patchy. My dark brown is now a mix of uneven caramel streaks and brassy orange chunks, the kind of color you’d get from a box left too long in the sun.
Addy’s brows furrow, her head turning to the pink gift bag on the dresser. She shakes her head hard and signs,That is not from me.
The sound of the music filtering into my ears becomes too much so I grab my phone and shut off the background noise, turning on my mic app instead. My pulse races as I turn toward the mirror. Addy comes up behind me, unable to hide her uneasy expression.
“You didn’t happen to piss off Klara Kavanagh, did you? Bleach in a hair mask tub is her calling card. She nearly sent one of her cheerleaders bald once for hooking up with Rhys after a cheer rally.”
The streaks catch the overhead light in ugly flashes, my hands curling into the towel still damp with bleach-scentedwater. I knew it didn’t smell right, but I’ve never dyed my hair before. Damn homeschooled naivety.
“Klara,” I grit out. My eyes fall on the jersey strewn across my headboard. The party is happening right now, and I bet Klara’s smug smile is probably somewhere in that crowd, making a fool of herself for Rhys’ attention. She thought she could trick me into missing the party, or push me out of Rhys’ life. I’m afraid to say that stubborn streak is back in full force and I won’t be doing either of those things. Quite the opposite actually.
Climbing the steps of Rhys’ frat house, I flick my hair over my shoulder and straighten my spine. Beneath my leather jacket, the jersey clings to me. Transformed into something closer to a dress thanks to the belt cinched at my waist, its hem brushes my thighs. The chestnut cowboy boots Addy lent me hit the floor with a confident knock of the wedge heel. My entire look and posture strikes out with a level of conviction that I hope slaps Klara across the face. She meant to drag me down, but Addy has worked her magic and elevated me to another level instead.
Her pink hair dye now runs from my roots to the gentle curls sitting on my chest, soft rose ribbons blending through the hot pink strands like highlights. To anyone who didn’t see the disaster an hour ago, it looks intentional. Addy links her arm through mine, her smile giving me an extra boost of courage.
Crowds spill across the front lawn, making out or dancing to the silent music I assume is blasting through the open windows. The porch is crammed with bodies shoving in and out of thedoorway, red cups in hand. I sign to Addy,Drink first, and we push our way inside.
