Page 42 of Deafened By Silence
Noticing my poor effort to ignore the tattooed, entitled prince beside me, Clay shifts his notepad in my direction so I can copy from him, a note written in the corner.
Try to concentrate. He’ll leave once he’s bored.
Noting my small smile and nod, Rhys sits forward too, his breath ghosting over my cheek. His chest rumbles against my shoulder, before he takes my notebook and tears a page clean out. I try to protest but he steals the pen from my hand, since he didn’t bring anything to class except himself and his shaker bottle.
I’m always bored. And I’m not leaving.
Narrowing my eyes, I snatch my pen and paper back. I suppose we’re doing this, but it’s better than sitting here and pretending my temperature isn’t hiking higher and higher. Thatthe men closing in on me aren’t forcing my thighs to clench harder to try and give my libido some sort of relief.
Save the playground games for the courtyard. We’re trying to focus here.
Sliding the paper to Rhys, he holds his hands up in defeat and twists himself away, hunched over the page. I exhale, glad for the reprieve of his attention. Clay rolls his eyes and offers me a pen, since Rhys has apparently now stolen mine, and finally I manage to get some notes down. Assessments are on the horizon and I can’t afford to fall behind. I can’t keep allowing the distractions to win.
Peterson drones on about cellular pathways, the rest of the students with their heads down in concentration. The redheaded boy a few rows in front has peered back twice, trying to catch Clay’s eye but it’s clear, to me at least, that he’s being ignored. The end of class looms nearer and I’m starting to think we’re going to make it out of here unscathed, until Rhys slams his piece of paper over my notes. For a second, I consider not looking, just pushing it away. But curiosity wins, dragging my eyes down.
My stomach plummets.
Rhys has sketched in brutal, vulgar detail. I didn’t know he had such an artistic streak. A girl unmistakably drawn with my hair and my curves is kneeling between his thighs, her lips wrapped around his cock. We’re both completely naked, my breasts marked with his teeth imprints, tears streaming from my wide eyes. Rhys has given himself no shortage of muscle, ribbed abs and thick veins all heading south to his huge girth. It appears my jaw is dislocated just to take him all the way in, drool seeping out.
His smirk is scribbled perfectly, mocking even on paper, one hand gripping her hair so tight it looks painful. Scrawled in the margin are crude little notes.Babygirl on her knees. Knows howto beg. Mouth made for me.The man beside me grins wide, leaning in close to lick the shell of my ear.
I jolt aside, quickly hiding the page beneath the table, but it’s too late. Clay has seen it. His face has frozen over, jaw tight as his arm withdraws from the back of my chair. The tendons in his neck strain, his fists curling so tight that his knuckles turn white. The look he throws at Rhys is nothing short of feral, and I shrink back in my seat. There’s no use trying to be a barrier between them now, Rhys has gone too far.
“Outside. Now.” Clayton states from silent lips, his chest rumbling.
“Clay, it’s not worth it,” I whisper, wrapping a hand around his thigh. I might as well not exist, his black eyes glimmering with the promise of bloodshed. Shaking his head, Clay nudges my hand free.
“No one disrespects you.” Rising to stand, Rhys does the same until the two are towering over me. I hear the screeches of chairs and the following whispers drifting to Peterson’s mic, the man himself finally aware of what’s happening in the back of his class. He gapes at me, unsure whether to intervene or run for assistance. Every student in the room is looking back, some lifting their phones. I pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
A hand touches my hair and I flinch, blinking up to see Rhys grinning down at me. His fingers curl behind my ear and dip to my jaw, tilting me up to watch him speak.
“Harper loves being disrespected. Don’t you, Babygirl?” he says, and I slam my eyes closed. Rhys is torn from me a moment later. I feel the vibrations of furniture crashing through the legs of my chair, distantly hearing them through the microphone.
For reasons I don’t care to explain, as I rush to grab my stuff, the drawing is also shoved into my backpack. Twisting away, I take the safe route to the front desk and snatch my mic,hooking it on the neckline of my t-shirt. The rest of class have congregated by the white board, deeming that as a safe space. I look up in time to see Clayton throw Rhys through the door and into the hallway.
The crowd rushes to follow whilst I stand there and groan at the ceiling. I take it back, I didn’t bring this on myself. I’m just the newest fascination in their lengthy rivalry. Left alone with Peterson and the redheaded boy still sitting at his desk, diligently writing away, I look for an escape. There’s no way I’m going into that hallway to separate those two when they are in full dog-pissing mode. They’re fully grown men who can make their own choices. I’ll just deal with the aftermath later.
“Ah hem, Miss Addams?” Peterson steps closer, his expression closed off. “To put it plainly, Mr. Michaels is one of my top students. I’m afraid to say, if you cannot keep from being a distraction, I may have to suggest some other type of provision for you to the Dean.” My mouth drops open.
Me? I’m the distraction?! It’s Rhys who is the distraction, doing everything in his power to see me fail before I’ve even started.
Peterson doesn’t wait for a response, lifting his laptop bag and pushing his way through those blocking the doorway. I stand there, dumbfounded, my face blazing. How dare Peterson blame me for the circus happening outside. All I’ve done is keep my head down whilst struggling to keep up, clinging to every sliver of information I can grasp onto. I cast a glance over the lab, setting my jaw with the wrath of an underestimated woman.
If Peterson thinks I’m a distraction, then I might as well be one.
Beyond the redhead, the counters are lined with glassware and half-used solutions from the last demonstration. I approach the workstation nearest the window, the pulse in my throatkicking up a beat. Without considering the consequences, I dive in, fueled by stubbornness.
My hands move without reservation, uncapping one and pouring another. Silly little dumb deaf girl somehow knows what solutions will react with each other. Which liquid will act as a catalyst. Oh, how stupid it would be of me to tip this vial into that beaker. A hiss sounds through my receivers, the mixture bubbling within the beaker. It would be foolish to uncap the sodium and pour the entire lot in, I think as I do it. Oops, what an air head I am.
There’s a moment of quiet around me, the hiss fading out just long enough for me to come to my senses.Oh shit.The glass vibrates just before it shatters, shooting glass in all directions. I scream at the small lacerations cutting across my arms and cheeks, not noticing the gloopy liquid trailing along the countertop, directly for the basin. I blink up too late, my heart lurching at the pouring faucet. I’m sure it wasn’t on a moment ago. Before I can shout nitric acid, the mixture drips into the basin and I dive for cover as a hollow boom denotes behind me.
Beneath the nearest table, I cower from the chaos I’ve created. Light flashes and crackles, liquid hissing where it spits against tile, floor and tabletop. My arms curl tight over my head, lungs burning from the chemical sting in the air. For a second, I am ten years old again, pressed between my parents in the car, sound crashing within my skull, everything breaking and the searing burn of pain consuming me. Unable to draw breath, unable to scream, I wait for the black out.
Instead, two solid walls slam into me from either side. Strong arms wrap around my body, Clay dragging me back against his chest. Rhys shoves in from the other side, swearing under his breath as a second beaker explodes behind him. I’ve set off a chain reaction, slowly eating its way across the counter and combusting everything in its way. I hide my face in Rhys’shoulder, his hands clasping over my ears as he kneels before me. It’s a useless endeavor, but the notion warms me all the same.
Their rivalry dissolves as they cover me, fighting with their own desperation to shield me. Clay’s heart hammers against my back, Rhys’s breath ragged near my temple.
The table rattles above us, another shard skittering down the slope of the metal leg. My breath saws sharp through my throat, every nerve ending alight with pain old and new. Memories contort the room around me, the edges of the car pressing in, my parents shouting to keep down, stay strong. That’s how I know it’s not real. They didn’t get the chance to mutter anything, the crash too sudden and devastating. Burning tears stream down my face, mixing with the small cuts and stinging slightly.
