Page 72 of Dangerous Silence
I had always been a walking contradiction, full of the need to rebel against my dad, and to respect what he had taught me: how important it was to go to school, to find a good job, to always trust in justice, to believe in right and wrong. But criminal justice classes seemed pointless now, and yet I went to the lectures anyway. The professor had a slideshow, which switched from words and bullet points to generic pictures of models dressed as criminals. A burglar in a ski mask. A violent criminal with a chain resting on his shoulders. A serial killer in a hockey mask. Part of me wondered if the professor was ever a professional, or if he was a grad student scraping by on a temporary position.
“Nature versus nurture is always the argument. Sometimes, it’s about the environment, but sometimes, it’s in their blood,” the lecturer said. I perked up. In their blood? “It’s a part of human nature. Violence and peace must have an equilibrium. So—”
“Isn’t that a little outdated?” a student said. “That’s the antiquated and oppressive thinking that puts criminals in jail for miscellaneous—”
“All I’m saying is that some people arebornsadistic,” the lecturer said. “That’s what I meant. Sadism is a part of human nature.”
The lecturer’s way of thinking seemed too simple, too… defined. Criminals, like Axe—likeevery person alive,really—had messy lives. You couldn’t narrow it down to nature versus nurture. That implied clear cut definitions and an easy view of the world. Like everything could be fixed.
And maybe that was what my problem was. I was trying to fix a man who wasn’t broken. Why couldn’t I accept him for who he was? What was holding me back?
I stayed outside of the lecture hall, leaning against the old building. It was painted a pale pink and white, and reminded me of Sour Times Casino, except it was bigger, cleaner, and I could actually breathe inside of it. And still, my mind went to Axe.
But maybe that lecturer did have a point. Maybe Axe was born with a sadistic streak, one that screamed until he quenched its thirst, drowning it in the quiet. Maybe Dad had a sadistic streak too.
Maybe I did.
I thought about the second time I was grounded. At my private grade school, an upperclassman had picked on one of my friends, and instead of telling the headmaster, I punched the girl, square in the jaw, giving her a bruise that lasted a week. Right before I did it, this strange memory kept repeating in my head. Dad talking to Mom:I’m going to teach them a lesson with my fists. With my bare hands, baby.Dad had been so adamant about it and hadn’t known I was listening from my bedroom.
And so, it seemed like a logical step to hit her in the face. To teach her a lesson. She never messed with my friend again, but I was suspended and on the verge of expulsion. Now that I thought of it, I should have been expelled. Maybe Dad’s association with the Adlers was why I was able to stay.
With my bare hands,he had said, with blood in his eyes. How had I missed it?
After that, Dad made me sit in the corner for a month. Ate my dinners there. Did my homework. Slept. Everything in that corner. And then he put me in kickboxing lessons. He wanted me to release my aggression and stressed that I had to learn to respect authority.If something is wrong, you don’t use your fists,he had said,You go to the headmaster.
But what happened when authority wasn’t around anymore? What if the sadistic streak ran in my blood too?
I got up, heading back to the dorm room. Maybe I wasn’t a sadist, but I did have an impulse to fight. And if that’s what was in Dad’s blood, and Axe’s too, then how could I judge them, when Dad had raised Axe and me? Maybe I was only trying to change Axe because I was ashamed of myself. Of what it meant to be an enforcer’s daughter. To be in love with a murderer.
I wouldn’t always understand Axe’s reasons, but I knew he always had them. Always.
Like he had his reason for leaving me.
Maybe he wanted to protect me.
As I made my way across campus, I felt lighter. It didn’t matter if Axe loved me back. What mattered was that I did what was right for myself, and that meant learning not to judge him, or anyone else, on what I didn’t know or understand. Everyone had their reasons. Including Axe. And me.
And I wanted to help Axe.
In the dorm, my roommate, Olivia, snickered. “Still got your V-card, huh?” she said laughing to herself, pointing at my hair. “You know, Tommy said he’d take it from you. But when he heard you dye your hair to get attention, he thought you might be a little too clingy.”
She tossed her hair behind her shoulders, fixing her lip gloss. I balled my fists.
Maybe it was okay to break the rules. At least sometimes. Because sometimes, you had your reasons. Violence wasn’talwaysthe answer, but sometimes, it just felt good.
But that didn’t mean I had to fight like that. I could fight likeme. And that was okay.
“I’m on my way to report you to the Office of Judicial Affairs for bullying,” I said. “Get enough of those, and something’s gotta give.” I grabbed my duffel bag, leaving my backup on the bed. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
Her jaw gaped. “What’s the matter with you?” she stumbled over her words. “You’re going to reportme? But I did nothing.”
“I’m not the only one who thinks you did.”
“Now you’re bullyingme, Demi.”
She kept yelling, but I tuned her out and left.
The whole mess with the Adlers and Miles Muro was more than a report to the Office of Judicial Affairs could handle, but I had faith that I could help the Adlers, in my own way. Maybe if I brought in help from outside of Brackston, I could make a difference. The Brackston police were part of Muro’s territory, but Pebble Garden was a sleepy college town. There was no reason for Muro to take an interest here.
