Dead Silence
Page 11
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Gemma looked up as she opened the cover to her binder, which was an embossed alligator print that matched her book bag. Violet rolled her eyes and made her way toward the only other open seat in the lab.
But she faltered mid-step when she saw who was sitting in the spot beside it.
Grady Spencer.
Grady, who Violet had known since elementary school . . . who she’d played tag with on the playground and ridden bikes with and learned to skip rocks with at the lake.
He was all those things, and more. But he was also the same Grady Spencer who’d tried to kiss her last year . . . even after she told him she didn’t want to be kissed. Even after she insisted he stop. He’d been aggressive and forceful, and had crammed his tongue inside her mouth. Even now the memory made her heart race and her palms sweat.
Seeing him there, she felt trapped.
Grady hadn’t noticed her, as he dug through his backpack, his gaze down. But he would . . . any second now. And then he’d see the panic on her face, and he’d know that he was the one who’d caused it.
She wondered why she even cared what Grady thought. He had caused it. It was his fault she felt this way. His fault she stood frozen in the middle of the classroom, unable to take another step. Unable to even think.
Maybe he should know how she felt about him. How torn she was between the Grady he’d once been when they were kids . . . and the Grady who’d pawed at her, drunken and belligerent, refusing to believe she didn’t want him the way he wanted her.
She looked around, sure that everyone must be watching her now. How could they not be? How could they not see the dread coming off her in anxious waves?
But they weren’t. No one in the class even glanced her way.
Except for Gemma.
Gemma was watching her, her expression more intrigued than usual. Her lips taut and her eyes intensely curious.
And something else. Something more . . .
Violet wasn’t sure what it was she saw there. If it had been anyone other than Gemma, she would’ve thought it was worry. But this was Gemma she was talking about.
Violet blinked, certain her imagination must be playing tricks on her. Certain it was merely the panic of facing Grady, distorting her perception and screwing with her mind.
But when she looked again, it was still there, the look. And this time she was convinced it had to be real.
And then Gemma did something else unexpected. Violet watched in disbelief as the other girl reached over and removed her book bag from the chair. After a moment, probably only the span of a breath really, when Violet didn’t react, Gemma lifted her eyebrows and nodded toward the empty chair beside her.
And Violet knew: Gemma was telling her to sit in the open spot.
But why? Violet wondered, even as she backtracked in her own footsteps, trying not to breathe an audible sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be forced to sit next to Grady.
It didn’t matter really. Violet didn’t have the luxury of being choosy; she took the seat wordlessly, not sure what she could say to the other girl.
She frowned as she pulled out her own spiral notebook—a plain one with a flimsy green cover—and dropped her backpack on the floor. She knew how Gemma felt about her.
What was it she’d said exactly, that Violet reeked of the dead? Was that how all empaths felt about her? That she carried the scent of death on her wherever she went? She supposed she’d have to wait until she met another empath, someone who could sense the emotions of those around them, to find out. So far, Gemma was the only one she knew.
She glanced sideways at the blonde girl, who was staring straight ahead now, almost as if she were intentionally ignoring Violet. In spite of herself, Violet couldn’t stop from asking, “Why?”
For a moment she thought Gemma wasn’t going to answer her as she continued to look forward at the space where the teacher was already introducing herself and explaining the ins and outs of Anatomy & Physiology. But Violet didn’t believe Gemma was as captivated as she appeared to be by the teacher’s explanation.
Just when she’d decided it was pointless—the other girl wasn’t going to answer her at all—she heard Gemma sigh and say beneath her breath: “Whatever that guy did to you, it must’ve been pretty messed up.” She turned her pointed chin just the scantest amount to appraise Violet’s reaction, and seemed satisfied when Violet’s eyes widened. “I honestly don’t think I could spend an entire semester in the same room with the kind of tension you were feeling. You were making me uncomfortable.” She looked forward again, indicating the conversation was over. “And you’re welcome.”
CHAPTER 3
VIOLET SAT IN HER USUAL SPOT. THE SAME CHAIR she sat in every Monday afternoon. She listened to the ticking of the clock as she tapped the toe of each shoe to its rhythm. First one foot, then the other, then the first one again. She leaned forward and watched them, as if this were the most fascinating piece of choreography she’d ever laid eyes on.
It wasn’t. In fact, she was bored to tears, mentally counting down the minutes until her session with Dr. Lee would finally come to an end and she’d be put out of this particular brand of misery.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
Is it possible to actually die of boredom? Violet wondered, as she fixated on the toes of her sneakers, forcing her gaze to remain down. But she could feel the good doctor looking at her. Watching her. Waiting for her to grow tired of this latest delay tactic.
Last month, during one of her sessions, she’d told him she had to use the restroom, and she stayed in there for almost the entire hour—longer than anyone should ever have to stay in a bathroom. He’d seen through her little ruse, of course, and at her next visit he told her, even before she’d made it out of the waiting room and had the chance to ask, that his restroom was “out of order.” She hadn’t tried that trick again.
But she faltered mid-step when she saw who was sitting in the spot beside it.
Grady Spencer.
Grady, who Violet had known since elementary school . . . who she’d played tag with on the playground and ridden bikes with and learned to skip rocks with at the lake.
He was all those things, and more. But he was also the same Grady Spencer who’d tried to kiss her last year . . . even after she told him she didn’t want to be kissed. Even after she insisted he stop. He’d been aggressive and forceful, and had crammed his tongue inside her mouth. Even now the memory made her heart race and her palms sweat.
Seeing him there, she felt trapped.
Grady hadn’t noticed her, as he dug through his backpack, his gaze down. But he would . . . any second now. And then he’d see the panic on her face, and he’d know that he was the one who’d caused it.
She wondered why she even cared what Grady thought. He had caused it. It was his fault she felt this way. His fault she stood frozen in the middle of the classroom, unable to take another step. Unable to even think.
Maybe he should know how she felt about him. How torn she was between the Grady he’d once been when they were kids . . . and the Grady who’d pawed at her, drunken and belligerent, refusing to believe she didn’t want him the way he wanted her.
She looked around, sure that everyone must be watching her now. How could they not be? How could they not see the dread coming off her in anxious waves?
But they weren’t. No one in the class even glanced her way.
Except for Gemma.
Gemma was watching her, her expression more intrigued than usual. Her lips taut and her eyes intensely curious.
And something else. Something more . . .
Violet wasn’t sure what it was she saw there. If it had been anyone other than Gemma, she would’ve thought it was worry. But this was Gemma she was talking about.
Violet blinked, certain her imagination must be playing tricks on her. Certain it was merely the panic of facing Grady, distorting her perception and screwing with her mind.
But when she looked again, it was still there, the look. And this time she was convinced it had to be real.
And then Gemma did something else unexpected. Violet watched in disbelief as the other girl reached over and removed her book bag from the chair. After a moment, probably only the span of a breath really, when Violet didn’t react, Gemma lifted her eyebrows and nodded toward the empty chair beside her.
And Violet knew: Gemma was telling her to sit in the open spot.
But why? Violet wondered, even as she backtracked in her own footsteps, trying not to breathe an audible sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be forced to sit next to Grady.
It didn’t matter really. Violet didn’t have the luxury of being choosy; she took the seat wordlessly, not sure what she could say to the other girl.
She frowned as she pulled out her own spiral notebook—a plain one with a flimsy green cover—and dropped her backpack on the floor. She knew how Gemma felt about her.
What was it she’d said exactly, that Violet reeked of the dead? Was that how all empaths felt about her? That she carried the scent of death on her wherever she went? She supposed she’d have to wait until she met another empath, someone who could sense the emotions of those around them, to find out. So far, Gemma was the only one she knew.
She glanced sideways at the blonde girl, who was staring straight ahead now, almost as if she were intentionally ignoring Violet. In spite of herself, Violet couldn’t stop from asking, “Why?”
For a moment she thought Gemma wasn’t going to answer her as she continued to look forward at the space where the teacher was already introducing herself and explaining the ins and outs of Anatomy & Physiology. But Violet didn’t believe Gemma was as captivated as she appeared to be by the teacher’s explanation.
Just when she’d decided it was pointless—the other girl wasn’t going to answer her at all—she heard Gemma sigh and say beneath her breath: “Whatever that guy did to you, it must’ve been pretty messed up.” She turned her pointed chin just the scantest amount to appraise Violet’s reaction, and seemed satisfied when Violet’s eyes widened. “I honestly don’t think I could spend an entire semester in the same room with the kind of tension you were feeling. You were making me uncomfortable.” She looked forward again, indicating the conversation was over. “And you’re welcome.”
CHAPTER 3
VIOLET SAT IN HER USUAL SPOT. THE SAME CHAIR she sat in every Monday afternoon. She listened to the ticking of the clock as she tapped the toe of each shoe to its rhythm. First one foot, then the other, then the first one again. She leaned forward and watched them, as if this were the most fascinating piece of choreography she’d ever laid eyes on.
It wasn’t. In fact, she was bored to tears, mentally counting down the minutes until her session with Dr. Lee would finally come to an end and she’d be put out of this particular brand of misery.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .
Is it possible to actually die of boredom? Violet wondered, as she fixated on the toes of her sneakers, forcing her gaze to remain down. But she could feel the good doctor looking at her. Watching her. Waiting for her to grow tired of this latest delay tactic.
Last month, during one of her sessions, she’d told him she had to use the restroom, and she stayed in there for almost the entire hour—longer than anyone should ever have to stay in a bathroom. He’d seen through her little ruse, of course, and at her next visit he told her, even before she’d made it out of the waiting room and had the chance to ask, that his restroom was “out of order.” She hadn’t tried that trick again.
