Ridge frowns when he reads my text.
Ridge: I’ll go with you to get it if you need it.
I look up at him. “Are you sure?” I ask.
He smiles and walks toward the front door, so I follow him.
Ridge
It’s still raining out, and I know she just put on dry clothes after her shower, so once we reach the bottom of the stairwell, I pull my phone out and text her.
Me: Wait here so you don’t get wet again. I’ll go get it myself.
She reads the text and shakes her head, then looks back up at me. “No. I’m going with you.”
I can’t help but appreciate the fact that she doesn’t respond to my being deaf the way I expect her to. Most people become uneasy once they aren’t sure how to communicate with me. The majority of them raise their voices and talk slowly, sort of like Bridgette. I guess they think being louder will somehow miraculously make me hear again. However, it does nothing but force me to contain my laughter while they talk to me as if I’m an idiot. Granted, I know people don’t do it to be disrespectful. It’s just simple ignorance, and that’s fine. I’m so used to it I don’t even notice anymore.
However, I did notice Sydney’s reaction . . . because there really wasn’t one. As soon as she found out, she just propped herself up on the counter and continued talking to me, even though she moved from speaking to texting. And it helps that she’s a fast texter.
We run across the courtyard until we reach the base of the stairs that lead up to her apartment. I begin walking up and notice that she’s frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The look in her eyes is nervous, and I instantly feel bad for not realizing how hard this must be for her. I know she’s probably hurting a lot more than she’s letting on. Learning that your best friend and your boyfriend have betrayed you has to be difficult, and it hasn’t even been a day since she found out. I walk back down the stairs and grab her hand, then smile at her reassuringly. I tug on her hand; she takes a deep breath and walks with me up the stairs. She taps me on the shoulder when we reach her door, and I turn around.
“Can I wait here?” she says. “I don’t want to see them.”
I nod, relieved that her lips are easy to read.
“But cow well you ass therefore my bird?” she says.
Or I think that’s what she said. I laugh, knowing I more than likely completely misread her lips. She says it again when she sees the confusion on my face, but I still don’t understand her. I hold up my phone so she can text me.
Sydney: But how will you ask them for my purse?
Yeah. I was a little off on that one.
Me: I’ll get your purse, Sydney. Wait here.
She nods. I type out a text as I walk to the front door and knock. A minute passes, and no one comes to the door, so I knock again, with more force, thinking maybe my first knock was too soft to be heard. The doorknob turns, and Sydney’s friend appears in the doorway. She eyes me curiously for a second, then glances behind her. The door opens wider, and Hunter appears, eyeing me suspiciously. He says something that looks like “Can I help you?” I hold up the text that says I’m here for Sydney’s purse, and he looks down and reads it, then shakes his head.
“Who the hell are you?” he says, apparently not liking the fact that I’m here on Sydney’s behalf. The girl disappears from the doorway, and he opens the door even farther, then folds his arms over his chest and glares at me. I motion to my ear and shake my head, letting him know that I can’t hear what he’s saying.
He pauses, then throws his head back and laughs and disappears from the doorway. I glance to Sydney, who is standing nervously at the top of the stairs, watching me. Her face is pale, and I give her a wink, letting her know everything is okay. Hunter comes back, slaps a piece of paper against the door, and writes on it. He holds the paper up for me to read.
Are you fucking her?
Jesus, what a prick. I motion for the pen and paper, and he hands them to me. I write my response and hand it back to him. He looks down at the paper, and his jaw tightens. He crumples up the paper, drops it to the floor, and then, before I can react, his fist is coming at me.
I accept the hit, knowing I should have been prepared for it. The girl reappears, and I can tell she’s screaming, although I have no idea whom she’s screaming at or what she’s saying. As soon as I take a step back from the doorway, Sydney is in front of me, rushing into the apartment. My eyes follow her as she runs down the hallway, disappears into a room, and comes back out clutching a purse. The girl steps in front of her and places her hand on Sydney’s shoulders, but Sydney pulls her arm back, makes a fist, and punches the girl in the face.
Hunter tries to step in front of Sydney to block her from leaving, so I tap him on the shoulder. When he turns around, I punch him square in the nose, and he stumbles back. Sydney’s eyes go wide, and she looks back at me. I grab her hand and pull her out of the apartment, toward the stairs.
Luckily, the rain has finally stopped, so we both break into a run back toward my apartment. I glance behind me a couple of times to make sure neither of them is following us. Once we make it back across the courtyard and up my stairs, I swing open the door and step aside so she can run in. I shut the door behind us and bend over, clasping my knees with my hands to catch my breath.
What an asshole. I’m not sure what Sydney saw in him, but the fact that she dated him makes me question her judgment a little bit.
I glance up at her, expecting to see her in tears, but instead, she’s laughing. She’s sitting on the floor, attempting to catch her breath, laughing hysterically. I can’t help but smile, seeing her reaction. And the fact that she punched that girl right in the face without a moment’s hesitation? I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s tougher than I first thought.
She looks up at me and inhales a calming breath, then mouths the words thank you, while holding up her purse. She stands up and brushes the wet hair out of her face, then walks to the kitchen and opens a few drawers until she finds a dishtowel and pulls it out. She wets it under the faucet, turns around, and motions me over. When I reach her, I lean against the counter while she takes my chin and angles my face to the left. She presses the towel to my lip, and I wince. I didn’t even realize it was hurting until she touched it. She pulls the rag back, and there’s blood on it, so she rinses it under the faucet and puts it back up to my mouth. I notice that her own hand is red. I take it and inspect it. It’s already swelling.
I pull the rag from her hand and wipe the rest of the blood off my face, then grab a zip-lock bag out of the cabinet, go to the freezer, and fill it with ice. I take her hand and press the ice onto it, letting her know she needs to keep it there. I lean against the counter next to her and pull my phone out.
Me: You hit her good. Your hand is already swelling.
She texts me with one hand, keeping the ice on top of the other as she rests it on the counter.
Sydney: It could be because that wasn’t the first time I’ve punched her today. Or it could also be swollen because you aren’t the first one to punch Hunter today.
Me: Wow. I’m impressed. Or terrified. Is three punches your daily average?
Sydney: Three punches is now my lifetime average.
I laugh.
She shrugs and sets her phone down, then pulls the ice off her hand and brings it back up to my mouth. “Your lip is swelling,” she says.
My hands are clenching the countertop behind me. I become increasingly uneasy with how comfortable she is with all this. Thoughts of Maggie flash through my head, and I can’t help but wonder if she’d be okay with this scenario if she were to walk through the front door right now.
I need a distraction.
Me: You want birthday cake?
She smiles and nods.
Me: I probably shouldn’t drive, since you’ve turned me into a raging alcoholic tonight, but if you feel like walking, Park’s Diner makes a damn good dessert, and it’s less than a mile from here. Pretty sure the rain is over.
“Let me change,” she says, motioning to her clothes. She pulls clothes from her suitcase, then heads to the bathroom. I put the lid on the Pine-Sol and hide it back under the cabinet.
5.
Sydney
We don’t interact much while we eat. We’re both sitting in the booth with our backs to the wall and our legs stretched out in front of us on the seats. We’re quietly watching the restaurant crowd, and I can’t stop wondering what it’s like for him, not being able to hear anything going on around us. I’m probably too blunt for my own good, but I have to ask him what’s on my mind.
Me: What’s being deaf like? Do you feel like you’re in on a secret that no one else knows about? Like you have a leg up on everyone because the fact that you can’t hear has magnified all your other senses and you’ve got superhuman powers and no one can tell just by looking at you?
He almost spits out his drink while reading my text. He laughs, and it occurs to me that his laugh is the only sound I’ve heard him make. I know that some people who can’t hear can still talk, but I haven’t heard him say a single word all night. Not even to the waitress. He either points to what he wants on the menu or writes it down.
Ridge: I can honestly say I’ve never thought about it like that before. I kind of like it that you think of it that way, though. To be honest, I don’t think about it at all. It’s normal to me. I have nothing to compare it to, because it’s all I’ve ever known.
Me: I’m sorry. I’m being one of those people again, aren’t I? I guess me asking you to compare being deaf to not being deaf is like you asking me to compare being a girl to being a boy.
Ridge: Don’t apologize. I like that you’re interested enough to ask me about it. Most people are a little weirded out by it, so they don’t say anything at all. I’ve noticed it’s kind of hard to make friends, but that’s also a good thing. The few friends I do have are genuine, so I look at it as an easy way of weeding out all the shallow, ignorant assholes.
Me: Good to know I’m not a shallow, ignorant asshole.
Ridge: Wish I could say the same about your ex.
I sigh. Ridge is right, but damn if it doesn’t sting to know I couldn’t see through Hunter’s bullshit.
I put my phone down and eat the last of my cake. “Thank you,” I say as I put my fork down. I honestly forgot for a while that today was my birthday until he offered to take me out for cake.
He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal, but it is a big deal. I can’t believe after the day I’ve had that I’m actually in a semidecent mood. Ridge can take credit for that, because if it weren’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be tonight or what kind of emotional state I’d be in.
He takes a drink of his soda, then sits upright in the booth. He nods his head to the door, and I agree that I’m ready to go.
The buzz from the alcohol has worn off, and as we make our way out of the restaurant and back into the dark, I can feel myself beginning to succumb to the heartache again. I guess Ridge sees the look on my face, because he puts his arm around me and briefly squeezes my shoulders. He drops his arm and pulls his phone out.