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Back The Infinite Noise Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

Thankfully, I did inherit my parents’ passion for knowledge. I just didn’t get the medicine bug. I love books, art, philosophy—all the “soft” fields, as my mother would say. My anatomy books gathered dust as I scoured through the family’s bookshelves for the rare volume on the humanities. They’ve got philosophers in spades, which is nice (something about having a “full appreciation for the human brain”) but the fiction selection basically boils down to the collected works of Shakespeare and some old science fiction, all untouched until I got my hands on them. I read Frankenstein for the first time when I was eleven and my entire world expanded outward. Probably why I have a bit of a fixation on the macabre.

Or maybe it was just having parents who stick knives into people for a living that gave me my love for the grim and gory. Maybe that’s why I loved Frankenstein. Maybe that’s why I—

No, stop it, Adam. Don’t go down that road.

I take the milk off the burner and dig the cocoa powder out of the cabinet. I sit up on the counter with my hot cocoa, swinging my legs as I pull out my phone to post a picture of the perfect cup I just made. Not for the first time, I wonder what it would be like to have someone over—to make hot chocolate or bake with someone. To have someone light up the dark house.

I roll my eyes at myself and that particular thought and hop off the counter to turn on the kitchen lights. Just because I get emo sometimes doesn’t mean I have to sit alone, in the literal dark, on the first day of holiday break. That’s a little too macabre, even for me.

They don’t like that I’m macabre, my parents. For two people that are elbow deep in brains half the day, they have some funny ideas about how sunny-side-up their son should be. They think I should smile more, have more friends, hurt myself less. And I do. I do hurt myself less. That should be enough. I shouldn’t have to be legitimately happy on top of it. I’m in high school. No one’s supposed to be happy. If kids aren’t hurting themselves, they’re usually hurting someone else.

I think of Caleb’s blush and furrowed brow when I said “sociopath” and feel worse than I have in a long time. Please, please, please let next semester be better.

5

CALEB

“School starts tomorrow, correct?” Dr. Bright asks after a few moments of silence.

“Yep,” I say.

More silence. I’m getting used to these standoffs. I just wish I was better at winning them. But Dr. Bright pins me with a stare and I eventually give in, every time.

“I don’t wanna go back,” I mumble, face heating.