Page 85 of Lessons in Cruelty

“Stop.”

“Maybe looking at me like you want to⁠—”

“Stop.” His voice is hard, grating through a too-tight throat. “You’re acting like a child. Fuck, you are a child. And you’re my goddamn student.”

“Pick one,” I sneer. “Because you can’t seem to decide if I’m your charity case, your pet project, or your…hello? Hello?”

He’s hung up.

I stare at my phone, something hot and twisted burning through my drunk haze. My head is spinning from the rapid-fire conversation. Or possibly because I’m still drunk.

“Fucking asshole!” I whisper-shout at my phone.

What the hell is his problem? Calling me at three in the morning to yell at me? Who does that?

Unless I deserve it.

Do I?

Well, either there’s something wrong with me…or something very, very wrong with Professor Rooke.

I don’t have time to figure out which, because that’s when my stomach rejects what’s left of the tequila.

I barely have time to lift the lid before I empty my guts into Gamma Alpha Zeta’s pristine toilet.

Chapter 22

Kai

You know what’s bullshit? That thing about time healing all wounds. Time doesn’t heal shit. Time just takes the sting out of the memory, so you can convince yourself that it doesn’t hurt anymore. So eventually you can convince yourself that it never hurt in the first place.

I spent three years stoking my hatred for Haven, letting it simmer to a scalding tar.

Hating her became an unhealthy obsession.

I’d spend my nights on the edge of sleep, dredging up old memories, fond memories, so I could find little details about her to hate.

Her laugh.

The way she’d clap her hands in excitement when I handed her candy.

Her soft hair.

Her even softer skin.

Sometimes I was so busy replaying those happier times that I’d briefly forget to hate her. I’d smile at the memories, shaking my head at how innocent we were.

Until the maple tree memory came to me, like it always did.

That was the last time I saw Haven before she abandoned me, leaving wreckage and ruin in her wake with the empathy of a fucking hurricane.

I rebuilt. I thought my foundations were stronger. But Hurricane Haven is rattling the shutters again.

It’s been days since I’ve seen her. Not a peek of her wavy brown hair or a glimpse of her confused, angry blue eyes. Even the memory of her trapped under the desk, her pink lips stretching over my cock, is fading.

Her absence lulls me into a false sense of security, my weekend passing in a blissful haze of drinking, video games, and partying. I even get some studying done.

I was too wasted to track down her father. I’d have to drive all the way to fucking Ashwood Crossing, for starters. And it would have taken most of the day just to find out where they live.