Page 105 of Broken by my Bully
Not then, not now.
One way or the other, that cunt Evelyn will ensure that I?—
I spin around, staring into my bedroom. Could have sworn I just heard something in there. A muted, clandestine sound, not meant to carry.
No one could have gotten inside. I have alarms. Burglar proofing.And they’d have to find this fucking place first. It’s isolated for a reason.
I rarely enjoy other people’s company.
My feet are silent on the thick carpets as I pad toward the bedroom. I detour slightly, grabbing the ornamental iron poker from its stand.
Feels as heavy as that fucking gift.
I heft it, tightening my grip. Preparing myself for whatever—or whoever—is waiting in the gloom of my sanctum.
But when I flick on the light, no one tries to attack me. Nothing scurries away, back into the dark.
It’s just me. I’m all alone. Just the way I like it.
A smile curls my lips as I set the poker back in its place.
But as my hand leaves the warming iron, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I spin around, but the darkness outside is thick and absolute, all but the closest rain rendered invisible.
“Alexa, turn on the floodlights.”
“Turning on the floodlights,” Alexa replies, as a muted white glow spills in through the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows.
Muted shock forces a sharp breath through my nose. My jaw clamps tight as I shift my weight to my other foot, and I sway before I can catch my balance.
There’s a figure standing in my garden, just a few feet from the sliding door, as if they’d been on their way to knock.
I don’t know why I take the poker with me when I go to open the door. But I’ve watched enough horror movies to know you always have to be prepared for the worst.
But the closer I draw, the clearer the figure becomes.
Not my mother in her nightgown. Not my mother at all.
And I’m pretty sure, drunk or not, Haven Lee could never overpower me.
Which begs the question…why the fuck is she standing in my backyard, shivering in the rain like the final girl in a horror movie?
Haven
There’s something off about Professor Rooke. It’s not just the fire poker he’s carrying. There’s something else. Something that tells me the least of my worries is pneumonia. Can’t figure out what it is, because I’m too occupied trying to figure out howthefuckI got here.
The last thing I remember is my feet slipping out under me, both flip-flops tumbling over the edge of the cliff as I scrambled to catch hold of the barrier.
Tonotdie, despite being ready to jump seconds before.
“Haven?” My professor steps out of his house, glancing around his backyard.
Does he think I brought some friends with me? That’s rich.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I…don’t know.” The sound of my own trembling voice seems to reconnect my brain and my body. I’m nearly overwhelmed by the burning cold in my fingers and toes, the numbness on my face.
Why the fuckamI here?
