Page 144 of Broken by my Bully
“Noted. Nothing but dried toast next time.”
Next time?
I glare over at him in his neatly pressed clothes as he joins me at the door. He stops to pick up his wallet and car keys, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. Every movement precise, no hesitation. Was thatteain his tumbler last night?
“You don’t evenlookhungover.”
“Oh, baby, if you only knew how my head felt.” He grimaces. “Fuck. Okay.” Bastian holds up his hand. “I’m going to stop saying things like, ‘gosh, that was inappropriate.’ We’re way, way past that fucking point.”
His eyes meet mine briefly before flicking away, like he can’t bear looking at me.
My shoulders tense, and I drop my gaze.
He’s right.
I passed out on his couch last night.
No surprise, since I drank so much that I remember nothing after the peanut butter cups.
“I’m never drinking again,” I mutter, leaning my head on my forearm as I wait for him to open the front door.
I keep trying to tell him I’m in no state to go to class, but he just keeps saying things like “Just one foot in front of the other,” and, “You’re stronger than you think you are.”
I’m pretty sure he just wants me the hell out of his house.
This isn’t a good look for him. Herding a trashed student out of his home at eight in the morning?
I snort.
Maybe that’s why he lives all the way out here.
No witnesses.
He goes to open the Tesla, and I veer toward it, squinting up at the sun like it’s purposefully on kill mode.
I head for the passenger door, but it doesn’t open when I tug on the handle.
“Yo,” I call out. Rap my knuckle on the glass. “Open, please.”
Bastian stares at me over the top of his car. “You’re not driving with me.”
“Sorry, what the fuck now?” I close one eye as I drag hair out of my face with a swipe of my hand. I’m leaning against the car, because it’s that or slide to the ground.
“Christ…” He stares at me for such a long time, I look around for a place to sit because I’m feeling woozy. “Okay, fuck it. Come here.”
He holds out a hand, flicking his hand at me, an annoyed twist to his mouth. “How’d you let yourself get this drunk, anyway?”
“You were s’posed to cut me off,” I say, holding up a finger.
“And you’re supposed to know your own limits,” he snaps.
“Hey! I’m new to this whole…” I hold out my arm. “Alcoholic thing.”
“Are you still drunk?” He double-times around the car, grabbing my wrist and jerking me to face him.
“Fuck. Ow.” I stare blearily up at him. “Yessir. Maybe?” Then I close one eye, because it seems to stop the world spinning. “Howdoesone tell?”
He takes a big breath and then scrapes his fingers over his scalp. “Okay, okay. Here.” He takes his phone out of his pocket, and taps on it a few times. “Go inside, get some sleep. I’ll be back at noon to collect you.”
