Page 49 of Broken by my Bully
“I hate to be dramatic, Miss Lee, but I suggest you try very hard, because your grade is…”
He glances at my jaw. His eyes flinch, and his words trail off.
I resist the urge to touch the bruise on my jaw. I forgot it was there. Now it’s starting to throb. Or has it always been aching, and I just pushed away the pain like I always do?
A student speed-walks past us muttering, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” like she’s running late for class.
Rooke’s eyes dart up to her, then back to me. He grabs my arm and pulls me with him as he backs up into the small seating area on the first landing where I stood staring out the window on my first day at AHC.
The only light in this area comes from the tall, narrow window and whatever ambiance makes its way up the stairs from the reception area below. None of it is enough to do more than silhouette us and blur the edges of the shadows between the overstuffed wingback chairs and the small, carved coffee table.
I guess that’s why Professor Rooke grabs my chin and turns my head to the window…so he can get a better look at my jaw.
I’m too embarrassed to pull away, so I let him tilt my face any which way he pleases. Or maybe I want him to see what Kai did. Maybe I want someone, anyone, to witness my best friend’s cruelty.
Ex-best friend.
“Um…”
“Is that a bruise?” I’m not imagining the coldness in his voice. The determination in his eyes. The way his jaw tightens, then immediately relaxes, like he forced his face to relax. He’s angry—furious, even—but desperately trying to keep it from showing.
Suddenly I don’t want him to know about Kai.
I pull my chin away, rubbing at the spot. “Nope. Probably just a shadow.”
There’s a soft huff of air that sounds condescending as fuck. “Now you’re trying to gaslight me, Miss Lee? How’d you get this injury?”
“You have no idea how clumsy I am,” I say through a laugh.
“I do, actually.” He grabs me again, this time on my bottom lip. I pull away so fast it’s like a thousand volts went through me. Because that’s what it felt like.
“You’re ‘ink stains on your lip’ clumsy, not ‘bruises on your jaw clumsy.’”
“Oh, yeah?” I rummage in my tote, glaring up defiantly at him as I pull out my phone. “Then explain this.” I show him the screen spider-webbed with cracks. “I spend more time picking it up than I do actually using it.”
As if to illustrate my point, the phone falls on the floor when I try to slip it back into my tote.
I point at it.
My professor ignores it.
“The only way you’ll ever be able to fight the monsters hiding under your bed is if you crawl in there with a flashlight,” he says.
I shake my head, laughing as I look away. Because, fuck, if only he knew.
Monsters hiding under my bed?
More like sadists lurking in the shadows behind the diner where I work.
“Yeah, I’m not going to class.” I tighten the grip on my tote bag as I bend to pick up my phone. “I don’t have the book, I haven’t read the chapters, and I’m pretty sure I’m already failing. Might as well justclimb in my car and get the fuck out of Dodge while I still have gas in the tank.”
When I stand, he’s staring at me with a deadpan expression.
“I’m picking up a vibe,” he says.
This time I snort, throwing my head back for a second before facing him. “Why do you care, huh?” I ask, hair flopping against my neck as I slowly shake my head. “Why the hell do you care so much about a nobody like me?”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then dart up to my eyes. He licks his thumb, and for a second I wonder if it looked that fucking sexy when I did it.
