Page 78 of Broken by my Bully
“Right, last round. You ready, Haven?”
“You seriously just deleted your account?”
She shrugs. “About time for a detox.”
I win the next round of rock, paper, scissors, but I don’t feel happy about it. My stomach is churning so much, it’s turned everything inside into tequila-and-oreo flavored butter.
“Aw, fuck,” I mutter when I read the last card. “This is bullshit.”
Melissa sits up prim and proper, watching me with glassy eyes. “That bad, huh?”
I blow out a breath, then glance at the two slips of papers and the sticker that fell out earlier when Melissa upended the envelope.
Why does it feel like that happened a fucking century ago?
Wild Card
Write down a secret your partner hides from others.
Seal it inside the envelope without letting them see.
You may not discuss this card.
The person who reveals the weakest secret will fail this round.
Both participants must play this round or forfeit the entire game.
“Shit,” Melissa mutters, and then glances up at me. There’s still a tiny smudge of mascara under one eye. “Forfeit, as in failing his class.”
“But what the hell does failing this round mean?”
She shrugs. “I mean, I doubt he could actually kick someone out of his class. But our grades are totally in his control.” She rolls her eyes, sighing. “Should’ve sent him that titty shot. Maybe I still can. Soften the blow.” Her eyes fly open as she starts unbuttoning her shirt. “Will you help me take a good pic? I can never get the angle right.”
I wave at her to stop. “No one’s sending nude photos. We got this.”
I try to sound chipper, but I’m dying inside. We barely know each other…but I know she had a disastrous breakup and calls her ex a man-child. Is that a secret, though? And worse than whatever she can figure out about me?
“You’re right.” She stands to fetch two pens out of her laptop bag and hands me one. “So what are you thinking? Are we going nuclear, or just airing some dirty laundry?”
“We can’t discuss it,” I mumble, glancing over at her phone.
“Damn it.” She taps her pen against the piece of paper as she takes her seat in front of me again. “Okay, but for the record, this is super unfair. You’re obviously a fucking angel, and I’ve given you more than enough ammunition to win.”
She scrawls something on her paper and folds it, quickly slipping it into the envelope.
God. I don’t want to fail.
I guess there’s no way Professor Rooke will be able to fact check all these entries, right? It’s probably more about theintentbehind this round than the actualimpact.
That’s what I tell myself as I gather at the only flimsy straw I have and write down something that’s probably an utter lie.
Sent nude pics to a teacher.
I mean, she must have done it once before, right?
I fold the paper and put it in the envelope. She seals it with the sticker and swipes her hand over the seal.
“You should stay for dinner.”
