Page 82 of Broken by my Bully
I open my mouth, for some reason about to tell Professor Rooke abouteverything. Who knew alcohol was a truth serum?
“Uh-uh!” I suppress a burp, then a gag. Repeating tequila is no good. “No context. No…note thingy. Your rules.”
“Rules don’t apply at three AM when I’m—“ He cuts off hurriedly.
“When you’re what?”
Silence.
“When you’rewhat, Professor?”
“Jesus. Get some fucking sleep, Haven.”
“You calledme!”
“A mistake. Clearly.”
“Yeah? Well maybe luring me to your house was a mistake. Maybe sticking your nose where it don’t belong was a mistake. Maybe,maybe?—“
“Stop.”
“Maybe looking at me like you want to?—”
“Stop.” His voice is hard, grating through a too-tight throat. “You’re drunk. You’re acting like a child. Fuck, youarea child.Andyou’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.
“Fuckingasshole!” 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,verywrong 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.
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 thememory,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,fondmemories, 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.
