Page 148 of Lessons in Cruelty

And this time, I will.

My gaze focuses on the glass instead of trying to peer through. There’s a dark smear on the window, and when my gaze trails down, it latches onto the heap of feathers and maggots below.

Fuck.

How long has that tiny carcass been out here, breeding flies?

This is what happens when I start doing coke—I stop paying attention.

I get sloppy. I fuck up.

And I’m always left with casualties.

Haven’s going to be next if I’m not careful.

Just another broken bird with a broken neck thinking it was free, that the reflection in the window was the sky.

Chapter 37

Haven

My back thuds into the wall beside the front door of Bastian’s house.

“I ate too much,” I whine, hand on my belly like I’m waiting to feel my food baby kick.

“No one was force feeding you.”

“Still your fault. You shouldn’t have made the food taste so good.”

“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 that tea in his tumbler last night?

“You don’t even look hungover.”

“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.