Page 217 of Lessons in Cruelty

Because it’s Pandora’s Box.

Once I’ve read what’s in there, there’s no forgetting what it says.

I know I’m in there. We’re in there.

She probably wrote down every fucked up thing we did to each other. Each line we crossed. Every time I made her cry. Every time she made me hard.

What if she wrote about the maple tree?

Then I got to thinking…maybe I didn’t want to read it after all. Maybe I took it to make sure it never got to Rooke. If it did, I’d be expelled, my sweet future torn out of my hands before I even had time to hold it.

I massage my eyelids, expecting to feel grit under the skin. Shouldn’t have smoked all that weed before I got here. Should have remembered to put some eyedrops in my pocket.

It’s even brighter out here than it was in the ballroom. Parties shouldn’t be this well lit. Feels like an interrogation room.

And why the fuck is it so crowded?

Every living Hillsider must be at this country club tonight because I keep twisting to avoid crashing into couples as they stream through the entrance. And that makes my clothes wrap even tighter around me. How the hell am I supposed to enjoy myself when I feel claustrophobic in my own skin?

Ezra gives me a double take and steps away from the donation box he was standing beside. Of the three donation boxes out here, only one of them is piled high. Cat food. Dog food. They even donated toys, collars, bowls.

Huh.

Seems like Haven’s little pet project took off. Pity she wasn’t here to see it. I made sure of that last week.

Heavenly hasn’t been spotted at school all week.

Mission fucking accomplished.

I grab something out of the box, dropping it again when I realize what it is.

Leashes.

They’re goddamn everywhere.

The invisible one Haven’s had around my neck since we were kids.

The one Ezra keeps yanking whenever I try to break free.

My brother’s lips are curled into a smile, but the rest of his face is set in stone.

“Took you long enough,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder like we’re the biggest fucking buddies. I leave it there because he gets really annoyed when I reject his fake as fuck PDA.

He loves to pretend we don’t hate each other.

Reminds me of someone else I know.

“What do you want?” I mutter.

“Stand here and smile. When someone drops something in a box, tell them thanks. And when they’re done coming in, bring the boxes around the back.”

“Thought that was your job.”

“My job is making sure things run smoothly. And right now, I’ve got a problem to sort out.”

I grimace as I stare at the townsfolk coming through the door, and shove a hand under the navy blue band around my waist. “Then let me deal with that. My face can’t handle all this bullshit smiling like yours can.”

If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. “If you were capable of dealing with this problem, it wouldn’t be a fucking problem, would it?”