Page 500 of Lessons in Cruelty

Ezra never asked for anything in return.

Maybe that’s why I said nothing when my brother started punching me. He told me he was toughening me up. And it worked. Eventually, I stopped crying.

Ezra’s fists taught me that love and pain were the same thing.

Is it any wonder I keep hurting Haven?

It’s the only way I know how to care.

I roll onto my side, watching the rise and fall of Haven’s chest in my football jersey. She looks so small beside me. So fragile.

I’ve broken her so many times already.

Me, Rooke, her dad, her uncle.

I don’t know what their fucking excuse was, but mine was all for a lie.

The rage building in my chest isn’t directed at Haven anymore. It’s hot and black and aimed squarely at the person who’s been pulling my strings like I’m his personal puppet.

Years of rage. Years of cruelty. All for a lie.

I want to wake Haven up and beg her to forgive me. I want to go back in time and never look at that fucking photo he sent me.

Instead, I just lie here in the dark, listening to my best friend breathe, wondering how many of Ezra’s lies I’ve swallowed whole.

…he showed me his scars, told me who gave them to him…

My heart gives a hard thump, stomach filling with lead.

What else did Ezra tell Rooke?

What else does our professor know about my life?

I fist my hands, cracking my knuckles as I stare up at the ceiling.

Beside me, Haven lets out a quiet, “Mm…” like she’s wondering the same thing as me.

Chapter 60

Haven

My foot bumps against Kai’s leg, causing a sudden dull ache from my wound that forces me awake. Which prompts a desperate signal from a very full bladder.

I might have been able to ignore the pain long enough to fall asleep. Might even have convinced my bladder it can hold another pint or two.

But then the thoughts roll in, and I’m doomed.

First and foremost, that fucking photo.

It swirls around in my head like a scene from a low-budget horror movie. That Kai could have thought it was real is fucking hilarious. I’d still be laughing if I wasn’t devastated.

How could he think it was me?

Does he think I went off the rails after our disastrous meeting on my sweet sixteen? That I turned into some super whore who fucked anyone with a dick who glanced my way?

Ugh.

Now I really need to pee.