Page 18 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Kai

“Of course he’ll fucking fail you,” I tell Oscar, rolling my eyes. “He said art in the form of a digital photo, not fucking—” I swipe my hand at the guy’s phone screen. “What even is that?”

“It’s abstract, man,” Oscar mutters, shrugging like the world just won’t cut him a break.

“It’s bullshit. Jesus, all he’s looking for is a shot of a homeless guy, or a piece of trash stuck in a fence. If you can put Claire de Lune over it, and use it as the intro to one of Sam Mendes’ movies, then you’ve got yourself an A.”

Oscar stares at me like I’m on smack. I don’t know why he’s in this class when it’s obvious from his build and his athleisure that his favorite pastime is playing with balls. On a field. Possibly in the locker room, too.

He slowly starts nodding. “Yeah. Yeah !”

Holy fuck, was I this naive when I was a freshman?

I shove the end of my sucker stick back in my mouth so I can chew it some more. A few bits are still in their original shape, but I’m like eighty percent done wrecking the plastic stick.

Rooke’s late .

And that’s fucked up, because he’s never late. He’s got the punctuality of the Grim Reaper. It’s one of those urban legends passed from seniors to freshmen, but his is based in fact.

Maybe he was in an accident. Is that part of my duty as a TA? Do I have to like call the hospital and shit to check if he’s?—

The door opens, and in walks Rooke.

Well, guess I’ll never get the answer to that question. I hope this doesn’t mean the lesson’s going to run longer than?—

And right on his heels comes Haven.

I almost inhale my chew toy.

She immediately glances over at me, as if to check whether I’m in class, then casually hides behind Rooke.

Jesus, Haven, you think he’s going to protect you? I mean, yeah, he’s taller than me, but I could…

Well, I couldn’t do anything, because he’s a fucking teacher and I’ll get expelled. But in theory …

I should be a lot angrier than I am right now. Maybe I’m in shock.

Christ, she’s got some balls on her.

First she tried to stick her thumb in my ass, and now this?

I chuckle to myself as I turn my swivel chair to follow her progress across the lecture hall.

Oh, fuck, Haven.

The things I’m gonna do to you.

“Imagine an ordinary day in your life. School, sports, dinner with the folks or with your friends. Day in, day out, on repeat, ad nauseam. One day you’re sipping on your pumpkin spice latte, and the next, you’re waterboarding an enemy informant because someone in a uniform is telling you it’s your duty. ”

I’m only paying half a mind to what Rooke’s going on about. I’d be more into his lecture if I weren’t trying to bore a hole into Haven’s skull with thought alone. But I’ve heard this all before, and honestly, I’d rather be trying to trigger Heavenly into a panic attack than listen to Rooke.

“…triggers that switch in our brain? The one that transforms us from man to monster?

Is that monster always there, fully grown and ferocious, biding its time until you open its cage?

Or does it start out as something kind and innocent that life pokes and prods until it has no choice but to evolve into a brute, if only for self-preservation?

“That’s something Zimbardo addressed in his Stanford Prison Experiment. Unfortunately, his study was cut short, but in the few days…”

Rooke arrived in Agony Hollow three years ago and quickly became a legend.

I was already a junior, but his class sounded interesting enough that I took it.

And thank God I did, because he insists his TAs complete his class before applying to work for him.

He shouldn’t have such high standards. From what I heard, I was one of only two students to apply.

“…college students just like you and randomly assigned them to the role of inmate or guard. Then he sat back and watched the fireworks.”

Little Miss Heavenly doesn’t look at me for the entire lecture.

Not once.

Not when I find my stick and start chewing on it, swiveling my chair side to side with my legs stretched out.

Not when I lean back to stretch halfway through.

Not even when I’m the only one to laugh at some obscure reference Rooke makes that goes over everyone else’s head.

But the touch of color in her cheeks says she knows I’m staring at her. The way she shifts uncomfortably in her worn, faded clothes. She’s in a knee-length denim skirt, pastel yellow leggings, and an oversized black sweater.

Perfectly fine for community college, I guess, but we don’t do it like that here. Maybe she’s too busy being poor to notice the designer threads around her. Even my joggers are Versace.

Rooke’s tweed jacket? It’s a bespoke piece, probably custom-tailored by the boutique in Ashwood Crossing.

Haven’s sad clothes don’t stop me checking out her legs. Wishing her sweater was tighter so I could see the swell of her tits. When she starts toying with her pen, pushing it in and out of the cap between her teeth, it takes me right back to the library.

God, her eyes. That fucking mouth. I’ve only had a handful of blow jobs—a fact that will die with me—but hers was the hottest. So wet, and sloppy, and angry.

Fuck. I tug at my joggers, hurriedly looking away from Haven as I try to control the semi stirring in my lap.

Down, boy.

The professor’s voice drops low, causing my ears to prick up in anticipation.

“We choose how we treat our monsters,” he purrs as he scans his captive audience.

There’s this ripple as students shift whenever his gaze falls on them.

It’s fucking awe-inspiring to watch from my seat behind the desk.

I almost feel like the prison warden in Zimbardo’s Stanford experiment.

Watching these interactions play out with no intention of stopping it until it’s run its course.

“Do we keep them caged? Or do we let them out to play?”

So is Rooke her bodyguard now? Is that why she dared to come back? Guess I’m gonna have to track down her dad’s phone number and get Mr Meth Lee himself down here for a chat.

There’s a sick feeling in my stomach, but it’s got nothing to do with Haven’s dad. Okay, maybe a little. That guy’s been winning Druggie Dad of the Year awards since Haven was five.

What if she told Rooke what had happened?

I snort softly to myself.

Doubtful.

The dean would have suspended me already, and the sheriff would have swung by for ‘a quick chat’.

Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet.

Sometimes, a student needs extra help with course material. Rooke is always willing to tutor them for an hour or two a week. I should follow his example.

“Assignment!” He claps his hands together, and while there are a few uneasy laughs, his students are getting used to how he signals the end of his lectures.

“Pair up with someone in class, be it friend, foe, or complete stranger. Grab an envelope from Mr. Jordan on your way out. Your instructions are inside.”

I grab the stack of envelopes out of his satchel that we’d prepared the other day. I’d taken a peek inside some before sealing them.

Fuck. These guys don’t have a clue what’s in store for them.

“This assignment is due next Tuesday, along with your art submissions.”

Haven immediately turns to redhead Parker, but Melissa’s on her phone. Haven’s shoulders slump, and she stares down at her notepad with a blank expression.

Yeah, all brave and shit until you realize there’s a ‘no friends’ situation here at AHC, hey, Haven?

I doubt any of her Riverside pals are here. Grants and scholarships are thin on the ground in Agony Hollow. I’m still not sure how the hell she scored one, but I’m pretty sure her moneymaker was involved.

Seriously, what the fuck is it going to take for her to quit? Haven’s never seemed interested in getting a degree. This has got to be personal.

She’s haunting me.

Guess it’s time I went round and visited Mr Meth. But that will have to wait until the weekend.

In the meantime, I’ll have to take Haven somewhere private and explain things to her. Again.

She’s always been a stubborn one.