Page 6 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Haven

“Hey, you’re holding up the queue.”

I jerk out of my thoughts, glancing at the guy behind me. He rolls his eyes at me, and I snap my attention back to the cashier. The bored-looking girl glances down at my bottle of orange soda and then back at me.

“That all?” she drones.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” I smooth out the rumpled bill I found in my jeans before handing it to her.

The food in the cafeteria smells fucking delicious.

It looks even better. I walked past lasagna, pizza slices, mac ’n cheese, health rolls overflowing with lettuce and tomatoes.

But despite my growling stomach, this crumbled bill is all I have on me at the moment.

I can’t even afford the peanut butter cups I was ogling on the shelves of candy near the register.

Hopefully, this sugary soda will see me through my next two classes.

The cashier hands me back barely any change. At the impatient sigh of the guy behind me, I don’t hang around to make sure she got it right, I just move the hell out of his way .

A low drone fills the cafeteria.

Students chatting to each other, or watching videos on their phones. Chairs and cutlery scraping.

I twist open my soda and take a few slugs as I head for an empty seat. Two sets of large glass doors lead into an immaculately landscaped garden on the west side of the main building. The open doors let in a warm summer breeze. Probably the last we’ll be getting this year.

Fall comes early in Agony Hollow, and there’s always two to three weeks of heavy rains to signal the end of summer.

I’d love to go sit outside, but then I’d have to wind my way through a bunch of tables, and I’m really not in the mood to make eye contact with anyone?—

“Great,” someone mutters.

I’d been staring out at the garden reaching to pull out a chair, but I stop at the sound of a voice a foot away from me.

It’s the redhead from Professor Rooke’s class. She has her phone in her hand, and she’d been reaching for the same chair as me.

We stare at each other a second before she says, “Share?”

I give her a quick nod, and we both pull out a chair and take a seat opposite each other.

Light glitters off the metallic thread doodled like abstract art over her black designer top. She’s not the first student I’ve seen wearing clothing I’d expect to see in a Wall Street investment firm.

I guess the kids around here dress for the CEO position they want, not the trust funds they have.

She brushes invisible lint off her fitted beige slacks, glances at the soda in my hand, and then gives me a millisecond-quick smile. “Soda’s really bad for you,” she says, holding up her can of diet cola.

My laugh turns heads and heats my face. The redhead just shakes her head and takes a sip from her can.

I twist my cap on, then off. On. Off. Trying to work up the courage to say something. Fucking anything.

“Melissa,” she says, and then points at me. “Haven, right? ”

“How—”

She waves away the question. “Slow news day.”

I give her a grudging smile.

Great. Here I am, trying not to make a splash, but apparently I’m already front-page news.

“You’re from out of town, right?” Brown eyes immaculately slicked with gold eyeliner narrow at me. They’re almost exactly the same shade as her rust-red dye job, and it looks intentional.

I huff quietly to myself. Of course she doesn’t recognize me, even though I’ve lived here nearly all my life. People living in Hillside would rather pretend Riversiders don’t fucking exist. All we do is drain the economy and make them uncomfortable when they dare to venture down to the Agony River.

“I went to Ashwood High.”

Her eyes widen. “Huh.”

“Social Change Grant,” I say, because Melissa seems okay and I wouldn’t want her staying up all night wondering how the hell a lowlife like me ended up in a nice place like this.

“Yeah.”

No wonder she’s only drinking cola for lunch. Limiting your communication to single vowels must really cut down on energy consumption.

I put my books down on the table, trying to look comfortable, even if I’m not. Melissa’s eyes dart to my things. She uses a single finger to drag my pink STFU pad out from under Rooke’s spiral notebook. Then she turns it to face her.

“Hm.”

“What?”

She taps the notepad. “Cute.”

“Pink’s not really my color, but I had limited options.”

Melissa sighs. “This town fucking sucks. I order all my shit online. But like weeks ahead of time.” She rolls her eyes. “You know our postal system. Swear Mailman Bob’s a crackhead.”

“His name’s Ted, actually, and he’s definitely not a crack head.” I don’t mean to sound so harsh, but the words rush out of me like steam.

When she frowns, I hastily add, “He’s hella sketchy, though.” She’s still frowning, forcing me to look away.

My eyes land on the notebook. The words ‘Activity Log’ are printed on the cover in white. “So what’s up with this? I zoned out when Professor Rooke was explaining it.”

“Oh, Rooke…” Melissa sighs, her delicately arched eyebrows lifting as she swaps out my STFU pad for the black notebook our teacher gave me. “Fuuuck.” The last is almost a groan.

I suppress a laugh.

And here I was thinking what a degenerate I am because I think my professor is hot.

Maybe every girl, and even some guys edging toward the more bi or pansexual side of the spectrum, has the same reaction.

Why wouldn’t they? He’s so damn easy on the eyes, and then there’s that boatload of intelligence, and confidence bordering on arrogance.

He makes every guy I’ve ever known look like an awkward, hopeless teen or a sad, washed-out man.

Except Kai.

And just like that, he’s back in my head again.

Thank God Melissa starts talking, because I’m in no mood to unpack that mess.

“You got what he said about defining cruelty?” She uses the tip of her nude, perfectly manicured fingernail to flip open the cover of the notebook.

“Yup.”

“Great.” She sounds relieved that she doesn’t have to explain it. “So record anything ‘cruel,’” her finger hooks into a mini air quote before she drags it down the lined page, “someone does. Then define it using the three Is.”

Her eyes meet mine as she sits back to sip her cola. “Like Rooke being an ass when you were late.” Her eyes dart back to the book. “Put that in there. ”

I purse my lips, take a sip of soda, shrug. “Cruel? Really?”

“His intent was to embarrass you. You looked pissed.” She props her elbow on the table, counting off on her fingers. “Intent. Impact. I interpret that as cruelty. Don’t you?”

My mouth is open because I want to argue, but the words wither on my tongue.

She’s not wrong.

Fuck knows if I actually have the guts to record something like that in there.

“Thank you,” I say as she pushes the book back toward my side of the table. “I appreciate the help.”

She flashes me another smile. “Hope you ordered your textbooks. Mine only arrived this morning.”

“Textbooks,” I repeat woodenly.

What’s this dread feeling rising inside me?

“It’s on Rooke’s printout,” she says, waving dismissively. She counts off on her fingers again. “Human Evil, Kathleen Taylor. Zimbardo’s Lucifer Effect.”

Well, that’s one mystery solved. Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed I won’t be delving into devilish hijinks this semester?

Melissa must have picked up on my sudden panic, because she taps a fingernail against her can a few times before saying, “Library might still have copies.”

“Yeah, good thinking.” I take a quick sip of soda to wet my dry mouth. “I mean, at least just to tide me over until mine arrive.”

She quirks an eyebrow at this and then jumps when her phone blares Taylor Swift’s Blank Space .

“Fuck this ringtone,” she mutters, already standing as she takes her phone out of her sleek, boxy laptop bag and glances at it. “And fuck this guy. Gotta go.”

I watch her leave and hurriedly look away when I realize I’m staring. She sways as if she’s wearing heels, but she’s in a pair of beige mules .

Even if I had the money, I doubt I could pull off an outfit like hers.

I’d get ketchup all over it.

I sit around for a bit, doing some sneaky people-watching and Kai-spotting as students file in and out of the cafeteria. I even try to write in the Activity Log notebook, but I’m hesitant to make a mark on the page.

Since I don’t know when my next class is, I don’t know if there’s enough time for me to go to the library and find the books I need for Rooke’s class.

I remember the receptionist from this morning, and jump to my feet.

A freshman walking past me nearly drops her tray of food in surprise.

I guess I’m not the only one who’s all jittery. Although judging from the massive takeout cup of coffee on her tray, caffeine’s a suspect.

The receptionist has her back to me when I hurry to the help desk. The front door of the university is still open, and there’s a warm breeze pushing against me as I rap my knuckles on the polished wooden counter.

She swings around in her chair, glancing at me over the top of her glasses before smiling. “Your ears must have been burning,” she says. “I was just talking about you.”

I laugh uneasily. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“Just a slight hiccup with your enrollment form, but that’s for me and your folks to worry about,” she warbles.

Hiccup?

Folks?

I suppress the urge to burst into hysterical laughter, trying to ignore how my fingertips are tingling. “Anything I can help with?”

“Oh no. I just need your father to fill out an extra form. They always forget to include it in the grant package, heaven knows why.” She pushes away from her desk to collect the sheet the printer just spat out and uses her heels to pull herself back to her desk.

“I’ve left him a message, so don’t you worry yourself, sweetie. ”

She left him a fucking message?

Don’t lose your shit. Don’t lose your shit.

I force a grin as she opens a folder branded with the college’s logo and slips the sheet of paper inside.

There’s a small silver name plaque beside it lying on top of a yellow microfiber cloth.

I guess she was busy cleaning it and, judging from the discarded candy bar wrapper nearby, got a little distracted.

Student Liaison

NORA

“There you are,” she says, plopping the thick folder down in front of me and patting it. “Everything you need is in there, dear.”

When I just stand there, she adds, “Was there something else?”

“Yeah…um…” I lick my lips, hoping the way my head is reeling has to do with low blood sugar and not panic. I need to salvage what I can of the ship Nosy Nora just wrecked.

“It’s just, see, my dad, he’s not in town at the moment.”

“Oh, it’s nothing urgent. As long as he gets it back to me before the end of the week, everything’s golden.”

“And, uh, what if he’s gone longer than that?” I sandwich the thick folder, my notepad, and my notebook against my chest. I really need to get a backpack.

Nora frowns. “Well, when is he coming back, sweetie?”

Never ever ever.

I swallow. “I’m not sure.”

“No problem. If you give me his email address, I’ll just?—“

“You know what? Why don’t you give me the form? I’ll make sure he signs it.”

Her brow furrows. “It’ll be faster if I email.”

“He doesn’t have wifi.”

Nora titters. “Where is he, the North Pole?”

I wave away her question, stalling so I can think. “Pshhh. Some, I dunno, spiritual retreat or something.”

“Ohhh.” Nora’s eyebrows jump up, and she leans in a little to whisper, “One of those.”

“Yeah, but I’ll just, you know, fax it to him or something.”

She looks like she wants to keep arguing, but my orange soda is wearing off.

I slap a hand on the counter. “Let me do you this favor, Nora. You’ve been so kind to me on my first—“ I shrug “—well, second day. I’m going to save you the hassle of all that back and forth.” I scrunch up my face.

“You don’t want to spend half an hour trying to convince a psychic guru that my dad has to emerge from his sweat tent to sign something for his daughter’s college. ”

Nora grimaces. “No sirree Bob.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “All yours, sweetie.” She wheels her chair over to a filing cabinet and pulls out a stapled form from a drawer.

I take it with a smile, and vamoose before she can change her mind, heading for the library. I need to find a place to dump all this stuff so I can go through my enrollment packet and look at my class schedule.

As I go, I’m muttering to myself like a crazy person.

“Spiritual retreat? Guru?”

The smell of old books and lemon-scented furniture polish hits my nose.

“Fucking sweat tent, Haven? Really?”

God, I’ve got to get better at lying. Maybe there’s something in the self-help section I can read.

Lying for Dummies.

The Subtle Art of Not Telling the Truth.

Maybe even How to Win Friends and Lie to Them.