Page 69 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Kai

This tux is annoying the shit out of me, and I’ve only been wearing it for like an hour. It’s not the fabric. That’s soft enough. But everything’s just too tight. The collar, the stupid cum-fucking-whatever-band around my waist, the cuffs, the goddamn collar.

Like someone’s hands around my throat.

Not Haven’s. I mean, shame, she tried. Girl just doesn’t have it in her.

At least the food’s good. I’ve had seven mini burgers and already I’m eyeing a platinum-blonde sorority girl heading my way with another tray of appetizers.

She catches me looking at her and smiles as she veers my way.

“Hey, handsome,” she purrs, her black dress shimmering as she pops her from hips side to side. “Like what you see?”

“Depends.” I scan the tray. “You got any of those tiny little burgers?”

She laughs like she thinks I’m joking, and her expression turns sour when she realizes I’m not.

“Jerk,” she snaps, walking away with stiff legs that have nothing to do with her ten-inch heels .

Time to dust off that old rumor about my Cambridge girlfriend. Seems people around here have forgotten about her.

Old news is dead news.

Yeah, Kruger, don’t I know it.

Truth is, every girl but Haven looks wrong. They’re as sexy as inflatable sex dolls, and Haven…well, she’s more than just a set of holes.

Not that she’ll ever hear me fucking say it.

Just have to get her out of my system, then I’ll be golden.

I slide a finger behind my collar, trying to pull it away from my neck.

I’m not into all this fancy shit.

I like nice clothes, because anything’s better than the patched, threadbare hand-me-downs I got growing up. But this tux is a fucking nightmare.

And places like this country club don’t get me hard.

It’s the wallpaper.

You couldn’t pay me to walk through this place on acid. If they put this stuff on dollar bills, counterfeiters will be fuming.

Maybe that’s why they have it. It reminds them of money.

It’s the same shade of green.

Luckily there are so many people jammed into this ballroom, it’s hard to see the walls. But it’s unavoidable on the way to the restroom, and I’m going to need to go soon after all this champagne.

And the music sucks . Who still listens to Chopin?

“Hey, man. Your brother’s looking for you.”

I turn to Austin, sipping at my champagne glass as I study his red curls. They look tighter tonight. Jesus, is there product in there? My mouth twists, and I’m not sure if it’s for his hairstyle or the champagne. Don’t like this bubbly shit, but some alcohol is better than none alcohol.

“Tell him you couldn’t find me.”

“It’s about the party.”

“Fuck.” I drain the awful champagne and hand Austin the glass. “Where is he?”

“Out front by the donation boxes.”

Damn. That’s a lot of wallpaper to cover.

But I grit my teeth and bear it, because the only reason I’m here is because of the party, and if it’s gone belly up, then I’m fucking off.

Not that I really want to go back to my dorm room, either.

Since last night, I’ve been staring at Haven’s Activity Log, trying to get myself to open it. I keep moving it around, wishing in some weird way that I’d drop it and it would just flip open to a page, and I’d be forced to read it.

Which is pathetic, because of course I want to read it.

That’s the whole reason I took it.

But as soon as I brought it into my room and set it down on the corner of my bed, I just stared at it.

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

What if she wrote about the maple tree?

I’m thinking I didn’t take it to read it, but 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’ve even donated chew toys, collars.

Huh.

Seems like Haven’s little pet project took off. Pity she won’t be here to see it. No way she’s arriving here in one of her cheap-ass outfits.

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?”

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

“Thought that was your job.”

“My job is making sure things run smoothly. And right now, I’ve got a fucking 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 that bullshit smiling like yours can.”

If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. “If you could have dealt with this problem, it wouldn’t be a fucking problem anymore.”

I’m frowning as I whip my head around to glare at him. “The fuck you on about?”

He dusts the sleeves of his tux and tugs them straight, his brown eyes taking their sweet time flicking up to meet mine. “You said she was gone.”

“Sh—Haven?” My heart seizes up for a moment before blood pumps again. “I’m working on it.”

“Time’s up, bro.” Ezra rolls the word off his tongue with so much disdain, he might as well have called me a loser. “You’ve had weeks.” He snorts. “Telling me she won’t dare set foot in Hillside again. And what the fuck did I just see?”

“She was on campus today? I thought she didn’t have class on Fridays?”

He rolls his eyes like he can’t believe he’s trying to explain something to a dipshit like me.

“Here, Kai. Here. She just strutted past me like she fucking owns the place.” Casting a quick glance at the briefly empty entrance, he grabs the front of my tux in a fist and slams me against the nearest wall.

And when I see the look in his eyes, I’m kinda wishing the wallpaper’s going to swallow me.

“You’ve been fucking her, haven’t you?”

My voice hitches in panic. “Wh-What?”

If only. If only I’d actually fuck her, then I could move on. But no, I just finger her under beds and leave my cum in her car like a pathetic stalker.

Ezra’s eyes glitter with malice as he leans in, his fist pushing so hard against my sternum I’m struggling to breathe.

“You’re seriously going to drag our name through the mud just so you can rail some slut from Riverside?” He scans my face, contempt dripping from every word .

The word ‘slut’ makes me want to slam his head into the wall.

Only I get to call her that.

Only I get to degrade her.

It’s not about what she is. It’s about what she did to me.

I don’t touch Ezra, of course. I let the words wash over me and refuse to let them latch on. I’ve gotten good at it over the years.

And Jesus, does it piss him off.

His eyes narrow to slits. Calculating. Honing in. Guess even on my best day, some of the anger still seeps through. Enough for him to pick it up, anyway. I read psychopaths are good at that kind of thing. Spotting human emotion. Even good at emulating it sometimes, to kinda blend in.

Ezra’s a fucking grandmaster.

“I don’t know what fucking spell that witch’s cunt cast on you when you were a kid, but you’d better snap the fuck out of it.”

I grunt in pain as Ezra presses away from me with a shove to my chest. He runs a hand over his hair, sliding a strand of hair that escaped his slicked-back faux hawk.

He gives my cheek a hard pat, forcing a smile as sharp as a fucking scalpel.

“I’ll handle this, just like I handle all your fuck ups.”

He seizes my shoulder and swings me to the door, where a couple stand, trying to decide which bin to put their donations in.

“Smile like you mean it, little brother.”

He’s said that to me a thousand times over the years. After he’d pinched me, bitten me, kicked me until I was blue and purple.

I walk up to the entrance, giving the couple a shaky smile and motioning to the canned food box. They grin at me, getting whatever shot of dopamine they came here for, and I step aside so they can go to the ballroom.

My phone is in my hand a second later, trembling as I look up Haven’s number. I got it from Nora. It was worth every Mars Bar.

But I’ve been too spineless to message Haven, to call her. I keep thinking it would leave a trail for someone to follow. Evidence they can use against me.

What do I even say?

Hey, my brother’s about to destroy you, run?

I’m sorry?

My thumb hovers over her name.

One text, and I’m choosing her over my family. One text and I’m admitting she matters more than my future.

One text, and she’ll finally know the truth.

I never forgave her for leaving me.