Page 37 of Broken by my Bully

When he tilts my head back.

When a hand slides to the back of my neck. A long exhale of warm breath on my face, then quick puffs as he speaks with his mouth so, so close.

“Haven?” His voice is a tinny echo that can barely compete with the ringing in my ears. “You get to heaven yet? Or do I need to hit you harder?” He’d always ask me that if I got injured—especially if he was the one who hurt me. Like he was doing me a favor, sending me to the pearly gates ahead of schedule.

Some days, I’d wish he had.

“You’re hurting me,” I moan. Confused, frustrated, my face aching.

“You act like you’re someone new, but I know better,” he whispers furiously, his fingers tight on my jaw. “I know what you really want. You want me to break you apart just like I used to. And baby? I’ve hadyearsto think up new ways to make you scream.”

“Why are you doing this?” It’s a whimper, because that’s all I can manage, and I don’t know how else to make him stop.

“Think I didn’t have questions, huh?”

“Questions?” Even through the foggy, aching pain, I try to understand. Of course he has questions. I disappeared overnight. And when I tried to communicate with him, he ignored me. “Ask me. Ask me anything.”

He laughs. Brittle, cold. “Why’d you come back, Haven? Did you miss the way I made you bleed? Or did you get tired of having dick for breakfast and dinner?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know…I don’t know what?—”

Then there’s that warmth on my face again. But it’s not the air from his lungs.

It’s his tongue.

Sliding over my chin, my cheek, the tip of my nose.

“I missed this,” he murmurs. “Tasting your fear. Tell me, Haven,what used to hurt more? When I made you bleed, or when I kissed it better?”

Then my body is sliding to the floor because there’s nothing holding it in place anymore.

Kai is gone, leaving only the memory of his tongue on my skin.

And an echo of his cruel words.

…what used to hurt more?…

Haven

There’s a haze over the sun. It washes out the colors at the entrance of Agony Hollow College. Like my experience the past week has drained all the color from my world.

It’s one in the afternoon. I’ve been standing in this same spot for over an hour, trying to work up the courage to go inside.

I’ve only been awake since eleven. I hit my head so hard last night that I was terrified I might have a concussion, so I refused to let myself go to sleep…although, honestly, not waking up feels like an easy way out.

I also kept hearing things. Footsteps. Odd noises. Like someone was trying to be quiet so they wouldn’t wake me.

The cap on my head is itching where it rubs against my forehead. It’s yellow, an AHC logo prominent in black on the front panel. It was part of the promo merch they handed out when I attended the Social Grant event earlier this year. That, the tote bag, and a bunch of AHC merch.

My phone died again. No alarm to wake me up when I eventually succumbed to sleep. So, yeah. I missed another of Professor Rooke’s classes.

Strike two.

One more, and there’s a chance he’ll grade me so low that AHC will revoke my grant. All my funding,poof.

Any chance at a new start…gone.

And the fucker to blame for that is probably sitting up there with an arrogant grin on his face, like the cat that got the damn cream on his fucking apple pie.