Page 63 of Broken by my Bully

“I’m nineteen!” I squeak, in case that somehow slipped his notice.

“Pleasure to meet you, Nineteen. I’m Boomer.”

I stare at him.

When he laughs, so do I, because God, it’s so fuckingeasy.

“I know exactly how old you are, Haven.” His eyes darken. “I know a lot of things about you.”

As if he’s been studying me the way he studies cruelty.

I shiver despite the fire.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He takes another swallow from his mug, his brown eyes sparkling as they catch the firelight.

“A teacher is supposed to know things about their students.”

“That hasn’t really been my experience,” I mutter.

A cool breeze comes in from somewhere, and I draw my feet under me before I realize what I’m doing. As I go to drop them down again, Bastian holds out a hand to stop me.

“Please,” he says. “I’m a guy. Really think I’m going to care if you put your feet on the couch?”

I grin, shrugging a shoulder as I draw my feet under me again. Bastian takes another sip and then leans over, dragging the fur blanket over my legs.

“Better?” His hand lingers on the edge of the blanket, fingers barely grazing my thigh through the fabric.

I nod, unable to form words. The bourbon is making me warm, but it’s the way he’s looking at me that sets me on fire. I angle toward the fire, squirming my toes under the blanket as my body slowly starts warming up.

This is intoxicating as fuck, and I’m not sure it’s the bourbon to blame. I mean, I’ve had a few sips of beer. Some wine coolers. I even tasted some of my dad’s vodka once, because I wondered why he handled something that looked like water as if it was a precious commodity.

I was six, so I didn’t know water actually was precious, or that vodka was toxic.

Kai explained both to me.

He taught me a lot about the world. Some of it was bullshit.

…you don’t know what you don’t know…

When kids think they know something, even a little, suddenly, they’re wise.

He was the dreamer, Kai. He’d concoct the biggest load of bullshit as we played. I tried to get him to listen to reason, to ground him, but I guess at some stage even my five-year-old self realized he was trying to escape reality.

Me, on the other hand? I was trying to make sense of a world where the rules kept changing. Out there in the woods, we always stuck to the rules.

Our rules.

I wish I’d never left the woods.

Out there, we were untouchable.

Out there, we were loved.

Or maybe Kai taught me that pain and love were the same thing.

Bastian watches me over the rim of his mug, and I wonder who he sees.