Page 149 of Lessons in Cruelty

Maybe that’s why he lives all the way out here.

No witnesses.

He goes to open the Tesla, and I veer toward it, squinting up at the sun like it’s purposefully on kill mode.

I head for the passenger door, but it doesn’t open when I tug on the handle.

“Yo,” I call out. Rap my knuckle on the glass. “Open, please.”

Bastian stares at me over the top of his car. “You’re not driving with me.”

“Sorry, what the fuck now?” I close one eye as I drag hair out of my face with a swipe of my hand. I’m leaning against the car, because it’s that or slide to the ground.

“Christ…” He stares at me for such a long time, I look around for a place to sit because I’m feeling woozy. “Okay, fuck it. Come here.”

He holds out a hand, flicking his hand at me, an annoyed twist to his mouth. “How’d you let yourself get this drunk, anyway?”

“You were s’posed to cut me off,” I say, holding up a finger.

“And you’re supposed to know your own limits,” he snaps.

“Hey! I’m new to this whole…” I hold out my arm. “Alcoholism thing.”

“Are you still drunk?” He double-times around the car, grabbing my wrist and jerking me to face him.

“Fuck. Ow.” I stare blearily up at him. “Yessir. Maybe?” Then I close one eye, because it seems to stop the world spinning. “How does one tell, pray thee?”

He takes a big breath and then scrapes his fingers over his scalp. “Okay, okay. Here.” He takes his phone out of his pocket, and taps on it a few times. “Go inside, get some sleep. I’ll be back at noon to collect you.”

“Collect me where?”

Bastian’s impatient sigh sounds like a retro teakettle. “Just…go sleep it off.” With a flick of his hand, he dismisses me. “Go on. And drink lots of water.”

“Sleep. Water.” I head for his house, sticking my thumb up into the air without looking back. “Gotcha.”

“Guess I’ll do this myself then,” I hear him mumble as I slip back into his house.

But I’m entirely focused on getting into his warm, soft, silky bed. I make two detours though. The first, to fetch a big glass of filtered water from the kitchen. And the second, to pluck a t-shirt from his closet.

The water goes on the nightstand, the t-shirt goes over my head. A second later, my bra is on the floor, and my ass is under the sheets.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

“Haven!” a voice whisper-shouts urgently.

My grainy eyes reluctantly open to slits. I stare at the dark, foreign ceiling, trying to figure out if the voice I heard was part of a dream, or someone actually calling my name.

Oh, fuck. Someone’s inside here with me.

My eyes are barely cracked open. Eyelashes fluttering. Bastian’s room is dark, like a storm slid over the house while I was sleeping. I can’t open my eyes any wider. I’m too groggy.

“Haven.”

I try to move my head, but I can’t. I’m on my back, spreadeagled, but all I can move are my eyes. They flicker left, right, then forward, looking toward the foot of the bed.

To where the voice came from.

The top of someone’s head slowly bobs up from the shadows at the foot of the bed. A balding scalp, a few licks of pale hair standing this way and that.