Page 559 of Lessons in Cruelty

Jesus, if only.

I’d do anything for that to be true.

Dark blue eyes streaked with orange from the fire gleam as she gives me a slow, sexy smile.

“You’re going to take me inside, and do that again.”

Chapter 73

Bastian

Five minutes left.

I prowl up and down in front of the massive board in the lecture hall, rolling a piece of chalk between my fingers. I can’t help but survey the room again, as if it would magically fill the empty seat beside Parker. Or the equally empty one behind the desk where Kai normally sits.

Five minutes left with these young, malleable minds, and all I can think about is how fucking ungrateful some people can be.

I turn to the board, the chalk screeching as I draw a thick line under the word PAIN.

“When was the first time you realized someone else’s pain made you feel powerful?”

I glance over my shoulder, and spot more than a few of my students shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

That’s better.

I chuckle, tossing the chalk up and down in my palm. “That first taste of dominance always hits the hardest, doesn’t it?” My voice drops lower. “Maybe you were six when you first pushed someone off the swing set. Maybe sixteen, when you let slip a tiny little secret that spread like a wildfire, obliterating someone else’s reputation?”

My gaze drifts over their rapt faces, fixating just a breath on whoever looks the guiltiest.

They always look away first.

“We’ve explored schadenfreude through various theoretical lenses this semester.” I draw a lazy circle on the board under the word that I’m certain no one in class has memorized how to spell.

The lecture hall door opens, and Deputy Thatcher steps in like he has every goddamn right to. I do my best not to bristle, my mind scrambling furtively to pick up the thread of my lecture. And already running ahead to make sure I say nothing incriminating while he’s here.

Because why the fuck is he here?

Thatcher pauses before taking a seat near the door. His presence ripples through my students, starting up a buzz of whispers that I silence with a bang of my hand against the blackboard.

More than a handful of faces show shock. I’ve never had to use force to draw my students’ attention back to me, and that just makes my loathing for Thatcher grow even stronger.

Fuck it.

He wants a show? I’ll give him a fucking show.

“Savoring cruelty.” I bang the board again on each word, as if that had been the plan all along. And I have to suppress a smile at how my students jump.

My voice switches to something melodic, almost pleasant. “Deriving pleasure—” I circle the word PLEASURE on the board “—from another’s pain.” The stark underline becomes a circle too. “Nietzsche called it humanity’s oldest festive joy. Modern psychologists label it a defense mechanism. I call it honesty.”

I set down the chalk, dusting off my fingers as I amble back to the lectern.

“Cruelty can be taught like a skill, if you’re unlucky enough to have a tutor. But even in the absence of external sadism, it can still be uncovered through a type of…archaeology of the soul. Each layer unearthing something primitive.”

My voice drops lower, making everyone—even Thatcher—lean in.

“We’ve all seen that video from the Rain Dance. Of the people shown in the video, who wrote something in their Activity Log the next day?”

There’s silence. Utter, thrilling, breathy silence.