Page 77 of Lessons in Cruelty

“God, just do it already.” Melissa’s half-yelling, but there’s a smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.

I’m full-on smiling, so fucking happy that I finally have the upper⁠—

Shit.

“Shit.”

“What? What is it?” Melissa scans my face and then holds out her hand. “No, wait. I don’t like that look,” she says, circling a finger in front of my face, then pointing at the bottle of tequila.

I pour us each another shot.

We clink, we swallow.

“Fuck!” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut against the burn.

This time, the burn in my throat seems to spread through my whole body. I feel light, as if I took a big breath I’d start floating.

Must be the booze. I’ve never let myself get drunk before. I thought it would be better than this. More…exciting.

“Come on, show me already,” Melissa demands like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.

I grab an Oreo, crunching loudly on it as I show Melissa the card. Crumbs rain onto the carpet, but she’s too busy gaping at the card.

“I let you slap me,” she blurts out, eyes wide.

I laugh, and almost choke on a cookie crumb. “You didn’t let me do anything. You chose a slap.”

She lifts a hand to the red handprint on her cheek. “It was fucking hard.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

There’s panic in her eyes now. “Fuck that. You’re⁠—“

She cuts off with a jerk when I growl out, “Of course I won’t. Who in their right mind could?” I roll my eyes at her, tossing down the card between us. “Fuck.”

Cruelty

Write a cruel word on your partner’s cheek with a permanent marker.

Consequence

Relive your most recent sexual encounter in graphic detail.

We both stare at the card.

“I mean…is he even allowed to do shit like this?” I mutter softly so my voice won’t get picked up by Melissa’s phone.

“Stories I’ve heard?” Melissa’s eyes are round when I glance up at her. “He’s done much worse.”

“What?”

She glances over at her phone. “I need to go pee,” she says loudly. “Gonna hit pause quick.”

On the second try, she gets to her feet, and goes to fetch her phone. I watch her with a cold, sinking feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with the three shots of tequila simmering down there.

She taps on her phone, and then holds up a finger, leaning in with a serious look on her face. “This is just what I’ve heard, okay? Could all be rumor.”

“Tell me,” I snap.