Page 84 of Lessons in Cruelty
Tequila makes me brave. Or stupid. Same thing.
“After you got me drunk in your house? Alone? At thirty—” I hesitate, because I can’t remember his exact age, either. “—something years old?”
Silence.
Then, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“At three in the morning?” My voice cracks. “That’s not…teachers don’t…you can’t do that.”
“I’m aware,” he mutters, like he wishes he had the common sense not to be on the phone with me. Like he expects me to feel sorry for him because he can’t control himself.
“Yeah? That why you calling? To confess your sins?” I turn my voice into a squeak. “Or’d Bastian have a nightmare about corrupting innocent freshmen?”
He lets out a half-growl, half-laugh. “Innocent? That’s what you think you are?”
“I’m nineteen.”
“I’m aware, Haven. Painfully aware.”
Bastian growling in your ear is not something any woman of ovulating age should hear after she’s consumed as much tequila as I have.
I swear, he just got me pregnant through the phone.
“Yeah? You sure?” I gesticulate wildly, slamming the side of my hand into the toilet paper dispenser. “’Cos it sure don’t seem that way. What with all the, all the touching—“
“Haven.” My name sounds gets strangled in his throat, coming out strained, frustrated.
“—and the eye-fucking—”
“Enough.” The word cracks through the phone like a whip.
Good. Let him get angry. Let him think about what he’s done.
“You’re imagining things. I would never overstep. Unlike my underage student, who can barely form coherent sentences.”
“Oh, fuuuck you, Professor.”
He exhales into my ear. “If you’re quite done? I’m calling about your submission. I need to know who sent that letter.”
I open my mouth, for some reason about to tell Professor Rooke about everything. Who knew alcohol was a truth serum?
“Uh-uh!” I suppress a burp, then a gag. Repeating tequila is no good. “No context. No…note thingy. Your rules.”
“Rules don’t apply at three AM when I’m—“ He cuts off hurriedly.
“When you’re what?”
Silence.
“When you’re what, Professor?”
“Jesus. Get some fucking sleep, Haven.”
“You called me!”
“A mistake. Clearly.”
“Yeah? Well maybe luring me to your house was a mistake. Maybe sticking your nose where it don’t belong was a mistake. Maybe, maybe—“
