Page 103 of Forbidden Lessons

Then I drag the sheets over her and head into my closet to collect a pair of sweats. A quick shower to wash off this god awful day, then I’ll catch a few hours of sleep on the couch.

I’m sure Haven will have a different picture of events tomorrow, when she wakes up. Maybe, then, I’ll be able to convince her to report her assault.

I close the bathroom door, strip naked, and head for the shower.

The sight of Haven’s wet sundress hanging from the towel rail stops me in my tracks.

No.

It’s the underwear beside it that makes me stop.

Washed-out pink bikini briefs made of cheap cotton. A tiny satin bow its only decoration.

I’m instantly annoyed that she can’t afford better underwear. That’s another thing we’ll discuss tomorrow. She can’t keep living out of her car. I will ensure she joins a sorority. That they provide her with free housing and board.

If she’s working, and she must be if she’s gone this long without being found out, then I will have her quit.

I can cover her expenses.

Make sure she never wants for anything.

Whatever she desires, she will have.

If she sees a pretty dress in the shop, she can buy it without bothering to look at the price tag, and the shoes that go with it, she can have those too, and I won’t ask anything of her, won’t even?—

A deep, throaty groan forces my eyes open. I stare at the pink panties stretched over my knuckles, fingers curled into a shaking fist that’s pressed to my nose.

I drop her underwear to the floor, huffing out her scent.

Jesus Christ.

JesusfuckingChrist.

I pick up the scrap of fabric and carefully hang it up beside her dress again.

But the smell lingers. No blood, no semen. Just…Haven.

Silly, silly, Haven.

Waiting in the dark, in the rain, like I’m the only person in the world she trusts. Makes no sense. None of this.

She’s toying with me. Using me.

But for what?

Cool tiles under my bare feet, then warm, plush carpet.

My shadow touches the bed before I do. It spills over Haven’s shoulders moments before I pull the sheets down to her feet. It coats her in inky blackness before I turn on the lamp.

Warm, amber light floods Haven’s features. The soft creases of the hoodie.

Never thought anything in my closet could look this fucking good on a person until she came out of my bedroom wearing my hoodie as a dress. I slip my fingers behind the collar, tugging it away so I can see the marks on her throat.

The salve has barely had any time to work, but the handprints on her throat seem to have faded.

I keep pulling, baring her shoulder, scanning her skin. A scratch near the top of her arm. Faint, barely visible. I run my thumb over it, trying to estimate if it’s a fresh wound or something that happened a few days ago.

Should fetch the kit again. Apply more ointment. Help Haven heal.

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