Page 137 of Forbidden Lessons

“Ah.” He waves a hand like he’s swatting a fly. “Old news is dead news. Everyone’s forgotten by now. Probably just a rumor, anyway.” He laughs and jabs me in the ribs with his elbow. Lucky for him he’s stoned, or I’ll have decked him. “Pics, or it didn’t happen, amiright?”

“I saw the pics,” I grate out.

“Yeah?” Kruger considers this for a moment, a philosophical light in his eyes.

Fuck, I’m about to punch this guy, and it’s not even his fucking fault.

It’s all Haven.

Always has been, always will be.

Should have strangled her when I had the chance. Who knows when I’ll get another? She goes to my fucking college, butI barely see her. It’s like she’s actively avoiding me. Because, no shit, she’s figured out I hate her.

Because, no shit, she’s a lying slut.

“I mean, sure, our boys fuck,” Kruger says, thankfully snapping me out of the very bloody, very messy image in my head. “But they don’t exactly go around broadcasting that shit. You know what a fucking prude the dean is. She hears there’s been gang bangs and shit happening, she’ll suspend everyone.” He blows out a stream of smoke. “She needs to get laid, man.”

He’s right.

About the dean. About everything. The only reason we get away with so much is that we keep it under wraps. And the faculty members that know about the shit we get up to are usually involved themselves, so it’s in their best interest to stay mum on the topic.

“You’re right,” I murmur, waving away the joint when he wants to hand me the last few drags. “Old news is dead news.”

“Sure thing.” He pinches the roach and takes a tiny sip from it before crushing it out under his foot.

I take out the eyedrops that live in my pants pocket, handing him the bottle when I’m done dosing myself. He hands it back with a smile, wiping away his artificial tears with a knuckle.

“Hey, man, nice hanging with you. Let me know if you ever want to smoke a fat one again.”

I nod, watching him go with narrowed eyes.

It’s not just that I’m stoned.

I am.

But I’ve also struck on an idea, thanks to Kruger.

Old news might be dead news, but thank God for the motherfucking zombie apocalypse.

I had every intention of walking straight back to my frat house. Grabbing a shower, wolfing down whatever I could find in the fridge, then passing out in bed.

But I’m so fucking thirsty, I have to stop at the GAZ kitchen to grab some water.

And then I spot a jar of cookies on the counter, just sitting out there for anyone to take. So I take. And then I pour myself a glass of milk, because cookies and milk.

That’s around when Haven walks past, her arms loaded with random shit.

Right.

Because she’s moving in tonight.

Burrowing her claws in even deeper than before.

I sidle over to the kitchen drawers, keeping my eyes locked where Haven disappeared up the stairs. My hand fumbles with the handle before I slide open the drawer and slip my hand inside.

Poor thing.

Someone should help her.

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