Page 156 of Forbidden Lessons

Or I can just delete it.

Those thoughts quickly fizzle out as I stare at the social media post that had just opened on my phone.

It’s a photograph of a ballroom. Every single person in the shot is wearing either a tux or a sweeping, floor length dress. Some ladies even have gloves up to their elbows. Hair in French knots. Champagne glasses.

I stab my phone’s power button in sheer panic and set it down on my nightstand.

This can’t be happening.

How can Melissa expect me to go to something like this?

What the fuck would I wear? I have two dresses, and one of them just got slashed into ribbons.

It’s way too late notice, anyway.

I have a shift at the diner I can’t miss. Danielle’s already let me off the hook too many times. I need that job more than I need to make an idiot of myself in front of a bunch of prissy rich people.

Rolling onto my side, I curl into a little ball.

Will this nightmare never end?

Chapter 44

Bastian

The first thing I see when my alarm shocks me awake is Evelyn’s gift-wrapped package lying beside me on the bed. My curiosity finally got the better of me last night, but I couldn’t do more than tear off a corner to reveal the thick stack of pages inside.

It’s a manuscript of some kind. She must have written another book. I don’t even have to open it to now what will be inside.

Ego death through psychedelic experiences. Evelyn loved her Golden Teacher tea. Shadow work, and the collective unconscious, and archetypal patterns. Or, depending when she finished it, it could all be delusional ravings and gibberish.

I groan, rolling onto my back, dragging my fingers down my face.

Too much bourbon.

Way too much fucking coke.

I wince as a headache stabs at my temples when I reach to silence my phone’s blaring. Two aspirin on the nightstand, a glass of water.

How kind of me.

I swallow them down, and fall back into my pillows, trying to convince myself to get up as I reach down to adjust my morning wood.

Christ, I’m rock hard.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I snatch it off with my free hand, glaring at the string of messages on my lock screen.

This is why my phone is automatically set to do not disturb at night. Students thinking they can message me at whatever ungodly hours they want, asking for extra credit, submitting late assignments. If I’d received more than a handful of dick pics or titty shots a semester, I wouldn’t have minded as much. But it’s all work, all the time.

I scroll through my notifications, already sitting up, then I flop back down again.

@lee.haven

It’s the least I can do.

I open my messages, reading through the texts Haven sent me last night.

My eyes narrow when I check the timestamp.

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