Page 216 of Forbidden Lessons

Am I hallucinating?

I grasp the knob, hesitate, and then turn it to make sure it’s locked.

But then I have this sinking feeling that I missed something, so I put my palms on the door and push up onto my toes to look through the peephole again.

Kai’s blood-smeared face is right in front of me.

Chapter 63

Bastian

I turn off the faucet, but I stand with my head bowed for a moment before dragging my hand through my hair. I saw Haven’s epiphany as it hit her. The flash of panic on her face said it all.

She’d made a mistake.

MDMA does that to you. That’s why I only ever took it once.

That bullshit drug scrounges up the tiniest morsel of emotion you have and inflates it like a fucking balloon animal.

She’d never have walked in here if she was sober.

But how am I supposed to pretend that everything’s normal now? Just shrug it off, and hope she’s a better actress than she’s proved to be thus far?

Ridiculous.

This whole fucking scenario is bullshit.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I should have left the country club instead of heading to the party. I’d have been back home an hour ago, sitting by the fire, and?—

Reading my mother’s book?

Fucking pussy.

She wants me, like I want her. I’ve seen my need reflected in her eyes countless times. And what’s holding us back? Some archaic rule forbidding relationships with unbalanced power dynamics. Taboo. Bordering on criminal.

We’re all adults here.

And I could pretend that I give a fuck about how this would affect her schooling.

But I don’t.

I became a teacher for a very specific set of reasons, none of them having anything to do with nurturing young adults into intelligent, responsible members of society.

I snort, pushing away from the shower wall so I can grab a towel and dry off.

Fuck society.

It’s the reason I’m in this shithole of a town, stuck in a dead end teaching job that’ll probably see me swallowing a bullet in another ten, twenty years just to end the unfunny joke my life has become.

I hear a strange noise coming from the living area, and quickly step into my sweatpants, grabbing my shirt so I can pull it over my head as I walk.

But I never get the chance, because when I turn the corner and see Haven with her back pressed to the front door, hands flat on the wood, her eyes squeezed closed like she’s holding back The Thing, my heart fucking flat lines.

My bare feet don’t make a sound as I detour for my nightstand. I pull open the drawer and slip a hand inside, drawing out my Beretta.

On instinct, I quietly rack the slide to check that there’s a bullet in the chamber, and that the safety is on. Then I pad quickly and silently to the wall nearest the front door.

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