Page 244 of Forbidden Lessons

I flush and turn to the vanity mirror.

There’s blood on my jaw. More on my hands.

And when I put my hand between my legs, I feel more blood there.

Fuck.

Did my period start last night?

I grab toilet paper and wipe, groaning when I just see more blood.

Are you fucking kidding me? My eyes dart to the towel rail, and thank God my underwear is hanging there. Bastian must have put it on there after I showered last night.

I grimace as I slide it up to my knees, because it’s still stained with paint. If there’s one thing I’ve absolutely despised the past couple of months, it’s the handful of times I was forced to wear dirty underwear.

Wadding up some toilet paper, I lay it on my underwear and pull them up all the way, yanking the chain out when it gets caught in the elastic waistband.

I pad back into Bastian’s bedroom.

Maybe climbing back into bed isn’t the best idea. Then again, there’s already blood streaking his sheets.

I’m so fucking drained. So fucking…empty.

All I want to do is sleep.

I wince as I walk back, desperate to climb between those bodies and just forget about everything until I’m ready to deal with?—

Ring, ring.

Ring, ring.

I detour to the living room, and stare at the wall phone near the kitchen.

Stop it right now.

But the power of my mind does nothing.

I pad over, lift the receiver, and I’m about to set it down when I hear a tinny, “Hello? Mr. Rooke? Are you there?”

Have no reason to answer, but whoever’s on the other end of the line sounds almost frantic. Panicked. I can’t just put the phone down on them. They’d probably just call back. And I don’t know how to disable this phone. Does it have an off button or something?

“Hello?” I croak into the handset.

“Oh, hello. Is this Mr. Rooke’s residence?”

“Yeah.” I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand.

There’s a condescending pause. “May I speak with Mr. Rooke?”

I’d laugh, if I had the energy.

No, sorry, he’s recovering from the bender we had last night. There were drugs involved, and, briefly, a revolver.

“Yeah, he’s, uh, not available right now. Can I take a message or something?” Fuck, even the rain’s too loud right now. And this woman’s voice is screeching right through my brain.

What are those Egyptian beetles? Scarab. Scarab beetle.

That’s what her voice sounds like.

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