Page 95 of Forbidden Lessons

He lifts his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay. Okay. You want to stay out here? Fine. But you’ll catch your death.” His features flinch, and he shakes his head. “You. Will. Get. Sick.” He enunciates every word, like he’s trying to rewrite something in his brain.

Carefully, he holds out his arm. Not touching me, but cautiously herding me. Urging me closer to his house so I can avoid his touch.

And it works.

My muscles unlock, and I walk all the way inside.

It’s warm in here, even though I saw the professor turn on the fireplace only a few minutes ago. I’ve been watching him ever since he got home, trapped in my shivering body as I tried to piece together the last hour.

Or two.

Or three.

My toes dig into the soft carpet. Why is my mind so foggy? My head so light and floaty?

“What time is it?”

“Late. Much too late for you to be wandering around in the woods.” He comes up beside me, and I’m hit with the smell of booze.

Something similar to the bourbon he put in my cocoa, I think. I’m no expert. When I still lived with them, my dad drank vodka and my uncle, beer.

They both preferred meth much, much more, of course.

Fuck. Bad timing for those memories to resurface.

“Haven?”

“Yessir.”

“Where the fuck are your shoes?”

My toes curl again. I look down, see how muddy they are. “Oh. Shit. I’m getting dirt all over your nice clean house.”

I thought my shivers were getting less, but a violent shudder goes through. Maybe it’s the horror of getting mud on this white carpet.

“We need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

“We really don’t,” I mumble, slowly wrapping my hands around my chest.

“So you want me to watch you shiver to death?” He stalks away, and I watch him head into the kitchen to start up his coffee machine, my eyes wide and my jaw clenched to stop my teeth chattering.

He’s not wrong. I am freezing my fucking ass off. But something tells me it’s really not a good idea to take off my clothes. Sodden as they are, they’re the only protection I have right now.

Not that my professor is a threat or anything. Right?

He keeps his eyes on his task as he takes out two cups. “Coffee will be done in about five minutes. There’s a bathroom to your left. Warm clothes in the closet. I’d really appreciate it if you could change into something dry. At least, if the ambulance arrives, I won’t be charged with negligence.”

I huff out a laugh, even though I know he’s not trying to be funny.

My legs turn and take me into the bedroom, survival overruling my gut feeling that I should head out the backdoor, not stepping deeper into the lion’s den.

I pass the fireplace and step into Professor Rooke’s bedroom. There are two barn doors on either side of the massive fireplace that I guess he can close to make this area more private. The walls in here are bare concrete and tinted glass windows, just like the rest of the house.

There’s a walk-in closet, and beside it, a partially open door that must lead to the bathroom, if those dark tiles are anything to go by.

Despite having his permission, I still feel like I’m intruding in his personal space. I guess because, despite how barren and lifeless this house feels, I can see glimpses of the professor everywhere.

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