Page 77 of Forbidden Lessons

Maybe give some of the more pale students a chance to go splash water on their freaked out faces.

But when I look over at Haven and she’s got this calculating look in her eyes, like she’s wondering what game I’m playing…?

That switch gets flipped again.

Because who the fuck died and made her Queen of Morality Mountain?

Fucking no one.

I’m in charge now, and I plan to make Zimbardo proud.

I clap my hands together, and half the class jumps like a nuke just went off.

That’s why Rooke does it. It’s so fucking satisfying.

“Right. Let’s start voting.”

Chapter 21

Bastian

The hand draped over mine is frail, and bone thin. It belongs to a starving person, or a terminally ill patient who’s already slipping away from the world.

I suppose both the first part, and the latter, are true.

“She refuses to eat,” the nurse at my side says, concern etched into every word. “If you can’t persuade her, we’ll have to use a tube.”

There’s a tray of small finger foods on the night stand.

It smells revolting.

Or maybe it’s just the room.

“They’re right.” I stroke the hand in mine. “You’ve lost a dangerous amount of weight. Please, Evelyn.”

Brown eyes framed with dark lashes dance over my face, barely keeping contact with mine before dancing away.

“You can try to feed her,” the nurse whispers to me.

My jaw clenches as I pick up a yogurt container, peel it open. But when I try and feed Evelyn a spoonful, she turns her head away.

“May we please be alone,” I murmur to the nurse, bowing my head like I can’t bear to look up at her.

“Yes, Mr. Rooke, of course. Just ring if you need anything.” The nurse lays a hand on my shoulder and then leaves, casting a sympathetic look at us over her shoulder and nodding, like she’s encouraging me not to give up hope just yet.

“The food here is awful,” Evelyn snaps, dragging my attention back to her. “You’d know if you bothered to read my letters. I’ve sent you dozens of them.”

She adjusts the maroon robe swaddling her emaciated body. “Is there a reason you didn’t reply to a single one?”

I roll my lips together, biting them between my front teeth as I toss the yogurt carton back onto her night stand. It tips over, and creamy liquid slowly starts oozing onto the metal surface.

The urge to correct her is like rats clawing away at my chest.

When Dr. Evelyn Rooke, sees me, she’s looking into the past. Trying to drag her into the here-and-now is a cruelty I’ve been advised against. Her physician says it doesn’t help. That it simply confuses her even more. That it could lead to distress, severe disorientation, or even a mental breakdown.

I wouldn’t wish early onset dementia on my worst enemy.

What’s the point of such exquisite torture if they don’t even realize it’s happening?

---