Page 99 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

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I don’t remember hanging up or going to sleep, but I must have. Because when I wake up in the morning, I’m sleeping on top of the guest bed in my clothes and shoes.

And my head is in agony.

A little hair from the dog that bit you hardly feels sufficient to battle the hangover laying claim to my brain.

I’m going to have to skin the fucking dog.

37

Haley

Caleb won’t answer his phone. Or the front door.

I know he’s still at Finn’s because his car is parked in the driveway, but there is no sign of life inside the house. No lights on or movement.

After knocking on every door and calling him five times, I go back home to wait. Likely, he is sleeping off his hangover from the night before.

I never asked him why he was drunk and alone. In retrospect, I wish I had, but I was still focused on my own drama.

The bruise on my cheek is the worst.

There is also a bruise in the middle of my back that no one will ever see and one around my upper arm from being grabbed, but I can wear long sleeves. My cheek, however, is puffy and tender and discolored.

I spend a long time in front of the mirror, layering makeup over the spot and then scrubbing it away with a wet washcloth when it looks too cakey. If I try too hard to hide it, my parents will be suspicious.

So, in the end, I decide to put a bit of powder over the spot and depend upon my ability to lie.

“What in God’s name happened to your face?” My mom notices the spot the second I walk into the kitchen. She rounds the island and presses a hand to my cheek, grabbing my chin and tilting the bruise into the light.

“What?” Dad asks from the table, looking up from his plate of eggs.

“A bruise.” Mom jerks my face around to show my dad, seeming to forget that the bruise is connected to her living, breathing daughter. “On her face.”

I push her hands away and roll my eyes. “I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”

She snorts. “It looks like a big deal. What happened?”

“A branch had it out for me on my run yesterday,” I say easily, pouring myself some orange juice. “I went for a run in the park, and I took the dirt trail through the trees, and a low-hanging branch surprised me. I ran into it so hard I fell backwards.”

I feel slimy lying to them—the same way I used to the few times John left bruises where other people could see—but I can’t tell them the truth. They’d never let me leave the house again if they knew members of a biker gang were after me.

Dad turns around in his chair, arm draped over the back of the seat. “I don’t like you running those trails by yourself. They aren’t safe.”

“Your dad’s right. You need to stick to main roads and sidewalks,” Mom says, running her thumb over my cheek again. “Crazy people could be hiding in those trees.”

I laugh, and Mom thinks I’m laughing at her worrying, but it’s because she hit the nail on the head without even realizing it.

Her worst nightmare came true, and she has no idea.

Throughout the day, I call Caleb and venture over to Finn’s a few more times, but after my third trip out for “some air,” my parents are suspicious, and I stick to calling and texting.

Finally, just after I finish eating dinner, Caleb texts.

Come over.

I lace up my sneakers and head out for a run, promising my parents I’ll give all trees a wide berth, and practically sprint over to Finn’s. The front door is unlocked when I get there, and Caleb is inside, lying on the couch.

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