Page 126 of Lessons in Cruelty

Because if I had hurt him, he’d have to hurt me back.

There’s not enough water in the world to wash away the blood Ezra has coaxed from my body over the years, literally and figuratively.

But no matter how badly I want to get back at him, I don’t touch Ezra. I don’t touch him, I don’t insult him, I put my head down and I do what he says because he’s my golden ticket out of Agony Hollow.

Getting out of here, away from him, my family, the memories…that’s the only reason I suffer this psychotic asshole’s presence.

So I endure.

He shakes his arms, glancing down at the booze splashed over his once-pristine polo shirt, picking a tiny shard of glass out of his arm hair.

“That trailer park whore doesn’t deserve you, Kai. Never has, never will. She made you weak. Dependent. I’ve only ever made you stronger.”

My stomach contents have turned into acid.

“By hitting me?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Ezra pauses in the act of brushing off his shirt. His eyes swivel to me, head tilting as he slowly comes closer to the bed.

Congratulations, Kai. Now you’ve gone and made him mad.

My muscles lock when he stops at the side of the bed, towering over me.

“You think I enjoyed it, Kai? I did it because I knew he’d turn on you one day, too. It was just a matter of time.”

I flinch when he reaches into my space to pluck a piece of lint from my hoodie.

“I was preparing you. Protecting you. While you were out there in the woods playing pretend with that slut, I was taking the real hits.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What do we say?” he murmurs, ducking down until we’re at eye level.

Punch him. Strangle him. Kill him…for real this time.

But my intrusive thoughts never win.

“Thank you,” I rasp on automatic.

“My pleasure.” He pats my cheek, and I flinch with every touch.

“Now, best you sober up. The social committee is meeting again later this week to iron out the final details for the Rain Dance.”

He heads for the door, pausing at the threshold.

“We should take a trip sometime. Maybe after midterms. Go down to the beach house. What do you say?”

I’d rather flay off my own skin with a butter knife.

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

He nods as he closes my door.

My hand shakes as I drag my fingers through my hair, as I hunt for the roach so I can light it up. I tug the warm, sweet smoke into my lungs, my muscles relaxing as the weed numbs me.

…she made you weak…

I hike up the sleeve of my hoodie and stare at the bite mark on my arm, running a thumb over the angry, raised puncture wounds.