Page 214 of Lessons in Cruelty

I slam the door in his face, leaning my back against it as I savor the feeling of air in my lungs.

God, my stomach hurts.

“Who was it?” Melissa comes out of the kitchen, using the heels of both hands to wipe her face. “Oh my God, was that Amazon? I was waiting for⁠—”

“I think it’s for me.”

“Oooh! What did you get?” She brightens up so much, you’d swear this was her delivery.

“I’m not sure…” But as I say it, my brain finally catches up. “Oh, fuck.”

“What? What?” She plucks the parcel out of my hands and holds it over her head as she charges back into the kitchen. “I’m opening it!”

“Melissa!” I run after her. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“Oh come on! It’s been days since I got a delivery. I need a hit, man.” She’s got my parcel under her arm, trying to open a drawer without dropping it.

“Well it’s been years for me, so give!” I come up behind her and grab it, tearing it out from under her arm.

She spins around, eyes wide. “Years?”

“I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect,” I lie, turning my back on her. Then I turn back and hold out my hand. “Knife?”

“Ew, no. You’ll cut yourself and get blood everywhere.” She hands me a cute pink box cutter. Because, of course, everyone just has one of those in their kitchen drawer.

I had half-empty butane canisters and crack pipes.

Melissa goes back to fixing our snack, adding bananas and some weird monk fruit sweetener to the mix while I struggle to open the package without cutting myself. I’m kinda grateful she didn’t give me the knife.

There are two boxes inside the larger one. As soon as I see the shoebox shape of one of them, my suspicions are confirmed.

Melissa comes around the counter and slides a bowl over to me, picking up the delivery note.

“Ooh, Ashwood Crossing.” She slaps the paper down on the counter. “Laramie? You fucking kidding me?”

She doesn’t know our professor bought it. That he watched me strip down to my underwear before trying it on. That, if I accept this, I’m about to walk into that gala wearing his money, his choice, his claim on my body.

I quickly close the box flaps. “It’s a mix-up. It shouldn’t have⁠—“

“I swear to God, open that box or I’m fetching a knife.” There’s a feral look in her red-rimmed eyes that I don’t have the moxie to challenge right now.

“I’m still not goin⁠—“

“Shut the fuck up and take that dress out of there like a good girl.”

The words hit different now.

After what Bastian said.

After what Kai did.

Like the universe is conspiring to turn me into exactly what they want me to be.

Their good girl.

I set the shoebox on the counter. Melissa doesn’t seem interested in it at all. Her eyes are glued to the large, flat parcel.

She claps her hands over her mouth when she sees the label.