Briony
eyes open, my focus is pulled to the blood red awaiting me.
I stare at the freshly cut rose that’s lying in the old wire trash can near my desk. Its thorns push through the metal, piercing the grated openings. It was cut too soon. The tight, round, velvet bud hasn’t even had the chance to open. No time to bloom.
An ending.
A message.
A warning.
I know it was him. It’s always him.
My stranger.
My stalker.
No twenty-year-old girl who’s as pure as me should ever have to worry about random boys who leave freshly cut flowers in her garbage can or peculiar messages written on wrinkled pages of ripped-up Bible. But for the last three weeks since graduation, it’s been nothing but cryptic messages and budded roses awaiting me in the trash every morning.
I lay on my side, staring at the crimson bud as I become aware of my hands on my body. One rests against the warm skin of my neck while the other lays between my soft, milky thighs.
I feel the tingling sensation breathe to life beneath my skin. That uncomfortable feeling that gives me a knot in my stomach while making my shoulders shudder.
He was here again. Watching me sleep. How he gets in is a question I can’t seem to answer. My brother makes sure to lock every door and window when he leaves for his dorm room, especially now that our parents have left.
Rolling onto my back, I think about the effort, the reasons, and none of it makes sense to me. It’s a terrifying little secret that only I and Mia, my best friend, know about. I wouldn’t dare share it with Baret. Getting my older brother out of the house to live in the dorms has been such a relief for my studies. I didn’t need his incessant and lewd behavior distracting me anymore.
Last week, I’d questioned Mia if I was alone in this apparent stalking, leaving out the specific details, but informing her of the eyes I felt on my back at all times. It creeped her out as much as it did me when she found out, becoming her new little project to uncover. She assumed someone was out to ruin my reputation. To tarnish the hard work I’ve achieved throughout my four years of high school, to prevent me from finally joining the Covenant Academy as the first female Magnus Princeps.
I’d worried she’d heard Saint and his ridiculous gang of friends talking. Was the future of our congregation simply finding new and unusual ways to torture me again? Teasing me for my achievements? Testing my abilities? My faith? Seems unlikely, as this person has a sensitive touch to his work. A delicate approach to stalking, and although he’s starting to mature, Saint has a history of being anything but delicate. Or kind.
This person seems to have a fascination with me that doesn’t end.
I’m just stupid and curious enough to allow it to continue.
Whoever was following me was after something, and the only way to get it was through silent obsession.
I reach for the nightstand drawer, pulling out the wrinkled note I hid last week. Just the thought of this person ruthlessly ripping pages from the Bible to use as stationary makes my skin crawl with terror as much as it piques my interest.
The page is torn from Deuteronomy in the Bible, and the circled passage reads, For the LORD your God is he who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory.
Over the passage is a handwritten letter in red pen, the strikes of the letters scrawled so hard it nearly tore through the delicate page.
I’m your GOD now -Aero
Running my fingers over the deep divots of his name awakens something within me, and I wonder if my strange stalker’s curiosities are running as wild as mine.
The idea flogs my mind, and I want to know if he’s tempted to touch me while watching me in my bed. The thought that maybe he already has sweeps through me, and something of a wildfire spreads down between my thighs, causing me to immediately feel the weight of guilt heavier than the blanket wrapped around me.
The front door opens downstairs, disrupting me from my thoughts, and I know I’m running late. My body aches with a lagging depletion of energy. The kind you always get before having to be up and ready for such an important event.
“Bri-uh-knee!” I hear the annoying voice of my brother from the first floor.
His clunky footsteps ascend the wooden stairs of our two-story home until he appears at my door. His muscular build, looking fit beneath his dress shirt and slacks, still surprises me. He used to be such a dweeb. A toothpick dweeb. But when maturity hits, boys really do become men. It’s just gross when it’s your brother. He wears his annoyed expression wonderfully well, while his signature blonde curly locks are brighter today. A weekend of tubing down the river with his college roommates will do that.
Reluctantly, I push past him, making my way out of bed and into the bathroom. I stare at my reflection, gripping the ends of my hair to untangle the knots with my brush from another night of restless sleep. It wasn’t fair. I’d always wished to be blonde like the rest of my family. Baret got the genes that were supposed to be passed down to me. My mother and father were both blonde, with tall and thin body types. My brother followed suit, and his height now towers over me, even though he’s filled out some. But, regardless, like a stained blob on an inkblot, I came out with hair as black as the night.
Dark hair, porcelain skin. The Devil’s Doll. They never declared that’s what they thought of me, but their eyes of subtle disapproval screamed the unintended label.
Mother always worried there was an underlying root to that. A biblical premonition that needed even more reassurance to be stamped out. They were hard on me. Harder than Baret. I’d come to understand and accept it as the youngest child, as well as the only girl, and made it even more my mission to prove my worth in my family and in the church.
“Why aren’t you ready? Today is Induct! We were supposed to be there early,” Baret groans, leaning his head against the door frame.
“I-I must’ve overslept,” I say apologetically, wondering about my sleep that may or may not have been under watch. “It won’t take me long.”
After braiding my hair back, I head into my room to grab my crucifix necklace on my nightstand. A gift from my father when I turned sixteen to celebrate my abstinence. I dress in my plaid green skirt, my black thigh-high tights beneath, and my white button-up shirt with the Covenant Academy crest across my breast. I slip into my black Mary Jane Doc Martens and grab my backpack.
Baret is waiting impatiently downstairs, his nose in a book, when I finally descend the stairs.
“Have you heard from Mom and Dad today?”
“No, Bri,” he replies with another groan. “Calls don’t come as frequently when you’re in the bush.”
My shoulders must have slumped slightly because the annoyance on his face drops. He closes the book and walks forward, setting it back on the fireplace mantel before turning back to face me.
“What they’re doing is far more important than the Induct Ceremony. We have to see God’s greater picture. Spread the Lord’s word to the people who can’t access his glory.” He spreads his hands before him dramatically, as if imagining the scene. “Mission work makes the world go ’round.”
“If only father could hear you now,” I say, nudging his arm as he laughs. “He’d be so proud.”
“What?” he asks. “I’m as holy as they come. And boy, do they come.” He throws me a sly grin.
“You’re disgusting.” I push past him, heading out onto the porch. “And vile,” I add for good measure.
Baret’s too smart for his own good. He plays the system well. Portraying the good Christian son at the church, while studying medicine at college, finding new and creative ways to break his vows of celibacy without actually breaking them. He always lived on the outskirts of our faith, using his wits to pull the facade to perfection.
“Please.” He scoffs, following out after me. “You’re just mad because Saint still refuses to court you. The dark stain of condemnation? Isn’t that what he calls you now?”
“Really?” I turn to face him, and he almost runs into me. “Now you’re feeding into it, too?”
“Calm down, Briony. He’s just teasing. Haven’t you heard? Guys who are deliberately mean are doing it with a purpose. I think they forget to teach you in the Covenant Academy that boys have these things called hormones. Testosterone to be specific. It makes them do weird things.” He shudders dramatically.
“Don’t you get all scientific now, Baret,” I warn with a teasing tone as he sidesteps past me towards the car. “Bishop Caldwell wouldn’t like the sounds of that. Christ works through us. Christ overpowers the sinful human nature we were always meant to overcome.” I recite using his own words.
“Overcome this,” he says, making a lewd gesture that I don’t even understand.
I shake my head at my hopeless brother, hopping in his car as he backs out of the driveway. Slowly, we pull away from our perfect little home, driving down our perfect little street, heading for my all too important Induct Ceremony.
My parents might not be here to support me due to their important Christian obligations, but I can’t help but curiously wonder if someone else is.
