Briony
My body aches. My muscles are tired. After cleaning up the destruction from the aftermath of the games Aero played, I took a long, steaming hot shower, before finally crawling into my bed and falling into a disoriented sleep. One in which I couldn’t tell what was reality and what was simply my mind playing tricks on me.
I may have dreamt it, but I could’ve sworn I felt the bed dip next to me. I was almost sure his fingers were traveling down my cheek, drawing a line down the curve of my body before hearing the intake of a breath near my neck.
Was I dreaming? Or did he really come back?
Either way, I woke up to a new page of the bible. This one is torn from Ephesians 4:32.
Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.
In red ink over the passage was his message.
FORGIVENESS -Aero
Placing it in my nightstand drawer along with the others, I run my hands down my face, wondering if and when these games will end. I continue in my groggy state, getting dressed and ready for teaching. Pulling my underwear from the drawer, my brows lowered at the sight of ripped fabric.
Holding a piece up, I realize what I’m looking at.
All of my underwear has been destroyed.
When Aero ran up the stairs, he clearly went through my underwear drawer, taking a knife to each one of them, stripping them into nothing but shards. I try on a pair, but the large gaping hole in the crotch exposes all of me beneath my skirt. Screaming in frustration, I throw the outfit to the floor.
Skirts are the set uniform for women at the Academy. Aero knows this. It’s more than obvious by his game. He also knows that I can’t wear a skirt if I have nothing to wear under it. I groan, grabbing a pair of black slacks I’ve had for years in my closet, but never worn. Sliding them on, I tuck my Covenant Academy shirt into it, peering at myself in my mirror.
I’ll get reprimanded for this. Setting myself up for a meeting with the bishop after school in the office; time I was hoping to slip in a nap before Mia comes over to get ready for the Governor’s Ball with me.
Quickly tying my hair back into two braids, I make my way out of the door and into the passenger seat of Saint’s newly fixed Jeep.
“Rough night?” he asks, looking over at me with a playful gaze, eyeing my pants a little too hard.
“You have no idea.” I groan, leaning my head against the glass of the passenger door.
His expression turns serious. “Are you alright? Feeling okay?”
I rub the back of my neck, straightening again. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be fine,” I say, brushing him off.
He looks like he wants to say something about my outfit choice, but doesn’t want to offend me. “Laundry,” I say, shaking my head. “Piles up, even when it’s only me around.”
Laughing it off, he bites his lower lip, giving me a shy smile. “Bishop Caldwell is going to have a heyday with you, girl.”
I sigh, sinking back in the seat. “I know.”
“Well, hopefully, he’ll let you out of the confessional long enough to attend the Governor’s Ball with me tonight,” he jokes, running a hand over his shaved head. “You’re still down to be my date, right?”
My cheeks flush at the charming smile he’s flashing at me. He’s being all coy and cute about this whole date thing. I’m finding this new flirty side to him somewhat intriguing.
“I am.” I smile back at him. “Picking out my dress this afternoon.”
He shakes his head, grinning almost as if in disbelief. “You’re going to look amazing.”
I laugh as he dreamily gazes at me. “You don’t even know what I’m going to be wearing.”
He grabs my hand from my lap, holding it in his as I hold my breath. He looks down, slowly sliding his fingers through mine. Immediately I wonder if he’s going to need new tires by the end of this hand-holding experience. Peering down at his thumb that’s gently rubbing over the top of my hand, he looks up, searching my eyes. “I just know you will. You’re beautiful, Briony.”
“I see your windshield is fixed,” I say quickly, clearing my throat as I slide my hand out of his, changing the subject. “How’d you explain that one to your father?”
He stares at me for a second before talking. A second that says so much. A second that tells me whatever conversation he had with his father was concerning enough to have him wondering what to tell me.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some strange things have been happening around here lately,” he says, facing the road, putting the Jeep in drive as he continues. “Things that don’t really make sense. This being one of them.” He nods towards the windshield.
My nerves fire up and the feeling of nausea hits again. I grip the slacks covering my knees.
“My friend left town. He just…vanished.”
Dizziness overcomes me, and I close my eyes tightly.
Saint turns to look at me right as I open them, and I pretend to look confused, hoping he can’t see through me entirely.
“What friend? Who?” I ask, knowing exactly who he’s talking about.
He sighs, looking back towards the road before us. “Jacob Erdman.”
I feel the saliva accumulating in my mouth, the need to swallow never more present. But I don’t want to swallow. I’ll seem guilty if I do right now. I’m an anxious mess.
“W-what do you mean…left town?”
“Apparently, he wrote a letter to his parents, saying he was done with this life. Religion. The Academy. That he wanted to see the light. The true light. Whatever that means.”
Aero.
“The handwriting was awful, as if he wrote it with his opposite hand, but it was still his handwriting,” Saint continues as he makes the turn onto the school’s street. “Greg and Nancy are a mess. They are so confused because he’s never acted as if he wanted any other life. This Academy and our religion were his life.”
I feel the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. His hand. He couldn’t use his right hand. I’m going to be sick.
All the thoughts and concerns about Jacob are completely thrown through the window once we pull into the school parking lot.
“What is that?” Saint says, his eyes narrowing to gain focus in the distance as he parks. “What does that say?”
A crowd gathers outside on the sidewalk that leads to the front doors as students file into the building. Getting out of the Jeep, Saint and I grab our bags, throwing them over our shoulders as we approach the group of students congregated outside near the four glass doors.
Eyes from the onlookers turn to us. Scowls of disgust, narrowed eyes of disapproval, and pitiful looks of disappointment find me as we continue to walk closer. My heart literally stops in my chest when I see the graffiti.
Spray-painted across the entire entry to the Covenant Academy is my literal demise.
Saint stills in place, his eyes darting over to me as the heat in my neck rises. My back teeth grind together, the sensation of my nails piercing through my palm doing nothing to control my anger at this betrayal. The message from this morning is now clear. Forgiveness feels like an idea that will never come to fruition.
Across the windows are the words sprayed with the paint still dripping.
BRIONY STRAIT IS A SLUT FOR SAINT
