Briony
empty room.
I’m not stupid enough to think he’d actually spend the night with me. Aero isn’t your typical sensitive and caring lover. Cuddling; another word irrelevant to him.
But I can say honestly that the thought of waking to Aero’s arms wrapped around me was something I’d dreamed about. A protective hold from a man who cares in his own strange way. Now awake, I find myself feeling the loss of him. His absence makes its presence known in the pit of my being, and to that, I’m left utterly confused.
Historically speaking, he’s kept to his usual habits. There’s a message waiting for me. Another form of communication from my devoted stalker, pinned to my door with yet another switchblade stabbed through it.
Guess this is Aero’s version of a morning-after text.
Gathering the blankets around my naked form, I stand from the bed, feeling the soreness between my legs. The ache promised by my stalker to only linger as our time together continues. I am yours, and you are forever mine.
Walking to the door, I see the wrinkled and distressed scripture, the paper appearing to be crumpled and torn with a vicious hand.
1 John 1:9-10: If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives.
The word, CONFESS, is written over the top of the page with that same aggressive red pen, the strikes of ink screaming the violence of the hand that wrote it.
Gripping the handle of the blade, I slowly wrap my hand around it, feeling a sense of arousal. I’m not even sure what is making me feel alive inside at the moment. Whether it’s the idea that his rough hand that has not only killed for me, but brought me utmost pleasure was just gripped around it, or that I have another riddle in front of me.
I’ve become disgustingly enraptured by his games. The sick games of a twisted man meant for harm that I once feared and loathed. My mind is running wild, the fear beneath my flesh turning into a forceful energy that needs an escape. I’m harnessing whatever power he is feeding me, and the intrigue of it all mixes the terror and excitement into something I’ve yet to understand.
I’ll tread carefully, knowing there’s so much hidden beneath his surface I’m bound to awaken.
to my porch, I check my phone again, seeing more time pass with no calls from Saint.
Where is he?
He was supposed to pick me up ten minutes ago and is never late. It’s not his style. He’s a time guy, always early and prompt. My nerves set on fire as I worry about the kiss we shared in the kitchen. It’s very possible whatever he felt, the temptations, the lust, scared him away. That the brief exchange was enough to have him realizing his future wasn’t worth messing up over the hormones swirling throughout him over the thought of us together. But to not call? It just doesn’t seem like something he’d do.
Pulling up to the parking lot of the school feeling the nervousness in my gut, I hop out of my car, wearing the appropriate attire this time. I needed all new underwear after tossing out the strips left mutilated by Aero.
I approach the building with secrets now. Secrets of sin and the deception of who I claim to be. I’m no longer innocent here. I know what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to confess those sins, making them known, begging for forgiveness from the almighty God himself. But even the idea of releasing my truth to the men who’ve been anxiously awaiting my fall gives me cause for deception.
Eyes find me from the groups collected near the entrance. Whispers of words float through the air nearby, and the cycle continues. It’s as if no one has dropped the rumors from the graffiti message. The talk about me still circulates, and the weight of their judgment is attempting to burden me.
Students file past me left and right. Eyes of disgust hit me harder than before. Approaching the classroom, I see a note on the door. The lights through the slim window next to it are off.
Class is canceled until further notice.
Staring at the handwritten message taped to the door, I let out a sigh. Something is wrong. Something happened.
With determination, I make my way down the opposing hall in search of the deacon for some answers. I turn the corner towards the offices when I’m met with light brown hair and a familiar face that stops me in my tracks.
“Brady,” I whisper breathlessly.
He drops his head, clutching his books to his chest, covering the crest of his uniform as he continues walking past me, pretending as if we didn’t just lock eyes for a moment, opening the wound closed too soon.
I walk in his direction, stopping directly in front of him. He tries to walk around me, but I stop him by the shoulder.
“Let me go,” he pleads quietly, fear pouring from his wide eyes as he looks around me.
I pull him down a different hall by his upper arm, and he trips over his feet, almost stumbling as he follows me.
“Tell me what’s going on, Brady. You’re safe here. With me,” I say, trying to reassure him. “What has Bishop Caldwell been telling you? What has…” I swallow what feels like daggers and try this again. “What has he…?”
I can barely stomach what I saw. I can’t even finish the sentence. The truth in this terrified young man will surely make me sick.
“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he answers assuredly.
“Brady.” I shake my head, looking down the hallway and back to ensure we’re not being watched. “What he’s doing… It’s wrong—”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he snaps, interrupting me. “Bishop Caldwell is helping me. Helping me seek righteousness. I’m grateful for his love and support to bring me back on the right path. The path to Christ.”
My heart breaks inside my chest as the anger boils. He’s completely convinced he deserves this. Whatever Caldwell has been spewing to him has set, and Brady sees whatever religious therapy Caldwell’s providing behind closed doors as his redemption. His salvation. He’s completely brainwashed by the powers that be.
“This isn’t right. It’s not the way, Brady. Someone needs to know.” He stares up at me, the pain in his deep brown eyes evident enough.
“Don’t,” he says abruptly, jerking his shoulder away from me. “Just please, leave me be. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.”
He brushes past me down the hall, filtering back into the mix of students, blending back in like he craves.
I blow out a breath in frustration, needing to figure out another way to reach him. As I’m contemplating who to talk to, my gaze falls upon a room a few doors down, the light from the slim window near the door pouring out into the tile of the hallway.
My eyes narrow as I walk towards the room. Peering through the window, I see Saint at the podium at the head of the classroom and my stomach drops. Heat rises up my neck and floods my cheeks as I pull the handle on the door, pushing through. His head snaps up and his eyes connect with mine. He stares for a minute before his face melts into a glare. He blinks, turning his face back down to the papers on the podium before him, shuffling through worksheets.
He’s mad at me. Why is he mad?
I march up towards him as a few students begin filing into their seats behind us. He glances back up at me again, and the look is softer. It’s a pained expression. Not one of hatred, but one of hurt.
“You aren’t supposed to be here right now,” he says coldly, his lack of emotion present.
I’m confused. Yes, I invited him inside my house for late-night tea, but he came. Yes, I kissed him, but he kissed me back. He pulled me into him, wanting more. I won’t let him get away with turning this on me for the sake of saving his name, if that’s what he’s doing.
“Why didn’t you call me this morning? Would’ve been nice to know you weren’t planning on picking me up.” I look around the new room. “Or that you were going to be teaching without me. What’s going on, Saint?”
I can’t stand it. I hate the feeling of him pulling away from me. He’s become someone I’ve leaned on for support, standing up for me when I was being treated unfairly by the deacon. I want us to be back to where we were. A budding friendship that was truthfully blooming into something entirely unplanned. The thought of losing him amidst everything else at the moment scares me, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
“I didn’t think you were like that,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Like what?”
“Revengeful,” he says the word like it tastes bad. “You know I didn’t write those words. I told you I didn’t mess up your ceremony. It’s not me.” He sighs in frustration. “I thought you were genuine, and I think that’s what hurts the most. Because I did care for you, Briony. I really did. For some stupid reason, I still do,” he whispers, making a repulsed face as he shuffles through his folder before him.
My brows draw together in confusion. He clears his throat and looks behind me as more students pile in.
I shake my head. “Saint, what are you—”
“Briony!”
I hear my name called from behind me, only to turn and see Mia at the door. She eagerly waves me towards her, her eyes wide with panic.
Mia is a grade beneath us, which is why she’s still attending classes. But her classes are on the other side of the building, which is why I can’t seem to understand why she’s here right now, outside this room.
Lingering for a second, I pull myself away from Saint as he gains the attention of the class before him. A class that clearly, I’m not a part of anymore.
Mia ushers me towards her before grabbing my wrist and guiding me around the corner and into the hall. Pulling me near the lockers, she blocks me from the view of the remaining students making their way to class before the bell rings.
“You wanna tell me what happened?!” she whispers frantically. “Everyone is talking about it. I knew you were competitive, Bri, but this?! This is…well, surprising. Especially for you.”
“Tell me what you’re talking about,” I demand, feeling impatient.
“I mean, I know you’ve always thought he had it out for you, but even I thought Saint genuinely liked you beneath the surface. I assumed the stalking games were just his lame attempt at flirting.”
“Mia!” I yell out, causing her to look down the hallway and back, shushing me. “Tell me what you’re talking about!”
“This,” she says, pulling her phone from her back pocket.
She swipes the screen, and a video plays.
My heart drops to my stomach, which immediately drops to the floor beneath me as the walls of the school feel as if they are caving in around me.
“Oh no. No, no, no,” I say breathlessly, my hand cupping my mouth.
I grab the phone from her, my heart racing as I watch a video of me kissing Saint in my kitchen. There’s a clear shot of my hand palming his erection in his pants, looking as if I set up my phone to record this, with the words written under the post on some social media platform saying, SAINT’S SLUT OR BRIONY’S BITCH?
I blink up at Mia, who’s staring at me, worry etched on her face.
“I didn’t do this, Mia. I would never—”
“Briony Strait?”
I close my eyes tightly, facing her as I hear the deacon call my name from behind. Slowly opening my eyes again, I see Mia’s wrinkle in the corners, fearing the wrath I’m about to face. I inhale a deep breath, letting it out, before turning to face him.
“Confessional,” he says simply, turning on his heels and heading down the hall.
He’s heading to the church next door, waiting for me to follow him.
CONFESS
Another message. Another setup. The word from the man who continuously torments me in the most seemingly deceitful way. The graffiti, the safe, the video…
Just when I think there’s more to Aero, that I enjoy the thrill of his twisted games, I retract and feel played. Used as nothing more than a piece being pushed and pulled blindly, essential to his succession.
I need more from him. I need answers. I need what I’ve been deprived of.
Truth.
Aero’s past will catch up to him one way or another.
But it’s up to me to use the tools I’ve been given thus far to control my own destiny.
Now more than ever.
