Briony
I open my eyes, immediately sitting up, wildly searching around my room for him.
I don’t even know who he is, but something inside of me is not only terrified, but intrigued.
The sun is just about to peek over the horizon. The light glow in my room illuminates the knife sticking out of my nightstand.
There’s a knife in my nightstand.
I fist my blankets, clutching the soft fabric to my chest. As if it matters now. He was here again. Watching me while I slept.
A chill spreads down my arms, goosebumps cloaking me as if his presence was still here, touching me.
I squint my eyes, seeing what looks like hair pinned into the wood. My hair. I grasp it in my hands, feeling the ends and finding the sharp edges of the recent cut. Air slips through my lips as my heart thuds through me like a beating drum. I lean in closer, peering down at the ripped page stripped from the bible again, this one torn from Luke 12:7.
Indeed, the very hairs on your head are numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Written over the circled passage is his message in red ink.
A doll with a stain. A toy with imperfections. A woman with a weapon. -Aero
My chest tightens as I read the words, my mind racing with thoughts. I can’t even decide if what I’m feeling is fear or excitement. I look at the garbage can, seeing the awaiting bud.
Walking over, I pull it out by the thorny stem, inspecting the insidious message. Sitting on the bench before my large vanity mirror, I hold the cool, velvety bud to my chest. My eyes focus on the reflection before me as I slowly drag it from the slight divot beneath my throat, down past my collarbones and between my breasts.
Something of a fire stirs within me, igniting through my veins, and I close my eyes, feeling my nipples harden into tight, pointy buds. I’m imagining his hands on me again, remembering the vivid smell of leather and sulfur creating an odd array of sensations. I spread my legs slightly, drawing a line with the rosebud from between my breasts, down to my abdomen. As the bud finds my thigh, I tip my head back, dragging it along the sensitive skin there until it meets the place that’s aching with a heat I’ve never felt before.
My phone rings, startling me, and I immediately throw the bud in the trash can. Disappointment floods me, and I’m frustrated with myself at the temptations stirring in the pit of my stomach.
He’s bringing out feelings that come from somewhere dark and entirely too deep. Sensations that girls like me don’t entertain.
I see that it’s Saint calling, so I pick it up, attempting to sound awake and alert, not vulnerable and on the point of breaking.
“Morning Bri,” he says in a cracked tone, as if he just woke up.
“It’s a bit early for you, isn’t it?” I joke, looking at the clock.
It’s just after six.
“I wanted to reach you before it was too late.”
My heart drops to my stomach, wondering what he knows that I don’t.
“I figured I could give you a ride since we’re both instructing the Catechism class today.”
Relief washes over me.
“Oh,” I breathe. “I didn’t know you were assigned that class as well?”
“For the next six weeks,” he says with a sigh.
I hear what sounds like a shower turning on in the background.
“So what do you say? Can I pick you up?”
I look at myself in the mirror, licking my lips. I imagine him pulling up in his fancy, decked-out Jeep, his tight dress pants fitting his tall frame as he adjusts into the seat, his corded forearms flexing as he steers us towards the school…
“Is that a yes or a nah?” His voice interrupts my uninhibited thoughts and I clear my throat, realizing I haven’t responded.
“Yes. Yes, that would be great.” I swallow, frowning at my reflection.
I’m losing myself to desires unknown to me. It’s as if my mind is becoming more tainted with every nightly visit.
“Perfect,” he says, walking closer to the sound of the shower. “I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Does that work?”
I think of him naked while talking to me, about to step into the hot steam and water pouring from the showerhead, letting it rain down his tanned and toned body, washing all the way down through the trail of light hair to his manhood.
Temptations swirl around me, clouding my vision. Pulling me down, deeper to the devil himself. A devil named Aero. My eyes lock on the knife sticking out of the nightstand in the mirror’s reflection behind me, a thought coming to mind that hadn’t been there before.
“Um,” I say with a dry throat, clearing it. “I-I’ll be ready.”
Thirty-five minutes later, Saint is driving us to the Academy. As part of our interim to becoming an official member of the church, we are required to teach these Catechism classes to the younger generation, teaching them the word through rigorous studies and explanations and interpretations of passages.
Saint holds the door for me as we enter the building, walking the halls of the Covenant Academy alongside me in communal silence until we find our classroom. I’m acutely aware of his tall presence beside me as we stand behind the podium, laying out books and notes in preparation for class. He swallows, looking down at me from the corner of his eye.
“You look really nice with your hair back like that,” he says softly, before running his hand over the back of his neck, almost as if he didn’t mean to compliment me, but it slipped anyway.
I almost laugh at his comment, only because the reason I’m wearing it back up in this ponytail is to hide the fact that my stalker cut three inches off it last night.
I should be horrified. Petrified. Looking all around me for a face, a shadow of whoever he is. I should tell someone. Alert the authorities, tell Mia the details, inform my brother…anyone. But, I don’t. I can’t bring myself to intervene in whatever message he’s trying to give me because, for some odd reason, I desperately seek more. I’m locked in now, curious about the meaning of it all.
“Thanks, Saint.” I offer a half grin. “You’ve given me more compliments in the past two days than our entire childhood combined.”
He chuckles at that, looking down all bashfully. It’s actually endearing. He bites down on his full pink lip before his sparkling blue eyes find mine again. He’s flirting with me. I can feel it in the air, and for some strange reason, I’m not fighting it like I should.
Students file into the classroom, and I stand upright, straightening my skirt. Saint’s eyes remain on me for a second longer, but mine are now locked on the teens slumping into their seats. I do a quick head count, realizing I must not have prepared correctly. Somehow there aren’t enough catechisms for everyone.
I lean over to Saint, whispering to him. “There aren’t enough books. I must’ve counted wrong or something. Can you get started while I run down to the office library and grab more?”
“Of course,” he says kindly, nodding his head.
I make a pained face, mouthing thank you, as I sneak out past the remaining students filing in. His demanding tone gains their attention, instructing them to find their seats.
Walking down the empty hallway, I finally reach the office library. I knock before I enter, even though I assume it’s empty by the lack of lights. I walk past a few desks until I get to the supply closet where we keep all the extra bibles, catechisms, and hymnals.
I walk down the short aisle of the closet, running my index finger along the cold hard-backing of the books, searching, until I find the section I need. Counting out five more, I hold them in my arms, pressing them against my chest as I turn to exit through the door.
The door that is now shut.
My eyes trail up from the ground, gazing at the leather loafers, then the hard-pressed dress pants of the Academy uniform. Jacob Erdman, one of the taunting posse members beneath Saint that aided in my years of torment, stands there, staring at the edge of my skirt before his eyes travel up to my chest.
“I’m shocked that a girl as calculated as you got it all wrong.” He eyes the stack of books pressed against my chest, the one that’s currently rising and falling faster than before. “Head count was off?”
He pushes off the door, running a hand through his brown shaggy hair, slowly approaching me.
He planned this.
“What do you want, Jacob?” I ask with a bite.
Placing a hand on the top of the books, he pulls them down roughly, causing them to fall to my feet as I suck in a breath.
“Well, that all depends,” he says with a haughty grin. “What are you willing to give?”
I swallow, taking a step back. Needing to get out of here, I turn to run, but am met with the edge of the bookshelf instead.
Jacob rushes me, gripping the back of my neck to push me against the cold metal of the shelf as his body presses against mine.
I cry out in terror, but there’s no one back here to hear me.
He slaps his palm over my face, slamming the side of my head against the shelf so hard books fall around us.
“Shut up, Briony! I’m not supposed to damage your face, but I will if you give me a reason to,” he growls into my ear.
My eyes sting with tears as I try to understand the meaning of the words he spewed. My fingers grasp the edge of the shelf, feeling for something, anything, to use.
A doll with a stain. A toy with imperfections. A woman with a weapon. A message.
A warning.
I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the edge of the handle between them, tucked into the edge of my thigh-high tights.
Not a threat.
But a test from the man who’s taken a liking to calling himself my God.
