The outfit looks ridiculous with my ballerina pumps—there’d been no time to change those—but at least I only have to turn up the hems once so I don’t step on them.
My hair is a train wreck. It’s super curly on a good day, and I must have been rolling around in my sleep last night because now it’s a tangled mess. Even trying to get the elastic band out of it brings tears to my eyes, so I decide to leave it in.
At least I’m wearing a uniform. Now Jasper can stop fantasizing about being whipped because I’m in jeans.
I arrive at the downstairs hallway alone with no roommate in sight.
The dining room doors are standing open.
It’s empty.
Where the hell is everyone?
We all say prayers before
Shit.
In my hurry to chase down Jasper, I’d forgotten about prayers.
I’m in the wrong building.
My boobs jostle each other as I turn and sprint for one of the side doors leading out of the dormitory. I followed a group of students from the lunchroom yesterday—that’s how I found my way to class. If it hadn’t been for them, Jasper wouldn’t be able to sit down for the lashes he’d have gotten.
What a prick.
I head for the chapel. The crucifix poking out from atop its little tower makes it easy enough to spot.
Far ahead, a handful of students hurry toward the chapel. I’m almost there when movement catches my eye. I glance over my shoulder, and stub my toe the same instant I catch sight of someone breaking away from the shadow of a nearby maple tree.
I lose sight of the figure as I hop on one foot and grit my teeth against the pain. When I look back, he’s gone.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck lift up.
Someone was standing there. Shoulder length hair, sandy or blond, and a video camera in his hand. Not a cellphone or anything—a proper video camera with a lens.
Maybe I am hallucinating.
It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen since I’ve set foot in this place. My toe aches in time with my hammering heart as I step inside the chapel.
Awe washes away the pain.
This is nothing like our church in Redmond. That place always reminded me of a converted barn. It could seat two hundred and store a bunch of hay bales at the same time.
This place?
Oh my fucking Lord.
Whoever built this place must have been blessed with visions of heaven. Maybe he’d been dying of syphilis or something. You’d have to be on the spectrum to create something this…
“Gorgeous, isn’t it, Little Hussy?”
I instantly recognize the voice. It’s the guy who threw me up against my closet yesterday morning.
I try to swing around. He clasps my shoulders, keeping me facing forward.
The thought of this guy touching me makes my insides clench. I should be horrified, terrified…but for some reason my body isn’t on the same page as my mind.
His touch sets everything inside me squirming.
“You’d think it was some crazy-talented architect who built this place, wouldn’t you?” His breath tickles the hairs alongside my face. “Turns out, it was just some religious nut who knew how to use a hammer.”
Still rooted to the spot, I don’t have a choice but to take in—I mean really take in—this place. Everything from the vaulted ceiling to the immaculately designed stained glass windows. The floor is a ceramic artwork of mesmerizing patterns so glossy it reflects the rows of pews like a mirror.
It must have taken years to construct.
“Better take your seat, New Girl. Old Scratch hates it when we’re late to prayers.”
Then he slaps my ass.
Hard.
My gasp travels through the chapel like a whip crack. Everyone turns around to look at me, some grabbing hold of the backrest of their pew to twist in their seats.
I can’t imagine what I look like, standing in the doorway with my hands clutched at my chest, hair disarrayed and cheeks glowing like hot coals.
I’m not in the least surprised when most of the boys start snickering into their hands.
Moving on wooden legs, I force myself to the closest pew.
I don’t bother looking behind me. I already know the guy who’d been standing there whispering into my ear like Satan himself is gone.
But he must still be watching me from somewhere, because someone’s staring at the back of my head.
I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
At least my pants haven’t split. Today might even turn out to be a good day.
It seems the first two rows are reserved for the teachers and staff. I glance at them all and try to figure out who they are.
Dressed in full clerical vestments, Gabriel strides onto the chancel. I’m so relieved to see a familiar face I’m blinking away tears.
I hope I can talk to him before school starts. I know I’m the only female student here, but for heaven’s sake, this can’t be normal. Maybe if he makes an announcement or something, like that other woman—Sister Miriam?—did. He can tell the boys to leave me the hell alone.
I push back my shoulders and sit up a little straighter.
But then I remember what he told me yesterday. That the boys around here earn privileges. I guess there’s no way he’d consider showing me any kind of special treatment.
After a short sermon, Father Gabriel leads us in the Father’s Prayer.
Our father, who art in heaven.
Hallowed be thy name.
I barely murmur the words loud enough to move my lips. I wouldn’t be praying along at all, but I guess it won’t hurt.
What else is there to do but keep playing along like I have been all my life? What’s a few more weeks, months, years?
Maybe by becoming the perfect student, I’ll earn myself a private room. Perhaps even some kind of protection against the boys.
It’s a lot to hope for, but I have Mom’s stubbornness on my side.
I duck my head and squeeze closed my eyes. My lips tremble as I fight with myself. But this time, I lose the battle.
Thoughts pour into my mind like rancid oil.
How could you abandon me like this?
You weren’t even supposed to be in that car with him.
You were supposed to be at home, with me.
You’re my mother.
You told me you loved me, and then you chose him over me.
You always did.
I bite the inside of my lip until I taste copper.
I hate you.
I hate you!
I fucking hate—!
A hand lands on my shoulder. “Trinity?”
I jerk away from the touch, and turn brimming eyes up to Gabriel. “Father,” I manage in a wobbly voice.
“May I join you in prayer?”
I’m vaguely aware of boys streaming past him in the aisle watching us intently.
If I spoke, I’d start sobbing like a kid so I scoot silently aside. Father Gabriel takes a seat beside me, his thigh warm and hard where it presses against mine. With a quick smile at me, he sits forward and rests his elbows on the backrest in front of our pew. Then he clasps his hands and bows his head.
Guilt eats through me like a heap of maggots.
He thought I was praying when he walked past, when in truth I was cursing my dead mother.
I fold down, pressing the tips of my steepled fingers to the skin between my brows hard enough to bruise. It helps with the shaking, and at least now I’m hidden behind Gabriel’s figure. If the boys walking past want to gape at me, they won’t be able to see much.