“Who knows what verse that’s from?” he asked, scratching his white speckled beard.
My brain was much too fried from this heat and physical exertion to remember even the day of the week—let alone what passage those words were from.
“Matthew 16:24,” Cain said, his voice taking on an edge as he responded. Like he would love nothing more than to sink a knife in Pastor John’s gut with a smile on his face and not an ounce of remorse in his veins. I don’t know why I found that so hot, but I did.
He was nearly done now, with only a few more steps to go.
“That’s right. Now, pick up the pace. We don’t have all day out here!” Pastor John yelled out, his eyes finding me amongst the stragglers.
A cold shiver zipped down my spine. I didn’t like that look in his eyes, like he was enjoying seeing me struggle. The sadistic prick.
What was most concerning about this whole thing was that they just had these crosses ready to go. They were stored in a shed at the edge of the field and there had to be at least sixty of them in there. All over six feet tall. These imposing hulking pieces of pine were meant to be dragged as a reminder of what Christ went through for our sins. As if we could ever forget exactly what they thought of us here.
My foot slid from under me, and I went head over feet into the grass, the cross coming down on top of me and flattening my body like I was a bug to be squashed.
Shit.
My body throbbed all over, smarting with the pain. It took every muscle I had to push myself off the ground. I readjusted my hold on the cross, trying to hook it from under the parts that jutted out. If only I could walk backwards and drag it the rest of the way, but that wasn’t permitted. You had to be authentic in your trek across the field. Though in my opinion this exercise accomplished nothing but stokingthe hatred I harbored for those in charge. Who the fuck thought this would be helpful or acceptable? I felt like I asked that question before, but it still was a good and pertinent question to ask.
There was probably some religious loophole that they were able to fit through with the curriculum that allowed this kind of freedom to inflict such twisted and fucked-up lessons to those of us unlucky enough to call this place our school.
Cain had made it to the end now and was guzzling water like his life depended on it.
I held his gaze, feeling slightly stronger as he watched. I had to make it twenty more yards, and then I could finally rest.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
While I was too distracted by my pain and quickly numbing shoulders, I didn’t see that several of the students had been instructed to grab hoses and take aim at us.
I was drenched within seconds, my feet losing their grip in the mud. My teeth found grass, making my entire jaw vibrate with pain and the taste of blood fill my mouth. My tongue ran along my teeth, feeling the sharp bite of a small crack. Those motherfuckers. They made me chip a tooth.
What Cain should have done then, was just watch the onslaught happen. To let me be covered in mud and humiliation while I scrambled to right myself. But instead, he ran over and tackled one of guys who’d been aiming directly at me, punching him in the face so hard I saw blood fly and heard bones crack.
He was so fucked.
As I pushed myself off the ground, my feet struggled to find purchase. It took a good few seconds until I could get my knees up under me. Blood dribbled down my chin and tears stung in my eyes as I watched, helpless and scared as several guys including the two pastors, restrained Cain, whose chest was heaving with each breath he took. His face was a deep shade of crimson, and his neck was strained so much I could see the tendons popping out along the side. His cheek had been splattered with the other guy’s blood and there was a wildness to his green eyes that promised worse if anyone let go of him.
“What do you think, Pastor Big C? A night strung up to remind this little sinner of his place.”
Cain thrashed in their hold, but he was no match for all the brawn that held him down.
“I think that’s an excellent idea, Pastor John.”
I watched in horror as they hauled him away, and it was all my fault.
CHAPTER 7
CAIN
They tookme to a dark room and slammed the door behind us. It smelled like urine and body odor. There were several weak sounding coughs from whoever else was in here, and even as I fought against the hands that dragged me here, there was no overpowering my captors.
This was my fate.
To be hung up in shame as a penance for my sins. The sin of thinking for myself. The sin of talking back. The sin of questioning their fucked-up methods.
I hated the way Pastor John leered at Delilah as if she was something to be devoured and claimed, not cherished. Hated the way he treated all of us here. But him ordering students to pelt her tired body with water, making her white tank top turn clear was my breaking point.
My hands were snatched from my sides and wrestled into a wide stretch. They tied down my body. Arms and legs bound so tight, I was afraid they were cutting off my circulation. Coffee scented breath hit my face, and I tried and failed to fight against their hold.
