Pastor Big C was a pudgy, pasty white man in his late fifties at least with salt and pepper hair that was receding, though he tried to hide itwith a few desperate strands combed over as if that would make it less noticeable.
“Now imagine someone has broken into this school. They have guns and they’re threatening to use that gun on you. They tell you to renounce God or you’ll end up with a bullet in your head. What do you do?” Pastor John asked.
“Take the bullet,” the class mumbled in response, but I stayed silent not knowing that we were all supposed to answer. Anxiously, I watched as both men circled us with guns in their hands.
“Take the bullet?” Pastor John asked, stepping behind me holding one of his hands on the curve of my shoulder while the other dangled the gun in the periphery of my vision. His hand felt wrong gripping me as if he owned me. I wanted to shove him off me. To turn around and kick him square in the ball sack and leave this place. But I had nowhere to go.
I could see his hand wrapped tightly around the weapon like an ever-present threat. It was making my heartrate tick up at a dangerous pace. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching even though it felt like I was seconds from emptying my bladder right here. Men like him got off on instilling fear in others, but I wouldn’t show him how scared I was. The other pastor watched with a sickly satisfied gleam in his eyes, almost like he was daring his friend to inflict violence on me. His gun was held casually at his side looking out of place in his comically small hand. He probably had a small dick to match, which would explain his need to act like such a big tough, alpha-male asshole.
As Pastor Big C moved, he began to raise the gun, making a point to aim it at several students, getting off on their visible fear. I hoped that they had taken the time to empty the chamber, but I wouldn’t put it past them to not check. Most schools wouldn’t ever dream of bringing in a weapon, but clearly not at Kingston. No, they used it to make a point in their theology lesson.
“I don’t think I heard your answer, new girl. Would you take the bullet?” Pastor John asked, gently moving the braid in my hair with the gun until it sat directly at the base of my skull. It sent an unwanted shiver down my spine at how he was holding me and toying with me.
I swallowed hard and nodded my head. My ribcage felt tightaround my middle as I focused on keeping my breath steady. My eyes locked onto Cain’s who was on his knees directly across from me. His jaw was tight and he glared up at the teacher behind me. There was a promise of murder in his gaze that made my stomach flip. Somehow, seeing him there looking as angry as I felt made me feel less alone.
“What’s this?” Pastor John asked, bending down, his warm hand finding a small, almost unnoticeable tear in my stockings. It had gotten caught on the jagged end of my thumb nail when I pulled them on earlier, and I didn’t have time to change. I felt his stubby finger tear into the fabric, widening it into a fully-fledged rip that spanned the length of my thigh.
“I asked you a question!” He roared and I did flinch then. With his hand wrapped around my thigh, and a gun pressed into the back of my skull, it took everything in me not to throw up my breakfast.
“It’s a rip, sir,” I ground out between clenched teeth.
“And are you trying to be a temptress, little Eve?”
“M-my name is Delilah,” I said my eyes going wide as I realized my mistake too late.
Pastor John went deathly still, and it seemed the class around me all collectively gasped and were holding their breath, watching intently to see what he would do.
“You just earned yourself a punishment,” he said, pressing his boot into my back and knocking me over. I barely had time to catch myself before my face smashed into the ground below me.
His rough hands found my wrists, and with practiced movements, he had me bound by his leather belt. Embarrassment flooded my senses as my ass stuck up in the air for the whole class to see. The tights I had put on were shredded with the movement and hardly covering what they were meant to anymore.
I couldn’t move and could hardly breathe.
Don’t break. Don’t fucking break, I begged myself, feeling my body begin to quiver like a violin bow string being played.
“You want to act like a slut, you’ll be treated like one,” Pastor John said, leaving me there on display. It was humiliating and painful but based on the reactions around me I gathered that punishments like this were a typical experience of Kingston.
“You’re lucky God loves such sinners as you,” Pastor John said, walking around the room. “Don’t you feel so blessed to have God’s love?”
“Yes, sir,” the class murmured their agreement sounding more like a cult than a class.
“And what have you done with that love, hm? You spit in his face! Now, what do you do when someone will inevitably threaten your life for your beliefs?” His voice was raised and shaking, like it was personal mission to make us cower in fear of him. Using God as a battering ram to our psyche.
“Take the bullet!” They all said in unison, their voices so loud it made the ground beneath me shake.
It’s then that I felt Pastor John’s boot rest on my face. Every divot found a home on my skin. I didn’t dare move, or breathe, or even think.
“You better learn to answer with the class, new girl. Or this will become very difficult for you very fast.” His voice sounded controlled but cruel. Like he could murder me here in front of my entire class and not lose any sleep over it. It chilled me in ways I didn’t expect.
“Now, what words do I want to hear, Eve?” He asked, the boot pressing down harder, squishing my cheek into the floor. It was beginning to sting and my eyes watered with the pressure and embarrassment building to a crescendo in my chest. This place. These fucking people. How could my parents send me here?
Pastor John’s boot pressed even harder and I yelped, the words fighting past my lips just like he wanted. “Take the bullet!” I said sounding garbled.
His boot eased up, but not all the way. “Maybe next time, you’ll be a faster learner.”
The insult stung as intended and I wanted to spit in his smug face, but all I could do was lie here, bound and bruised and simmering in anger.
His foot yanked back and I sucked in a deep breath, coughing violently.
