6. Delilah
DELILAH
As expected, Pastor John lost his shit. Since no one knew who the culprit was that fucked with his stuff, we all paid the price.
It was worth it though. To see that smug son of a bitch who called himself a pastor, feel as violated as I felt daily.
As punishment, he had us all carrying large wooden crosses across a field while the sun blared down on us in all its eighty-degree glory.
The weather was in peak whiplash mode that the early spring season was famously known for.
Shifting from torrential rain to boiling heat in the span of a day.
Today, I felt like I could melt right through the ground in a puddle of sweat. I was especially annoyed knowing that my skin was likely going to carry an unflattering burn after this. Lobster was for eating, not for cosplaying as, in my opinion.
The cross I carried upon my back was heavy as fuck and dug into my shoulder blades so hard I knew it would leave a mark.
My fingers fought against the grain to find purchase but the sweat on my palms made it difficult.
It slipped continuously out of my grip and had my trek across the field make a snail look fast compared to me.
Cain was several rows ahead of me, already near the finish line with his cross.
Impressive. His blonde hair appeared nearly white in the blinding sunlight.
He was a vision to look at, with those rippling back muscles that flexed with every step.
The white undershirt he wore had gone nearly translucent giving me a peek at those tattoos he had.
What I could make out from this distance made it look like there were two snakes entwined up the length of his spine, with each respective head landing on either side of his shoulders.
My thoughts drifted, wondering what it would be like to lick those tattoos on his skin, still remembering the way he had reacted to our little make out/dry hump session the night before.
Just thinking about it now had my thighs slickening with something other than sweat causing me to drop the cross for the third time.
Sweat dripped down my back and off my forehead as I clumsily dragged the hunk of wood with every ounce of strength I had.
My knees began to buckle under the weight and my hands were slipping.
I was pretty sure that several slivers had embedded themselves into my flesh, but I had to keep moving.
Failure on the field meant lack of faith, and that was something I was desperately trying to avoid because that would garner Pastor John’s unwanted attention.
He’d make it a point to make an example out of me, and I didn’t fancy having my ass on display and my hands tied again.
This thing with Cain, while undefined, seemed to blossom the more we were together. No one could know we were a… whatever we were, because it was a punishable offense. But something shifted between us last night that had me thinking maybe we could be something more than just friends.
I always looked forward to Chemistry every day because he was there with his ever-present smirk that made me want to do sinful things.
And even though I was sure our Chemistry teacher hated being there, she was a better alternative to Pastor John and his barbaric way of teaching.
What I hated most about it, was how normalized everyone seemed to make it when what we were being put through was anything but normal.
This was the kind of thing people went to therapy to recover from.
Maybe I could send them a bill for the expense when I was older.
"Then Jesus said to his disciples, 'If anyone wants to follow after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me,’” Pastor John yelled out.
Pastor Big C was at the finish line, arms crossed over his expansive chest, resting on the top of his rounded stomach watching us with a bored expression.
“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 stoking the 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.