by L.J. Shen
He always read my sins slowly behind his locked door, pausing melodramatically when he got to the juicy parts.
Most sinners say Hail Mary.
I atone for my sins in strokes of his ruler.
I deserve it. I deserve the pain. I distribute so much of it to others, I can’t even blame Principal Prichard for putting me through all of this.
Principal Prichard says our sessions are about discipline. Putting me back on the straight and narrow. But honestly, we both know I’m not getting any better, and the more the years pass, the deeper the misery in which I drown.
I always figured we were both just two fucked-up people doing screwed-up things because no one else around us would understand. It wasn’t until Penn that I realized Principal Prichard was possessive toward me. And that lust feels better than the striking. It feels glorious when experienced right.
Since then, Prichard’s tasks have become more radical and meticulous. The strikes of the ruler harsher.
“I beg your pardon?” He doesn’t look up from the paperwork he is signing. It has the Saints logo, so I know it’s football related. Everything seems football related these days. Rumor is Gus is on Xanax and has been hitting the bottle to deal with the stress.
I sit down on the chair opposite to him. His eyes snap from the pages. “Were you invited to sit down, Miss Followhill?”
“We have a problem.” My lips wobble. I reach out, putting his pen down for him.
His eyes narrow into slits, zeroing in on my hand. “Quite right. Get your sin book out.”
That’s what he calls it. It always drives me mad. As if he’s above sinning.
I take a deep breath and release it all at once. Here goes nothing. “I don’t have it.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” His jaw flexes.
“Sylvia Scully stole it from my room last night. She lives with me now, as you know. Gus has it, and he is threatening to go public with it unless I convince Penn Scully to throw the play-off game.”
They probably planned it together and laughed all the way throughout. And me? I was stupid enough to buy into Penn’s distraction. I helped him clean himself up while she was upstairs, stealing my most valuable possession. The one thing that could destroy me. Principal Prichard’s lips twitch. With dark circles under my eyes, and the tiny red bursts of blood inside them, I’m sure I’m not the same pretty girl who lured him into this arrangement. I didn’t put on makeup this morning, and my hair is a tangled mess.
“I wrote about you in the book,” I add matter-of-factly to remind him how grave our situation is. Prichard is featured in my journal many times. I squeeze my eyes shut and blush when I remember all the things I shared there.
Entry number one hundred twenty-two chronicles how one time, when I went into his office and he wasn’t there, I rubbed myself against his executive chair. When he arrived, he made me lick the traces of myself from said chair. It’s the most sexual thing we’ve ever done, and it did not involve touching each other, but it’s enough to bring both of us down.
His jaw tick, tick, ticks, and I know he is losing his patience with me. We’re both in deep trouble now. Which is why I’m here. We need to stop Gus.
“He will not publish anything related to me,” Principal Prichard informs me, the picture of calm.
I blink, flabbergasted. “How do you know this?”
“I’m smarter than a cheerleader, for one thing. And so is he.”
I sit back, staring at a spot behind him, wide-eyed.
“I don’t know. Maybe I am stupid,” I bite out, “but so is Gus, and trust me, he will compromise your perverted ass.”
“Really!” he thunders, standing up and tossing the entire contents of his desk aside. I jump back in my chair. I’ve never seen him so angry before.
“What am I supposed to do? Threaten Miss Scully and Mr. Bauer? Just because you decided to spread your legs for the boy from the wrong side of the tracks even though I warned you not to?”
It’s my turn to stand, my fists balled beside my body as anger rolls off me, threatening to spill over.
“We’re in this together, and we have to think of something.”
“No. You’ll think of something. This doesn’t sound like a me problem. It’s a classic you problem.”
“Even if you get Gus to agree not to print out your pages, I’ll tell the world,” I warn.
He smirks darkly. “And? No one will believe you. You’re just another lost, spoiled brat who is hot for the principal. Don’t forget what happened here. You paraded your tits and bent over. I never had sex with you. I never touched you, skin-to-skin. I never even kissed you. It was. All. On. You.”
I’m floored. It feels like someone’s pulled the rug out from under my feet. But I’m working on autopilot because I can’t let him get away with this.
“Are you taking your chances, Gabe?” Gabe. I never call him by his first name. Only now, I have very little respect for him.
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Leave, Miss Followhill, and do not come back unless it is with the recovered book to get punished until your behind turns blue.”
“As if I’ll ever get anywhere near you again.” I throw my head back and laugh with humor I don’t feel. “You were always jealous of Penn, who, by the way”—I pop my finger into my mouth and pull it out with a sound—“is a fantastic lay.”
“Daria…”
Prichard’s never called me by my first name, either.
“He was so good when he took my virginity. Not too long after you found us in the locker room, actually.”
“Stop it right now.” He rounds his desk toward me. Slowly. Predatorily.
“Of course, by then I was fully prepped for the—”
“Stop!” He produces his ruler from under his desk, pointing it at me. My smile broadens. I’m free-falling off a cliff with a faulty parachute. Might as well enjoy the ride.
“Having him inside me as I writhed and moaned and orgasmed so hard I nearly fainted—”
In one swift movement, he throws me against the wall, my stomach hitting the cold surface. He pushes my dress up and strikes me with the ruler so hard I’m seeing stars.
“Don’t!” I yell. “Don’t you dare touch me, you asshole. We’re done, Gabe.”
He tugs my hair and whispers into my ear, “We’re done when I say we’re done, Daria.”
Strike, strike, strike.
My ass cheeks are burning and so are my eyes. I’m too stunned to move, to run away, choking on the bile coating my throat.
My principal, my priest, the man who held all my secrets, who I thought I could trust, just whipped my ass with a ruler against my will. Not once. Not twice. About a dozen times in a frenzy I’ve never seen before.
When he stops, it seems as though the world is rocking back and forth on turbulent water. Seasick, I slide off the wall, my mouth hanging open, but I don’t really know what to say. Principal Prichard is not going to help me.
My war with Via and Gus is not only going to be fought alone, but I just found out they have a very powerful ally.
When I hear him take a step back, I turn around to face him.
What happened to you in that church?
I watch him through a curtain of tears, waiting for the apology. For the begging. For the remorse. Not just for what happened right now—I don’t think I even fully comprehend it—but for the past four years. I look down, and he is hard.
So hard.
So very hard.
How did I miss this? The proper, abused Catholic boy turned out to be an improper, abusing man. My butt feels so hot and sore I doubt I’ll be able to sit on it anytime soon. My legs are shaking, and my heart aches dully in my chest.
I lost everything in the span of a semester. I didn’t get the boy, or the happy ending, or the perfect family, or even to keep my status as queen bee or the cheer captain badge.
“You are my worst mistake,” I whisper to him.
&nb
sp; He smiles devilishly.
“And you, my darling, are my favorite sin.”
The weight of my love for you
Buried me so deep
I can no longer sleep
Or eat
Or meet
My own eyes in the mirror
When the first domino falls and my reality collapses in quick fashion, everything hovers in the air, motionless for a fraction of a second. That’s the moment I suck in a breath, bracing myself for the hit.
It’s where I am right now. Sore and wounded and scared. I’ve experienced the most tragic thing to ever happen to me—sexual, physical abuse—but somehow know the worst is yet to come.
I examine the red welts on my behind in the bathroom mirror at home, blinking back tears. They mar me with shame and horror and fear.
He touched me against my will.
He hit me against my will.
I played with fire and got so burned, it left a mark. Dozens of them.
The sad thing is, it doesn’t hurt half as much as seeing Penn in the hallways does.
I apply some aloe to the welts and slip into knee-long pajamas, going commando. Wearing any type of fabric against my bruised skin hurts too much. My phone chimes with a new text message, and I hesitate before picking it up.
It’s Prichard.
Meet me at Castle Hill Park at seven. The bench under the cherry tree.
Gabe Prichard doesn’t apologize or make excuses. He is dangerous, a loose cannon, and even though I’ve made up my mind about never seeing him again, there’s a good chance he came to his senses. Realizing Gus and Via can screw both of us over, he is probably planning to make it right. I know he thinks I’m too scared to tell my parents, but why take the risk? I type back.
So you can abuse me some more? No thanks.
He replies within seconds.
So we can sort out this thing and move forward with our relationship.
I’m about to let out a hysterical laugh when a fist crashes the door from the outside.
“You’ve been in there for an hour,” Via whines. “Save some hot water for the rest of us, princess.”
Of course, she feels comfortable talking to me like this when we’re home alone. I lift my pajamas, chance one last look at my butt in the mirror, and unlock the door, my hand still on the handle. I stare at her, waiting for an apology. An acknowledgment of what she did. Any. Freaking. Sign. Of. Humanity.
Nothing. Blank. Gurnisht.
Via arches a blond eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. She is wearing a gorgeous floral minidress Melody probably bought her. Perhaps in New York. Possibly while I grieved the death of my family as I knew it.
“You look like shit. Have you been crying?” She snorts, shouldering past me to get into the bathroom.
I shake my head. “You’re so screwed.” My voice is quiet. Eerily calm.
It’s the only thing I can think of saying right now. Maybe the only thing that matters at all. Because my life may be over, but so is hers. The difference is that I know my fate, and she doesn’t.
“What are you talking about?” She unleashes her hair from its elastic in front of the mirror, grabbing the makeup bag and getting pretty, no doubt, for Gus.
“What do you think Gus wanted from me when you gave him my journal?” I ask, parking a hip over the cabinet. She takes a step back. I take a step toward her. Her back hits the shower glass, and this is where I keep her boxed in.
I’m not going to hurt her. Not physically, anyway. Maybe not at all, seeing as I am desperately in love with her brother, and he wants her happy. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know what it means to love until everything hurts, and you shed your dignity and pride for someone else.
“Gus wants Penn to throw the game.”
Via’s eyes widen. It’s news to her, and that actually makes me release a little sigh of relief. Her wanting to screw me over is a given. Her getting back at Penn, however? I can’t stomach the idea.
“He wants to ruin your brother,” I say, my hand traveling from the glass to her chin, tilting it up, so we stare each other in the eye, something we should’ve done weeks ago. Years ago. “And you just handed him the weapon with which he’ll do it.”
She swats my hand away. “Bullshit.”
“Yup.” I grab her face, willing her to look into my eyes again. “Penn is broken, frustrated, lost, because of you.”
“You can’t tell him.” Via swallows, pushing me. I stumble backward, laughing. That’s what she cares about right now? She sounds like the old me.
Via paces back and forth, raking her fingers down her face, leaving pink streaks in their wake.
“He can’t know. He can’t know,” she repeats.
I turn around, making my way to my room. I need to start getting dressed if I want to make it to the park in time. Prichard chose the same place where Penn took my virginity, which is something he knows, of course, because he’s read my journal. We’ve met a few times after Penn entered the picture, though our sessions were few and far between. I tried not to think about them, to push them to the back of my mind. And, for the most part, I succeeded.
Via follows me, yanking my pajamas and spinning me on my heel.
“What do I do!” she screams.
I stop. I smile. Enjoy the view.
“You know, Via? For the longest time, I envied you. For years, actually. Ever since you showed up at my mother’s studio. Not because you were pretty or allegedly rich or any of those things. But because you were talented. You were better than me, and, well, I guess I couldn’t accept that. So imagine my delight and surprise when you returned, and I found out that you weren’t better than me after all. Sure, you might have been the better dancer, but everything else about you is rotten. You are selfish and ugly and even more insecure than I am. You’re vindictive and small and afraid. You will never be happy, Via. Ever. And that’s the best revenge one could ask.”
I arrive at the bench fifteen minutes late.
Panting and sweating, I spot Gabe seated on the bench, wearing gray sweatpants, a North Face jacket, sunglasses, and a ball cap. He obviously doesn’t want people to recognize him. I take him in for long moments from afar, trying to adjust the image I have of him in my mind—sharply suited and ready for war—to this unexpected, destructive time bomb.
“Sit,” he commands, still staring at a spot across the park from where he sits. I stumble to him, my heart pumping in my chest. I take a seat on the other end of the bench, as far away from him as possible, stifling a groan. My ass hurts so bad it is hard to breathe. But I won’t show him any more of my misery. I’m done giving him what he wants. I pray for this nightmare to be over, and right now, I need to concentrate on minimizing the damage and making sure the journal isn’t leaked.
I don’t ask him why I’m here. I don’t demand an apology. In fact, I keep the very little, very shitty cards I have close to my chest.
“Look at the bench across from us under the oak tree,” he clips.
I follow his gaze. A hill and scattered trees veil us from the other side, but because we’re at a higher point, we can see through them and have a direct view to the bench on the other side of the gardens.
My breath catches. Penn and Adriana are sitting together, huddled close. Harper is between them, cooing in Adriana’s lap. Penn props himself down, kissing Harper’s nose and pretending to bite her cheek. The toddler giggles, waving her little, chubby fists in his face, begging to be picked up.
Adriana grins and hands Harper to Penn. Penn smiles down at Adriana and laughs. I can feel his laughter in my empty chest as I break into a thousand minuscule pieces. So tiny are the parts of my broken heart they feel like dust and ash rattling in my chest.
I want to look away, but I’m chained to the moment. Their moment. To this perfect picture of family bliss that I tried to stomp all over. My family is crumbling, and I tried to kill another one in my quest to have this boy.
But this boy is in love with another g
irl—the mother of his child.
I’m the mistake. A blip in his existence. A plaything to pass the time with. This? This is real. Penn Scully is not mine. He never pretended to be.
Everything I’ve given up—my time, my heart, my vanity—was in vain.
“This is the reason you turned your life upside down. For a guy who is deeply in love with his high school sweetheart. Who fathered her innocent baby.” Gabe’s voice prickles with an edge. “There are times in life when evil takes over our soul, and it is our job to seek the purity and solace in those who care about us. You came to me wounded, corrupted, and without direction, Daria, and I did what I had to do. You needed that spanking today. Needed this wake-up call. You have to allow Penn Scully a fair chance to build his family. Come back to me, sweetheart. To us. It is time to let go.”
“You’re not going to help me retrieve the journal,” I whisper, realization dawning on me.
“Of course, I will. After all, I am your savior.”
You’re my demise.
“How did you know they’d be here?” My lips tremble, and I sniff. I’m keeping the tears at bay and getting good at doing it.
“Bauer,” he says simply. “I’m the puppet master, Daria. I play you all, keeping your strings tight and short. Gus would never defy me. Now, we can do it the right way and make Penn see that he needs to throw the game. I’ll recover your journal—I will even get Gus to hand it back to me personally. Or we can do it the wrong way, where the journal comes out and we’re done.”
“Done?” I blink. He still thinks there’s an “us.” Unbelievable.
He slides the length of the bench between us and cups my cheek. I want to bite his hand off.
“Adultery is the greatest sin of all, but I am willing to forgive you. You are, after all, terribly young and impressionable.”
So many things slam into me at once. This psycho actually thinks I cheated on him. And he is in on it with Gus. He is so desperate for our school to win, to justify the insane amount of money spent on the Saints, that he is actually making pacts with a teenage bully.