Page 87 of Jerk
Sanctum of Light Academy.
SOL
I’m exactly that. Shit out of luck.
My father was adamant about kicking me out, and it didn’t take much to convince my mother. My cards and assets remain frozen, so this was their next step. It’s better than taking a year off and delaying my academic plans. At least this way, I still get credits. I still get an education most would kill for. I still have a future.
I just have to survive my present.
I know how to work a new school, but this place is different. Saint Bons comes with rules, a certain haughty energy running through it. Lavish parties, sinful soirees and decadent galas. Here, the energy is cold. Ominous. Empty. Like we’re waiting for a storm that never comes. The student body is quiet, and when we’re not in these stuffy robes, we’re in white polos and pleated skirts. I thought I left uniforms behind in high school.
“Purity.” The man in the middle of the room speaks with confidence. I don’t know if this is a lecture or a sermon, but with the way he takes the stage, it might as well be a stadium show. “It is everything we cherish.”
Instead of my curated designer outfits, I’m forced to wear a burgundy cloak, a large hood over my head. It’s horrendous, the heavy fabric musty and over-worn. It smells like a thrift shop, years of history weighing down my frame. We’re positioned on our knees, the wood floor pressing into my skin. We’re all in one large circle around him, like we’re praying to a deity. New student orientation isn’t until tomorrow, and if it’s anything like this, I’m dreading it.
My eyes scan the other side of the room, each person with their head down or their eyes on the man in the middle. There’s hierarchy here. There always is. But something tells me I can’t climb this ladder.
The man in the middle goes on about how important it is to be pure. To be loyal. He’s like a rockstar the way he commands attention, and he looks like it, too. While we’re all in medieval-style garb, he’s in a fitted black shirt, unbuttoned to the top of his chest. They match his pants and his shiny black loafers. He’s as sharp as the edges of the gold triangle hanging off his neck. It sits right on his collarbone, the light streaming on it from one low-lit bulb hanging above him like a halo.
His words sound like a catchy ballad where you can’t stop listening even if you hate it. Glancing around the room, they all look at him with stars in their eyes. Far from how Rye looked at me when I saw him last.
My stomach flips, my hands clenching by my side.
The last semester swirls through my head, all the ways I've tried clawing myself out of the hole he put me in.
A chant echoes around the room, snapping me out of my thoughts, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s like I’m in church, or some sort of?—
“Don’t let this break you.” A girl’s voice comes from my side. She’s a lot closer than she was before. Everyone else hangs their heads while I turn my gaze to her. She has her hood pulled back a bit, pink strands sticking out like bits of cotton candy. My eyes land on the bruise on her lip. “They will if you let them.”
“Petals number twelve and forty-six.” Looking ahead, Rockstar’s eyes land right into mine, a sharpness hitting my chest.
Petals? Is that us?
They gave me a number when I arrived. A tiny gold bracelet with a small golden plate. A number stamped into it. Looking down at mine, I—shit. I'm forty-six.
“You’ve fallen,” he says, his eyes moving to the girl next to me. They intensify, like he’s lasering right through her skull. Then he nods.
Glancing at Pink Hair, her eyes widen before a black bag falls over her head. She’s lifted off the ground by a man in all white.
Before I can ask what the hell is happening, a black bag goes over my head, too, the world disappearing around me. “Hey!”
What the fuck?
I’m lifted off the ground by a strong force. I wiggle, I squirm, but nothing stops it. “Let me go!”
“At Sanctum of Light,” the Rockstar's voice booms around the room, drowning out my cries. “If you cannot hear, you will feel.”
“Number forty-six.”A smooth man’s voice comes from in front of me, my heart still pounding underneath my cloak. It’s not as stern as Rockstar’s, but his words are as clear. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
Darkness disappears, the bag coming off my head as the world comes back to me in one quickwhoosh.
Blinking, I look around. I’m standing in what looks like a chapel, my gaze bouncing between vaulted ceilings and stained glass. The smell of candle wax blends with old wood, the air chilly and drafty.
“You need to answer me,” he says, bringing my attention back to the tall man in front of me.
Blood rushes to my face when his green eyes stare into mine. They’re bright, like an escape in the darkness. Like Rockstar, he's in all black save for a white tie loosened around his neck. His sleeves rolled up reveal his muscled forearms, a bleeding heart tattoo on his left. It makes him appear much less intimidating than his colleague back there, but he still looks like a chiselled statue.
“I’m waiting,” he says.
