Page 56 of That Sik Luv

Eyes find me from the groups collected near the entrance. Whispers of words float through the air nearby, and the cycle continues. It’s as if no one has dropped the rumors from the graffiti message. The talk about me still circulates, and the weight of their judgment is attempting to burden me.

Students file past me left and right. Eyes of disgust hit me harder than before. Approaching the classroom, I see a note on the door. The lights through the slim window next to it are off.

Class is canceled until further notice.

Staring at the handwritten message taped to the door, I let out a sigh. Something is wrong. Something happened.

With determination, I make my way down the opposing hall in search of the deacon for some answers. I turn the corner towards the offices when I’m met with light brown hair and a familiar face that stops me in my tracks.

“Brady,” I whisper breathlessly.

He drops his head, clutching his books to his chest, covering the crest of his uniform as he continues walking past me, pretending as if we didn’t just lock eyes for a moment, opening the wound closed too soon.

I walk in his direction, stopping directly in front of him. He tries to walk around me, but I stop him by the shoulder.

“Let me go,” he pleads quietly, fear pouring from his wide eyes as he looks around me.

I pull him down a different hall by his upper arm, and he trips over his feet, almost stumbling as he follows me.

“Tell me what’s going on, Brady. You’re safe here. With me,” I say, trying to reassure him. “What has Bishop Caldwell been telling you? What has...” I swallow what feels like daggers and try this again. “What has he...?”

I can barely stomach what I saw. I can’t even finish the sentence. The truth in this terrified young man will surely make me sick.

“Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he answers assuredly.

“Brady.” I shake my head, looking down the hallway and back to ensure we’re not being watched. “What he’s doing… It’s wrong—”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he snaps, interrupting me. “Bishop Caldwell is helping me. Helping me seek righteousness. I’m grateful for his love and support to bring me back on the right path. The path to Christ.”

My heart breaks inside my chest as the anger boils. He’s completely convinced he deserves this. Whatever Caldwell has been spewing to him has set, and Brady sees whatever religious therapy Caldwell’s providing behind closed doors as his redemption. His salvation. He’s completely brainwashed by the powers that be.

“This isn’t right. It’s not the way, Brady. Someone needs to know.” He stares up at me, the pain in his deep brown eyes evident enough.

“Don’t,” he says abruptly, jerking his shoulder away from me. “Just please, leave me be. I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.”

He brushes past me down the hall, filtering back into the mix of students, blending back in like he craves.

I blow out a breath in frustration, needing to figure out another way to reach him. As I’m contemplating who to talk to, my gaze falls upon a room a few doors down, the light from the slim window near the door pouring out into the tile of the hallway.

My eyes narrow as I walk towards the room. Peering through the window, I see Saint at the podium at the head of the classroom and my stomach drops. Heat rises up my neck and floods my cheeks as I pull the handle on the door, pushing through. His head snaps up and his eyes connect with mine. He stares for a minute before his face melts into a glare. He blinks, turning his face back down to the papers on the podium before him, shuffling through worksheets.

He’s mad at me. Why is he mad?

I march up towards him as a few students begin filing into their seats behind us. He glances back up at me again, and the look is softer. It’s a pained expression. Not one of hatred, but one of hurt.

“You aren’t supposed to be here right now,” he says coldly, his lack of emotion present.

I’m confused. Yes, I invited him inside my house for late-night tea, but he came. Yes, I kissed him, but he kissed me back. He pulled me into him, wanting more. I won’t let him get away with turning this on me for the sake of saving his name, if that’s what he’s doing.

“Why didn’t you call me this morning? Would’ve been nice to know you weren’t planning on picking me up.” I look around the new room. “Or that you were going to be teaching without me. What’s going on, Saint?”

I can’t stand it. I hate the feeling of him pulling away from me. He’s become someone I’ve leaned on for support, standing up for me when I was being treated unfairly by the deacon. I want us to be back to where we were. A budding friendship that was truthfully blooming into something entirely unplanned. The thought of losing him amidst everything else at the moment scares me, and I’m not sure what to do with that.

“I didn’t think you were like that,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Like what?”

“Revengeful,” he says the word like it tastes bad. “You know I didn’t write those words. I told you I didn’t mess up your ceremony. It’s not me.” He sighs in frustration. “I thought you were genuine, and I think that’s what hurts the most. Because I did care for you, Briony. I really did. For some stupid reason, I still do,” he whispers, making a repulsed face as he shuffles through his folder before him.

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