Delinquents

I pull open the church's door, and cringe. The main lights were turned off, leaving only the dimmed bulbs on the walls. I always thought the place looked creepy with the lights turned off. Like a haunting waiting to happen. I make my way to the kitchen in the back, reserved for the Sunday bread splitting and the holiday potlucks. I’m surprised to find the lights on, but the room is abandoned. Butter knives were left on the counters, and some sandwiches left unmade.

With a sigh, I walk over and put the lids back on the peanut butter and jelly. I guess they just forgot to clean up after themselves. Mrs. Nolt has alsheimers, yet despite that she still helps out every Wednesday. When the room was back in order, I make my way back to the main hall. I know no one has left yet because their cars were still in the car park when I arrived, so they have to be around somewhere. 

Maybe Dad convinced them to stay for some other task, it wouldn't have surprised me if he did. Assuming they were probably in dad's office, I make my way there. His workspace is on the other side of the building, behind the sermon room. I push open the doors, huffing as one of the wall lights flickered. 

"So creepy, we really need to get them fixed,” I murmur to myself. As I walk down the many pews, I smile when I see the volunteer church members sitting in the front rows. So dad really did rope them into a preaching. They face the stage, although the podium where my father gives his sermons is empty.

"Did Pastor David rope you all in for his preaching?" I laugh, head shaking. "You don't have to stay, you're free to go home. I'll remind him that his sermons should be saved for Sundays."

They don't reply, and as I got closer, the smile falls from my face.

"Mr. Kingle?" I ask. I put my hand on his shoulder, intending to get the older man's attention. However, when he doesn't move, I shift to stand in front of him. "I said-" My words are cut off as a cry escapes my throat.

Mr. Kingle stares ahead at the stage, his blue eyes cold and distant. The slit across his throat gives way to reveal the white bone beneath, and blood drenches the front of his clothes. The thick fluid drips from the pew and soaks the blue carpet. Shaking, I stumble back, only to bump into the person who sat in the pew in front of him.

A ragged breath escapes me when I find myself back in the school's cafeteria.

With wide eyes, I take in the entire room full of taunting gazes, hateful glares, and mean laughter. A majority of them have their phones out, cameras aimed at me. No one steps up to defend me. Not one person looks guilty. They revel in my pain. They don't care that I didn't commit the crimes. As far as they know, I'm just as guilty, solely from association.

When I meet the stare of my best friend, -I mean, my ex-best friend- she averts her eyes, hiding behind her curtain of red hair. She's sitting with May and her friends. I wonder when they even started talking. 

After she abandoned me.

With burning and teary eyes, I turn to run away from the monstrous leers that stare back at me, but I lose my footing. My feet slip on the paint, and I fly backwards, head cracking against the tile floor. Pain erupts, a pounding now accompanying the painful chemicals in my eyes.

"Oh fuck," is followed by even more laughter.

Desperate to hold in my whimpers of pain, I bite my bottom lip. However, the nauseating taste of the paint makes me try and spit it out again. A sob escapes me, and I carefully crawl back to my feet, hands incessantly wiping at my eyes as I high tail it out of there. This time, I'm careful to watch my steps. 

As I walk down the hall, the paint drips a path behind me. Everything about it reminds me of that night. Of the hollow corpses my father left behind in what was supposed to be a sacred place.

I reach the door to the girls bathroom, and the sound of giggles reach my ears. I pause, my hand freezing halfway to the door. I look back down at myself, eyes blurring with both pain and helplessness. I can't go in there if there are already girls inside. I can already hear their laughter and taunting words the moment they see me. Not to mention, I don't have an extra pair of clothes. I always take my gym clothes home with me.

Turning around, I make my way to the school's back exit. I'll just skip the rest of the day. I have decent enough grades to do it. Plus, I can always ask the teachers for the notes of the last class and study them in the library.

Pushing open the door, I wipe away the tears that won't stop. A mix of pain from both the paint and my ruined life makes it difficult to stop crying. I think it's crazy just how fast everything can be turned upside down. And I can only thank my deranged father for it.

I heard being psychotic can be hereditary, Kensey's voice echos through my head. Is she right?

As soon as I step out into the open air, I freeze in place. Standing in the back parking lot, crowded around a rusty, black truck, are the four people I wanted to avoid the most. The delinquents of the entire student body with the reputation of bullying worse than any cheerleader or jock could ever live up to.