2. One

July

Music pulsed in my temples like a second heartbeat, but the colors had dulled. Pink, purple, and blue strobe lights flickered like distant stars, merging into a neon puddle. I tipped my head back and stared up at the warehouse-style ceiling where each flash was a lightning strike, the wrath of an angry God. It was no substitute for the high I was coming down from, but it was better than the numbness seeping back into every pore.

A burst of giggles shattered the quiet, the chair across from me screeching across the floor. I shifted my gaze from the ceiling, my annoyance sparking as Cherry carelessly dropped into the seat opposite me. The colors leaked from her bright red pigtails, bleeding into the world around her. A second later, her boyfriend, Ketchup, planted his ass on the tabletop.

I frowned and pulled a hard candy out of my pocket, unwrapping it and shoving it in my mouth. The candy clacked against my teeth as I rolled it around on my tongue, the artificial cinnamon flavor a live firework in my mouth. I rolled it on my tongue, focusing on the sensation, letting myself feel something while I still could. It was a poor substitute for the chemical bliss that had been coursing through my veins mere minutes ago, but it would have to do.

“What’s wrong, Eli?” Cherry asked, shoving one of her thigh-high boots at Ketchup. He took it without question, fixing the buckles that’d come undone. “You need another drink?”

I shook my head slowly and pushed away the beer I’d only sipped a little from. It’d long ago gotten too warm to be any good. “I’m bored.”

Ketchup cackled and tipped his head back, looking at me upside down. “Drugs, dancing, and booze not enough sin for you, missionary boy?”

“You’re probably coming down. It’s been like five hours.” The charms on Cherry’s phone jingled as she pulled it out to check the time. “You want another?”

I frowned. Why would I want that? The X was fine, but it felt unreal, destined to wear off like the last one. I needed something else, something more, something… I didn’t know, but ecstasy wasn’t it, and neither was this club.

“I can get you some crystal if you want,” Ketchup offered.

“Gross. You know what that shit does to your teeth?” Cherry dug her heel in between his legs, making him groan.

I turned away, the familiar sting of being a third wheel biting deeper than usual. When Cherry and Ketchup had invited me out for my twenty-fourth birthday, I’d leaped at the chance to escape the studio’s relentless grind. After a month of working late nights, I was craving a break. Yet here I was—wishing I could blend into the shadows, where I wouldn’t have to watch them lose themselves in each other.

Two years ago, I never saw myself working as an apprentice tattoo artist in Columbus. Back then, I’d been so fucking brainwashed I couldn’t think straight. Living in a cult would do that to anyone.

I hadn’t meant to join a cult. Nobody ever did. You’d be surprised how much a desperate seventeen-year-old would trade for answers and a warm bed.

Five years of that had been enough for me. It wasn’t easy, but I got out and I’d be forever grateful to Cherry for taking a chance on me and giving me a job at her tattoo studio.

But maybe the whole club scene wasn’t for me.

I shoved my chair back from the table.

“Where are you going?” Ketchup asked as he crawled into Cherry’s lap.

“Bathroom,” I muttered and wandered away.

The bathrooms were tucked down a short hallway. Drunk people sat against the walls with their heads in their hands while their friends fussed over them. There, the music was quieter, a dull thud in the side of my neck. For the first time all night, I could almost think.

A line of women stood outside the ladies’ room, half of them in different versions of the same outfit. The other half had their phones out, typing out texts or taking selfies with their lips pursed like they’d been pre-programmed to do it.

I passed them by, sliding into the men’s room. The single stall was occupied, and the urinals were filthy, but I wasn’t there to piss. I went to the line of sinks where used paper towels were scattered all over the faux marble and ran my hand under the sensor. The faucet spat a trickle of lukewarm water that died too fast. I activated the sensor again, this time quickly grabbing a brown paper towel from the dispenser to slide under it. I ran the damp towel over the back of my neck and over my cheeks while staring at my reflection.

Even after two years, I still wasn’t used to all the mirrors. They were everywhere. I’d never realized how common my reflection was until I joined the Children of the Light. There, mirrors were seen as symbols of earthly vanity and sin. Like so many things, the banning of mirrors had made sense back then. It’d seemed so harmless. My reflection was such a tiny thing to give up for a chance to become one of God’s chosen few.

But that was how it started. One day, it was mirrors. The next, it was my name, my blood, my life. For a brief period, Elias Baker didn’t even exist. Sometimes, it felt like I still didn’t.

I rolled up my sleeves and let the lukewarm water run over my wrists, droplets dancing over the semi-colon tattoo. Cliché, perhaps, but it was my secret; no one needed to understand. Better than the memory of my first tattoo—an upside-down smiley face above my knee, inked in a haze of rebellion and desperation. That small act of defiance had sparked something in me. Nothing compared to the raw ecstasy of a tattoo needle kissing my skin, a sensation I sought to replicate in all the wrong ways.

I stared at my reflection a moment longer before my gaze dropped to my abdomen. Slowly, I lifted the hem of my shirt, revealing the mark I tried so hard to forget. There, just above the waistband of my jeans, was the brand.

It was an ugly thing, all harsh lines and crude edges, the scars raised and glossy. The shape was meant to resemble a shepherd's staff crossed with a sword—the symbolic emblem of the Children of the Light. They held me down, my screams echoing in the RV as the red-hot metal seared my flesh. I was one of them now, they said. Chosen. Purified by pain and fire.

I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat and yanked my shirt back down.

Two years later, it still haunted me.

I braced my hands on the edges of the sink, leaning in close to the mirror. My eyes looked hollow and haunted, reflecting the fluorescent lights in an eerie glow.

Why hadn't I gotten that fucking brand covered up yet? It'd been two years since I escaped the cult, but that mark was still there, taunting me every time I looked in a mirror. Like it was waiting for the day I'd come crawling back, broken and defeated. But I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. I was never going back to that hellhole. I'd rather die.

I traced my fingers over the ridged scar tissue, feeling the rage simmering in my gut. I wanted to burn it off with a blowtorch, or carve it out with a razor. Anything to erase their claim on me.

Realistically, the only way to truly reclaim that patch of skin was with a tattoo. To transform it into something of my own choosing, my own design. To finally purge the last vestiges of the Children of the Light from my flesh.

So why hadn't I done it? I'd been tattooing for over a year now. I was more than capable. But every time I thought about putting needle to skin, my mind went blank. I couldn't envision what I wanted there.

The bathroom door creaked open, and I quickly turned on the faucet again, pretending to wash my hands. A burly man in a leather vest shouldered past me to the urinals. I kept my eyes down, focusing on the swirling water.

I shut off the tap and looked at my reflection one more time. Maybe Cherry was right. Maybe I did need another hit just to get me through the rest of the night. Instead, I unwrapped another candy and plopped it on my tongue, letting the artificial colors seep into my blood.

I left the bathroom and walked through the throngs of people waiting in the crowded hallway as if they were decorations and not people. Maybe some were; maybe none of this was real, and I was still in that hot box, waiting to trade my soul for a single ice cube.

Fuck, I shouldn’t be here . My hand went to my head as if I could massage the lingering ache behind my eyes away, but I couldn’t. The only thing that ever made the throbbing static stop, even for a little while, was letting someone use me, use my body. Letting someone hurt me.

I paused on the edge of the main floor and glanced over at the table where I’d left Cherry and Ketchup. They were all tangled up in each other, tongues down each other’s throats. I didn’t want to go back to that, and I didn’t want to go out and dance. I didn’t want to drink or talk or anything. Instead, I had the strangest urge to scratch off all my unmarked skin and bleed.

I needed air.

I retraced my steps down the short hallway, pushing through the double doors beneath the glowing red exit sign into the alley. It was mid-July, still mild for summer in Ohio. Once the sun went down, it was still chilly enough in the shadows that I wished I’d brought a jacket. More than that, I wished I’d taken up a vice like smoking instead of tattoos and the occasional drug or two when I left the cult. At least if I smoked, I’d have an excuse to be out there once someone came looking for me.

If anyone came looking for me.

Once Cherry and Ketchup got caught up in each other, the outside world ceased to exist. Those two could suck face for hours and somehow never get bored with it. I didn’t get it, but maybe that was because I wasn’t into romantic shit like making out, movie dates, and whatever normal people did as a prelude to fucking. I didn’t need all that. Relationships were too complicated, too demanding. I didn’t want to have to explain myself and my trauma to someone, only to have them decide we weren’t going to work out for some stupid reason. Simple hookups didn’t come with all those expectations, so I got everything I wanted from an app.

Tonight, I wasn’t sure it’d be enough, but I pulled out my phone and scrolled through profiles, leaning against the club's cool brick facade.

Bottom. Pass.

Looking for friends with benefits. Pass.

Meet at my place? No thanks. I didn’t even have a place technically. At least, not one I didn’t have to share with a roommate.

Fuck, I was literally two feet outside one of the busiest clubs in Columbus. You’d think it would be easy to find someone halfway decent to suck off, but even that was fucking impossible.

A sudden loud bang made my head jerk up as Ketchup stumbled out with Cherry close behind.

“There you are,” Ketchup said, and I rolled my eyes as he wrapped an arm around my neck, grinning wildly. “Thought you might’ve fallen in.”

“If only,” I muttered.

My phone chirped with a notification from Grindr and I froze. Fucking hell, I’d left the volume all the way up.

Ketchup perked and snatched my phone right out of my hand. “Dude, is that Grindr? Are you serious?”

“Give it back.” I tried to grab the phone back, but he turned his back to me.

“Be nice, Gregory,” Cherry said, scolding him using his real name.

“If you wanted to get laid, you could’ve said so instead of coming out here to skulk in the alleyway.”

“I wasn’t skulking!” I tried to grab his arm to get my phone back, but he lifted it above his head and out of my reach. “Come on, Gregory . Give it back! It’s none of your business!”

Cherry plucked the phone out of Ketchup’s grasp, shooting him a look that said he’d be getting punished for that later before holding it out to me. “He’s worried about you, Eli. That’s no way to meet people.”

“Yeah, that app is full of creeps and serial killers.” Ketchup shoved his hands in his pockets. “You know what? We should take him down to Rudy’s. That gay bar on Fifth and High?”

“The country western place?” Cherry faked a gag. “Does he look like he’s into urban cowboys, Ketchup? You’re not, are you?” The last question was directed at me.

I sighed and shoved my phone in my pocket. “Maybe we should go home.”

“Hell no, bro,” said Ketchup, throwing an arm around me again. “I can’t leave my girl’s best bud high and dry on his twenty-third birthday.”

“Twenty fourth.” I pulled away when he started to lead me back toward the club. “And I don’t want to go back in there.”

Cherry put her hand on Ketchup’s shoulder, her eyes gleaming. “You guys, I’ve got an idea.” She leaned in to whisper her idea to her boyfriend.

Ketchup’s face split into a big, white grin. “Oh, I like it, you dirty little girl.”

“Well, I don’t.” I crossed my arms. “I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one, Eli, I promise.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “Seriously. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Plenty of times, probably , I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud as she tugged me along the side of the building and back toward the parking lot. She and Ketchup meant well. They were just trying to help. Wherever she had in mind, I hoped at least it’d be interesting.