Page 29 of Ruthless Chaos

Self-consciousness prickles my skin. This focus on our bodies is coded language. I’m not the thinnest person here, and there’s only one other black person in the room.

I’m certain this cult’s standard of beauty is Eurocentric.

I brace myself for the shitstorm that’s about to unfold.

“For your first Trial, your physical readiness for the task of becoming a true woman of Hemlock House will be assessed.” She puts her hands akimbo. “Only those with potential will be allowed to stay.”

I smother a scoff.

At her words, the girls who brought us here step forward and heard us in a line. The girls in green robes—they must be part of the hierarchy—move from their position behind the candelabra to stand beside the leader.

They wear stoic, disinterested faces.

This time, it’s one of the girls in green who speaks. The moment I hear her voice, I recognize her as one of the girls who accosted me in the hallway—Liz.

My heart sinks to my stomach.

“If you fail this Trial, you’ll be moved to Hell House immediately,” Liz says.

I don’t know what or where Hell House is, but the name is telling. If it’s being used as a threat bythesekind of people, it must be hell on earth.

The line is so long I can’t see or hear what’s happening at the front.

My head feels light. I wish the ground would open and swallow me. Each hour at this university is worse than the last. I inch closer towards the five robed girls, the rough stone floor scraping my bare feet.

When I am in earshot, my stomach churns.

I was right. “Physical readiness” means their idea of attractiveness.

As I wait for my turn, three girls are sent away to Hell House. One because her breasts were ‘too saggy’, another because her skin was ‘too oily’ and the third because her thighs were ‘too fat.’

I try to brace myself, but my eyes follow the last girl they sent away.

The one they said was too fat. She’s thinner than I am.

My lips tremble. The room is closing in on me. There’s a scream lodged in my throat. I gulp down a breath to stay quiet.

By the time I end up in front of them, my heart is racing so fast it hurts.

The five of them appraise me all at once with cold, lingering stares, but it’s the girl in white who steps forward.

This close, I can see just how perfect she is.

Her skin is smooth and glassy, and her eyes are a deep, crystalline shade of blue. Hers is the face you’d find in a top fashion magazine, the kind women would take to their plastic surgeon.

If she’s Hemlock House’s beauty standard, then I have no chance.

“Oh, here she is,” Liz says, smiling. I can’t hold back my grimace as her eyes slide over my body. “The one I was telling you about, Cassidy.”

The girl in white smiles, revealing straight, blindingly white teeth.

“Yes, I remember,” Cassidy says.

“How delightful,” another girl says. “A black one.”

She reaches out and grabs one of my boobs, squeezing it hard enough to hurt.

I grit my teeth, fighting down the bile in my throat. I try not to focus on what’s happening because I can hardly believe it. They’re assessing me like a cow at auction and I’m powerless to stop it. I don’t feel human.