Tick.
I lift my hand, about to pull at my skull. Sometimes, I wish I could smash it against the nearest wall and watch as everything spills and shatters. Once and for fucking all.
Tick.
My fingers curl in midair, but I lower my hand and force it to hang limp at my side.
It’s fine. I can do this.
Breathe.
You’re in control.
My soothing words of affirmation splinter and crack as the scene around me comes back into focus.
No matter how much I attempt to delude myself, the reality is that I’m in the last place I should be.
And I’m not one to challenge fate or go places I’m not supposed to.
In my twenty-three years of life, I’ve always been the type of man who follows the rules. I’ve never deviated from what’s expected of me and I’m creeped out at the notion of being different.
In any sense.
For whatever reason.
And yet here I am at the Heathens’ mansion because I received a text and made the conscious decision not to ignore it.
I made the decision to attend the initiation of the most notorious club on Brighton Island—a secluded place near the UK’s southwest coast.
For a university I’m not even enrolled in.
The Heathens are the leading club of The King’s U college. A uni that reeks of mafia money and la nouveau bourgeoisie, where all American students flock like birds of a feather.
We have our own malicious club at Royal Elite University—or REU—where I’m working on my master’s degree in art. It’s called the Elites and is led by none other than my headache of a twin brother, Landon.
However, The King’s U’s clubs—the Heathens and the Serpents—are much more nefarious since they come from real mafia families and are using the uni experience to sharpen their fangs for the leading roles awaiting them back in the States.
If a week ago someone had told me I’d be standing here wearing a creepy rabbit mask and waiting for the entitled, violence-thirsty Americans to make their appearance, I would’ve laughed.
I’m certainly not laughing now. A lot of variables have changed in the span of a week and I find myself under the obligation to be here.
As part of the herd.
And it has everything to do with that headache of a brother I mentioned earlier.
Though they took my phone at the entrance, I can still recall the text I received yesterday word for word.
Heathens
Congratulations! You are invited to the Heathens’ initiation ceremony. Please show the attached QR code upon arrival at the club’s compound at four p.m. sharp.
While I’d heard of their nefarious initiations, I had absolutely no interest in them or the clubs. If I did, I would’ve joined the Elites since Lan has been asking for years.
So I ignored that text and was about to block the number, but then I got another one.
Unknown Number
If you want to see your twin brother breathing instead of being shoved in a casket and showcased to all participants, be at the initiation.
That’s the reason I came here, even though every fiber of my being revolted against the idea of taking part in this madness. I called and texted Lan, but he didn’t reply, so I had to save him from himself as usual.
My brother has always been the reason I’ve deviated from the core of my existence, though he’d argue this is my true character, and what I consider normal is a product of repressing.
Hiding.
Shackling my real self.
A sudden movement comes from my side and I tighten my muscles, ready to run away, move from the center of danger and pretend none of this has taken place.
The girl beside me—judging by her breasts and frame—laughs as she hits her companion’s shoulder.
A general murmur of excitement bubbles in the air.
I don’t understand people’s obsession with these types of events. Is it the feeling of grandiosity? The opportunity to walk amongst gods?
But then again, it’s impossible for me to understand some people due to how drastically different my personality is compared to the rest of my peers.
Don’t get me wrong. I get along with almost everyone and I’m often described as extremely polite and a good sport, but my close friends are only a few. The only reason we’re tight is because we grew up together and I spent several years familiarizing myself with their personalities.
Maybe my inability to form close connections after my childhood is due to being completely detached from most people’s source of happiness. A glaring example is my complete bafflement at these people’s sense of a thrill. They talk about the Heathens as if they’re the personification of everything they aspire to be.