Page 4 of His Hell Girl

The girls are long gone, but I barely find it in myself to stand up and pull my clothes over my aching body.It's like time stops. I don't know how long it takes me to get my bearings, or how I exit the church to head to my room. I hold tightly to what's left of my hair and I hide it in my pouch.

Then, I try to limp back to my dorm.

It's purely by chance that I see sister Celeste on my way back, and for the first time, I open my mouth.

"Sister Celeste," I start, my lips quivering until I start bawling, telling her everything that happened to me. "Why? What did I do to deserve this?" I ask her, hiccupping from too much crying.

Raising my eyes at her, I'm met with a disapproving gaze. Not at all the understanding one I was hoping for.

"Assisi," she starts, her tone stern, "I can't believe you would make up such strange stories about your sisters." She shakes her head at me, tapping her foot anxiously. "You're always getting in trouble, one way or another."

Me? I'm always trying to avoid trouble. How is it my fault that everyone hates me?

I open my mouth to say just that, but Sister Celeste speaks first.

"I don't want to do this, but you need a lesson. You can't go around accusing your peers of such heinous things. This is exactly why everyone doesn't like you."

I look at her in confusion, and it slowly dawns on me thatI'mthe guilty one.

"Come," Sister Celeste pats me on the back, steering me toward the west wing.

"But that's not my dorm," I whisper, almost wincing when she makes contact with my tender skin.

"You won't be sleeping in your room tonight," she says, and I frown.

I don't get to ask more questions as she leads me to a building I've never been to before. It looks older than the rest, and I get this strange feeling as we step inside. Goosebumps appear all over my skin, from the chilly air, or because I'm scared, I don't know.

Leading me down a narrow path, she unlocks a door with a key and pushes me inside. The room is bare save for a table next to the window.

"It's not the first time I've heard about you causing trouble, Assisi." She looks down at me accusingly.

"I've done no such thing." I try to defend myself, but before I know it her palm connects with my cheek and I fall to the ground, my eyes blinking rapidly the tears from the stinging slap.

"Sister Celeste…" I whisper, shocked at the turn of events. Isn't she supposed to be someone I can turn to?

But as I look at her, so smug, I see Cressida's expression in her and I know that she's just another bully.

And I'm the most hated person at Sacre Coeur.

Dragging me toward the window, she flings me about while she gets some items from the table.

I scramble back, scared of what she means to do to me.

"Assisi," she starts, and I freeze as I see what she has in her hand.

Soap.

"You must learn not to speak ill of your sisters," she repeats, kneeling down in front of me, the soap in her hand staring at me threateningly.

It's not the first time this has happened to me, and likely won't be the last.

But as she forces me to open my mouth, brushing the soap over my lips and making me suck on a small bit, I don't know what's worse—my blistering wound, the bubbles in my mouth, or the chemical taste that won't go away for hours.

She watches in delight as my face contorts, half in pain, half in disgust, continuing to force more soap on me.

More and more until I'm heaving on the floor. I spit and spit but the taste won't go away.

"Ungrateful brat," she says, her words biting. Standing up, she throws the soap on the table, giving me one last look.

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