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Part Two / Chapter Sixteen
Millrose Institution for the Mentally Troubled had only taken over three months of Yurina's life, yet living life behind those walls, with dormant nurses who didn't speak with you and other 'patients' either too scared to congregate or too angry to accept anyone else's existence.
Time in Millrose poured like molasses. It flowed differently than the world around it.
Yurina used to have a theory about the grounds Millrose was built on, though it was just something to pass the time there. The story starts with a witch being burned at the stake right here two hundred years ago and she swore to punish anyone who inhabits the land. Then, two hundred years later, her and thirty other teens are suffering in its place. It wasn't the most clever of origin stories but she wasn't much of a storyteller either.
Polyester was the worst fabric; it was tight, itchy, hard to breathe in and they had to wear it for the entire day. Pools of blue and pink dressed-teens, scratching their arms in cold chapels was a regular morning for the admitted students in Millrose. Yurina sat next to Cedric every day, specifically in the middle row of the chapel. Close enough to look like they were paying attention but far enough to talk while the priest is saying his sermon.
"Good morning, pupils. May god be with thee." Pastor Thomas stood in front of his podium, looking down at them waiting for their response.
"Good morning, Pastor Thomas." They said in monotone unison.
"Last night. . . We caught a devastating relapse." He walked toward the middle of the rows. His hand went up and two of his fingers signaled for the security guards to open the doors.
Jeremy Collins was dragged in by the nape of his blue-collared uniform. Thrown at the feet of Pastor Thomas, his chest jerking erratically. His face was unbelievably red, but Yurina couldn't figure out if it was because of his sobbing or the relentless beating that resulted in the fresh cuts on his face.
"Relapsing has its consequences, we know that, right?" He turned to the other teens sitting around. Thirty terrified eyes nodded along to his words. "Please bring him to the front."
Shaking in terror, Yurina watched as the two security guards grabbed him by his arms heaved him toward the front, then tossing him directly under the glass cross that overlooks the chapel.
"There is nothing the holy spirit cannot fix." Pastor Thomas grabbed a wooden cross perched on his podium, turning his back away from everyone else as he spoke to himself. Assuming he was blessing the cross, everyone remained silent, not out of curtesy but out of fear. "Now, please, say with me. Our father. . ."
Everyone followed his lead, continuing to recite the Our Father. Like any regular mass, holding hands and beaming pridefully at the statue of Jesus in front of them. His hands outstretched to them all, a warm welcome to anyone and everyone. Except if they were gay, of course. The sound of Pastor Thomas' cross cracking against Jeremy's skull rendered everyone into silence. Still holding hands with each other, they gave each other worrying glances.
