Bloody Princess by Helen Scott
19
Lyric
We'd been instructed to arrive at the Pi Ep house with, not wearing, the outfit we plan to wear to the party this weekend. They claim to be starting us off easy, with the theme for the party being "Decades," so we just have to dress like we're from a specific era.
There are so many eras with iconic styles to choose from that it will be a piece of cake. Seventies? Bell bottoms and tie dye. Eighties? Neon and leg warmers. Fifties? Classic housewife dress. Twenties? Flapper. Easy.
I decide to go with the nineties, choosing a plaid pleated mini skirt, matching plaid blazer, and some over-the-knee white socks. I can walk around saying, "Ugh. As if!" No muss, no fuss.
The door to the house is open, and I walk in carrying a bag with my outfit, some makeup, and a curling iron, just in case. There's a sign that points to a door and says "Pledges meet here." I'm not sure why it's just a sign. I mean, if they are the ones asking us to be here, shouldn't they be here as well?
I can feel that something's off. The house is so quiet, and the only noise I hear is coming from behind the door I'm being directed to as a pledge. The silver handle is cool in my grip as I twist it open and pull the door wide.
Stairs lead down to the basement, and I can hear the other pledges chatting, so I push my trepidation away and head downstairs. I see a few desks and chairs come into view at the bottom, but the stairs mainly end just facing a wall. The voices are off to the left, so I head in that direction.
Finally, I see the other girls. They are all sitting around on some old couches and armchairs with bags at their feet. A chorus of different greetings goes up when they see me, and I realize I'm the last one to arrive. I slip my phone from my pocket and check the time. I'm only two minutes late, and the sisters aren't even here yet, so I'm not too worried.
I sit on the floor since there are no chairs left, pulling my bag around to rest at my feet, the same as the others. Apparently, my arrival has derailed their entire conversation, though, because Natalie asks, "What decade did you pick?"
"The nineties," I reply with a flick of my hair, trying to channel my inner Cher, from Clueless.
"Classic. I went seventies. Free love, baby," Victoria says, holding her hand up in a peace sign.
"I'm eighties," Daisy adds, and the rest of the girls follow suit, listing the decade they chose.
"It's so cute that you all think you have a choice," a voice calls from the stairs. We turn to face its owner, and I see one of the sisters who had been standing behind Francine at breakfast the other morning. "I'm Paige, the new member coordinator. We'll be getting to know each other really well over the next few months. The number one rule is do as I say. Follow that, and you'll be fine. Being a pledge is about trusting your sisters, forming bonds with the other pledges, and learning about the history behind Pi Ep."
I knew this was going to get fucked up, I was just waiting for when—and apparently that is now. We haven't even been pledges for a full week yet, and they are already starting in with this shit. I glance at the girls around me and have a brief moment of hoping they can handle what's coming their way. As someone who has been broken down time and time again, I can attest to the fact that it's not fun. Somehow, I don't think these girls will have anything on Sampson, though.
As Paige comes closer, I can see that she is one of the perfectly styled members of Pi Ep. Her hair is curled just so, and her winged eyeliner and filled-in brows tell me that she probably spends a decent amount of time getting herself ready in the morning. I can respect that, even if I don't have the energy for it myself.
"Today is going to be your first line-up. So, what I need you to do is to stand up as you are, ordering yourselves from tallest to shortest. You have three minutes to get in line." She glances down at her watch and presses a button before she says, "Go."
We all jump to our feet and start yelling out our heights as we start to put ourselves in some kind of order. The buzzer on her watch goes off just as we're fine-tuning a couple of people.
She sighs dramatically and turns off the alarm on her watch, shaking her head and popping her hands on her hips before she says, "Disappointing. That should have been more than enough time to get your shit together. Now, go down the line and list off your heights."
We do as she asks. I'm one of the shorter members, my petite frame doing me no favors in the height department. The girl next to me, Amy I think, stutters as she says her height, as though she's correcting something.
"Did you just lie?" Paige asks.
"N-n-no," Amy mutters, but everything about her body language says yes.
"What's your real height? If you lie again, you'll be doing dishes all week by yourself." She steps right in front of Amy and glares down at her as she speaks.
"Five-two and a half," Amy says a moment later.
"Don't lie again. You can't build a sisterhood on lies and half truths," Paige snarls. She doesn't like the fact that the girl next to me is a little shorter, by half an inch. We messed up. "You couldn't get drunk in a bar, could you? Worthless." She turns and steps away from us, pinching the bridge of her nose as she bows her head. "Honestly, I don't know if any of you are going to be able to make it to being full sisters if you fail the first thing we ask you to do."
I can feel the tension in the room spike. Like a skunk spraying, it's just suddenly there, clogging my nose and mind with the other girls' fear and anxiety. The only thing I can do is keep my own cool. If I worry about them as well, that's all I'll be doing. Plus, I don't know any of them yet, and what I've got riding on this is more important than making some new friends.
Paige straightens as though she's made a decision. "Right. This is what we're going to do. Since you can't handle basic tasks yet, we're going to start from the ground up. Strip down to your bra and panties, and let me see what we're working with." She gestures up and down, looking at our bodies as though evaluating a piece of furniture or an outfit.
When none of us move, her snarl returns as she yells, "Did I fucking stutter?"
I'm not about to risk everything to make my pledge sisters more comfortable, so I strip quickly and efficiently, as I have so many times before. My bra and panties are decent. They could probably be better, but I’m not embarrassed to be seen in them or anything. The other girls tentatively follow suit, as though none of them had wanted to be the first to get mostly naked, in case this is a prank. I've seen people in Paige's position before, and they enjoy the power and making people uncomfortable. It isn’t always a conscious thing, either. Sometimes, it’s just something they respond to.
Some of the other girls try to cover themselves as though they've never worn a swimsuit before. Who knows, though, maybe they haven’t? Maybe they come from very conservative families, which is fine, but it does make me wonder why they would choose to pledge a sorority like Pi EP.
Once we’re all undressed, Paige looks us over and shakes her head before pulling out her phone and pressing a couple of buttons. The other girls flinch, as though they're scared she's going to take a photo or something. Instead, she's making a phone call.
"Yeah, I need some help down here. Bring supplies." She pulls the phone away from her ear, and I see her hit the red button on the screen, ending the call. After she slips the phone back into her pocket, she just stares at us with her arms crossed, evaluating each of us. When she gets to me, I can feel the intensity of her stare, but I don't back down. In my experience, the worst thing you can do with someone like this is roll over and make yourself vulnerable to them.
A few minutes later, a clatter sounds on the stairs, and a few of the older sisters come rushing down with a bucket and trash bags. What we need these supplies for, I'm not sure, but something tells me I'm not going to be excited to find out. Now there are four of them standing opposite us and glaring.
One of them, I can't remember her name, stage-whispers to Paige, "Is this really what we have to work with?"
"Apparently," Paige mutters back.
"Ready?" another sister asks as she steps around them holding a bottle of wine. Interesting choice.
This does not seem like a good thing. I don't particularly want to get trashed on a Wednesday night. That doesn't mean I won't. I just hadn't been planning on it.
"First, we're going to address some of the obvious issues we have here. Then, you'll be given a task to complete before you can go home, and you'll be assigned a decade since apparently, you can't get your shit together. Do you understand?" Paige says.
We nod.
"Tell me you understand. I need to hear it." The words are almost yelled, as though she's reaching her limit of frustration with us.
"Yes, ma'am, we understand," I say.
"Ma'am? Do I look like I'm fucking eighty to you?" she demands, while some of the other initiated members chuckle to themselves, and I wonder if I stumbled onto a sensitive topic for her.
"No," I say quietly, keeping my eyes downcast. I may not be willing to make myself vulnerable in front of her, but I'm also not going to poke a bear.
"This goes for all of you: Do not call me ma'am. I'm Sister, Pledge Mistress, or Sister Paige. Clear?"
"Yes, Sister," I say, and the others join in using whatever stuck in their minds the most from the list of acceptable names.
"Now, I'll ask again: Do you understand what's about to happen?"
"Yes, Sister," I say again, the others repeating their own affirmations. The truth is, we have no idea what's about to happen.
"Leena, get the lights," Paige says as she reaches into the bag one of the other sisters brought down.
Just as she's about to pull out whatever it is she’s looking for, the lights go out, although one solo overhead bulb that's bare remains on. "When I call your name, step into the light, and do not try to cover yourself." She pauses for effect since we have no idea what kind of order she's going to go in. "Daisy."
One of my pledge sisters moves from the line-up to the spotlight and stands there in her bra and panties, not shying away from any of it. Her strawberry blonde hair gleams in the light as it falls over her shoulders in long waves. She has a lithe body and a beautiful face with pouty lips and bright blue eyes.
"Okay, let's see. Well, to start with, a Pi Ep always wears a matching bra and panties. This mismatched shit doesn't look like you care at all. Next line-up, I want to see all of you in a nice matching set. Turn." She pauses, and Daisy obeys as she shows them her back. "Ugh, what is that?" Paige walks over and pulls the cap off a marker, drawing a circle on each side of Daisy's back, where there's a crease in her skin. "And this? What's this?" she says before she circles the skin around Daisy’s bra that’s bulging a little from the tightness of the band, drawing right over the fabric of the bra. "Turn back around and do five jumping jacks."
Daisy does as she's asked without hesitation.
"Did you see that jiggle?" one of the other sisters asks, sounding scandalized.
"You need to tighten your core. I want you doing sit-ups and Russian twists in all your free time until this jiggle goes away." Paige places her hand on Daisy's stomach and wiggles. Yes, the skin there moves because she has a tiny pooch under her belly button, but so do most women. "Minus two points. If you can lose at least ten pounds and get that jiggle and those creases to go away, you'll get those points back. And trust me when I say you'll want them back. Now, get back in line." Daisy moves back to where she was standing before. "Natalie."
Another of my pledge sisters steps into the light, this one struggling not to try and cover herself. She's painfully thin, to the point that I can see her hip bones resting against her panties, and her cheeks are taught, with an almost sunken look to them. Her blonde hair shines in the light beautifully, though it's not styled and is just in a ponytail.
"Okay, this is better. Wear a push up bra whenever possible. These are just sad," Paige says as she leans forward and squeezes the tiny mounds that are Natalie's boobs. "Get pants that fit you better. The belt you were wearing makes you look fat. And what's going on with this?" She flicks a hand through Natalie's pony tail. "We wear ponytails if they are appropriate for an outfit, or if we're working out. Otherwise, your hair is expected to be curled. If you want to be a Pi Ep, other women have to want to be you. We don't accept just anyone into our ranks. You can't just buy your way in—you have to look the part as well. You have to embody Pi Ep. Plus one point for you. Go back in line." Once Natalie is out of the spotlight, Paige says, "Lyric."
I step forward and center myself mentally for what's about to happen. Instinct tells me it's going to be bad, but that could just be from years of dealing with Sampson and my father. I stop under the light bulb and turn to face Paige. Standing in this spot makes it seem like there's no one in the room besides the two of us. I know everyone is still there, obviously, but I can't see them anymore, and my pledge sisters are holding so still I can't even hear them breathing.
Paige steps forward and unceremoniously grabs my tits. "Did you have a boob job before you came to Welhurst?" she demands as she squishes my breasts in her hands in search of implants.
"No, Sister," I reply.
She drops my breasts. "Wear a padded bra. No one wants to see your nipples poking through your t-shirts." The comment takes me by surprise. My nipples aren't huge, or even big, but apparently they are to her. It doesn’t matter since there isn't anything I can do about it. Nips are nips. “Also, you need to go tanning—your paleness makes you look sick. And get highlights. Your hair is dull and boring. I expect you to take the comments I gave the others as well. Matching bra and panties at all times, and have your hair and makeup done whenever you leave your dorm room. I don't care if you're going to the gym, to breakfast, to a party, or even to class. You have to look presentable, and right now you look drab." She sighs as though I've disappointed her, and I can't help but want to laugh. Paige thinks she's scary, and to most girls, she probably is, but not to me. I've had much worse. She must be able to sense that I’m not scared of her because the longer I stand there, the more irritated she becomes. "Do ten jumping jacks," she says after a moment.
I obey, having no other choice.
When I'm done she says, "Turn and do ten more."
I suppress the sigh I want to give her and do as she asks.
"Jesus Christ. How the fuck do you walk around with an ass like that? Don't you constantly want to sit down?" one of the other sisters comments.
"It's going to be so saggy and flat when she gets older..." another sister says.
"I mean an ass like that might be good for attracting a certain type of guy, but none of them are going to want to wife her," the third mumbles.
"How much do you eat right now?" Paige asks.
"I don't know, a normal amount, Sister," I reply.
"Whatever it is, cut it in half. You need to lose some of the mass you've got going on back here. Either that, or find a good plastic surgeon and have them help you," Paige states matter-of-factly, like permanently altering my body because of her wishes is actually something I'd consider.
"Maybe they can help with that nose, too," the one who was worried about me finding a husband adds.
"And give her some cheek bones, 'cause, yikes."
The click of the marker cap coming off seems to reverberate through the room. "Turn around," Paige says.
I comply and watch her with a steady gaze. Whatever she's about to do is with the goal of degrading me. I know that without a shadow of a doubt. She steps toward me, and I can see in her gaze that she is just itching for me to back away, especially as she raises the marker to my face. When I don't flinch away, she draws a thick black line across my nose, then two ovals—one on each cheek—ending, at least for my face, with an arrow shape on the tip of my nose.
Her gaze dips down my body, and she draws arches over each of my breasts, muttering, "These could definitely be improved. While you’re under, they could do a breast lift so you don’t look so...saggy." My boobs have never caught any criticism from anyone before. In fact, neither has my ass. Most men love having handfuls in both places. It makes me look extra curvy, given my petite frame. As soon as I have the thought, I wonder if the areas she's pointing out are ones she's jealous of.
My body is lean and strong in most places. In fact, I can probably crush a watermelon between my thighs if I need to. I know I could punch her hard enough to break her nose—give her something to go to the plastic surgeon for. And if I had my blades with me, I could play plastic surgeon myself. I push the dark thoughts away, worried that if they build up too much right now, someone will figure out that I'm not...normal.
I take a deep breath and find my zen as she continues to draw on my body with circles, lines, and arrows. I've been through worse—felt worse. This is nothing. I just have to remind myself of that occasionally. Sometimes, I worry that being away from Sampson and my father is making me soft, making my feelings think they can run rampant instead of staying tucked away in their neat little boxes buried deep in my mind.
"Lose twenty pounds before initiation, along with my other notes. Oh, and for someone who comes from your level of wealth, I want to see more designer pieces on you. No more of this common shit you've been wearing," Paige says. "Minus five points for being such a poor canvas to start with. Go back in line."
Her words roll off me like water off a windshield. It's not hard to let it happen when, in some ways, she's treating me the same way Sampson does: like an object. A tool. A status symbol. I'll comply, to an extent. I'll wear name brand shit, do my hair and makeup, and present myself in a way they find acceptable, but I can guarantee I don't have twenty pounds to lose. Unless I lose muscle, which isn't acceptable.
As I stand in the line-up, I listen to Paige and the other sisters berating and abusing my fellow pledges, and I let it all go. The three other sisters are swigging from a bottle of what looks like wine to me, and I know that's why their remarks are getting worse. Alcohol always seems to allow people to do things they would never normally do.
This is how the pledging process is going to go. I can accept that. I suspected this might be what was about to happen when they had us clean up breakfast.
Once they are done, the three tipsy sisters hand what I think is their fourth bottle of wine, which is mostly empty, to Paige. She chugs from it until there's only a tiny bit left in the bottom. When she's done, she looks up and down the line of us again, our bodies marked up with black lines. Disgust twists her features, and I wonder for a moment if the disgust is actually for herself.
Before I go too soft on her, she reaches down and pulls out a handle of vodka and a handle of whiskey from the bag the markers were in. "You have to finish at least one of these before you can leave. If you want to earn extra points, you'll finish both. You also have to sort these by color," she says as the other three sisters pull out giant bags of multi-colored sprinkles and dump them onto the floor. "Oh, and you're to stay undressed so you can all study what's wrong with each other and encourage each other to fix it. And just so you know, the door will be locked until you send me a photo of the sprinkles sorted and one of the bottles empty. If we pass out before you text us that photo, you're shit out of luck and get to have an impromptu sleepover in the basement. Yay!" She raises her hands and does a strange little wave with them both, like she's talking to small children, and sarcasm drips from her every word and movement.
With their tasks accomplished, the four of them turn and leave, while all of the pledges sit in stunned silence. I drop to my knees and begin spreading the sprinkles out as thinly as I can before picking through them for one color. The other girls are spurred into action by my movements and, once we are all sorting, I lean forward and open the bottle of vodka, chugging a good amount before passing it to the girl next to me. The reality of the situation is that I can probably handle liquor better than most of these girls, so I'll take one for the team, but they all have to at least have some. When I notice the trash cans with new bags draped over one side in the corner, I know exactly how the sisters think this is going to go. I have to swallow my pride and the beating I want to give Paige because I know this is only the beginning.
Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.
