WE’RE AT THE BEGINNING OF Hell Week, whatever the fuck that means. I’m thankful for getting last Thursday off from pledge challenges, at least, but I imagine if they felt the need to give us a break, these next five days will be nothing short of absolute dog shit. They haven’t told us anything since giving us a list of things to bring with us in a backpack—a change of clothes, a flashlight, hygiene products, and a brick—leaving us here in the basement to fend for ourselves. Mac has been bitching since Brady left us an hour ago, moving from the couch, to the bar, to the stairwell, and back again. Jeremy sits on the bar top as he has since we were left here, and Carter and I sit on the Semen Couches, fucking around on our phones.
“Fuck!” Mac yells, checking the fridge for the thousandth time. “I can’t take this shit much longer.”
“Mac, it’s the beginning of fucking Hell Week!” Carter shouts, louder than I’ve ever heard him get. “Chill the fuck out.”
“I’m just saying, let us do something here other than picking each other’s assholes.”
“Where have your hands been, Mac?” Jeremy says with a laugh.
“You haven’t felt that?” Mac asks, grinning.
“You fuckers need to just calm your tits and just play a game on your phone or somethin’. You’re workin’ yourselves up for no reason,” I say, and Jeremy shoots me a glare.
“You talkin’ ’bout me?” he says. “I’ve been mindin’ my own business, thank ya very much.”
“Okay, but you’re eggin’ him on.”
Jeremy points to Carter. “So is he,” he argues as the opening doors draw our attention toward the stairs.
Trevor strolls down first, Damian following close behind.
Damian motions toward the back wall. “Line up, pledges!” he shouts.
We link up in front of the concrete wall and await further instruction.
Trevor paces in front of us, as he always does, and says, “Damian, do you have the bottle?”
“I do,” Damian responds, pulling an empty beer bottle from his back pocket.
“Do you know what to do with it?” Trevor asks, more of a statement than a question.
Damian lifts the bottle, eyeing each of us as he does, before he slams it to the ground. It shatters in pieces, scattering across the concrete floor. He eyes the remnants of the bottle, and then each of us again, in a drawn-out process. He pulls a few glue sticks from his other pocket and tosses them atop the shattered remains of the bottle. “Glue it back together,” he says. “You should be able to drink out of it in four hours.”
With that, both Damian and Trevor make their way back up the stairs as we unlink and scan the mess of glass across the floor in front of us.
“How the fuck are we supposed to do that?” Mac lifts his arms and drops them dramatically.
“Well, you got what you asked for Mac. You happy?” I shoot him glare, letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Seriously.” Jeremy leans over and picks up one of the glue sticks. “How the fuck are we gonna do this?”
“It had to have been done before,” Carter reasons.
I shake my head. “Like Archie’s fuckin’ Tower? And who the fuck exactly is gonna be drinkin’ out of this thing?”
They all avert their eyes.
“What the fuck did I get myself into?” I groan.
“For real,” Mac adds.
“C’mon, Prez. You gotta be our leader here,” Jeremy says, shrugging. “How do we do this?”
I let out a whoosh of breath, my hands meeting my hips as I observe the mess of glass shards around us. “We start puttin’ it back together, I guess.” I sigh. “Let’s start collectin’ up the pieces.”
Our fingers cut and bloodied, the bottle is finally back together, though drinking out of it isn’t likely. Trevor has it in his hands and eyes it over for a moment, inspecting it, and then he passes it over to Damian, who then inspects it himself.
After a moment, he looks at us and then throws the bottle back down on the ground, shattering it to pieces for the second time.
“Not good enough! Do it again!” he yells, turning around and leading Trevor back up the stairs.
“Motherfuckers!” Mac yells once the door has closed behind them, his face bright red.
“Welcome to Hell Week, guys,” Carter says with a weary tone and an exasperated look on his face.