Can't Erase The Scene

~Bonnie

Mum was still beaming, her hand resting on his forearm as if anchoring him to the moment. “Marcellus has been so good to me, Bon Bon. Patient. Kind. And he already knows so much about you from the stories I’ve told him.” She laughed lightly, oblivious to the way the air had turned solid.

Marcellus, Professor Marcellus hadn’t moved. His hand, the one that had just kissed my knuckles, hung suspended for half a second before he lowered it slowly to the tablecloth.

His eyes stayed on me. Not wide with panic. Not guilty. Just… locked. Like he was recalculating every single thing he’d done in the last twenty four hours.

I couldn’t breathe properly. My chest felt caged. The red dress that had felt powerful ten minutes ago now clung like a lie.

“Bonnie? Don't you like him?” Mum’s voice sharpened. “Say something, baby. You’re scaring me.”

I forced my hand down from my mouth. Swallowed once. Twice.

“Hi,” I managed. The word came out cracked, too small for the room.

Marcellus spoke then. Voice steady. The same low, measured tone he used in lectures when he wanted the whole class to lean in.

“Bonnie,” he said. “It’s good to finally meet you properly.”

Properly.

The word landed like a slap wrapped in velvet.

Mum frowned, glancing between us. “You two… already know each other?”

He answered before I could. Smooth. Controlled. “She’s one of my students. Literature elective. Very sharp mind.”

Mum’s face lit up again. “Oh! Small world! See, Marcellus? I told you she’s special.”

Special.

I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or run.

Instead I sat. Slowly. Like moving through water.

The waiter appeared then, thank God, asking for drinks. Mum ordered champagne. “To new beginnings,” she said, raising her glass.

Marcellus lifted his cup too, his eyes never left mine.

“To new beginnings,” he echoed.

I didn’t drink. I couldn’t. My hands were shaking too much.

The rest of dinner passed in fragments. Mum talking about the wedding venue she liked, how she wanted something small and intimate.

Marcellus nodding, answering in short, polite sentences. Me forcing smiles, nodding when I had to, tasting nothing of the food.

Every time Mum touched his arm, I felt it in my own skin. Every time he spoke, I heard the echo of “good girl” from yesterday, and felt the ghost of his fingers inside me.

When dessert came, I excused myself. “Bathroom,” I mumbled.

I didn’t go to the bathroom.

I walked straight to the hotel lobby, out the side door, into the humid Lagos night. The air hit me like a wall. I leaned against the wall, head back, breathing hard.

My phone buzzed, it was him.

One message. “We need to talk. Alone. Tomorrow. My office. 11 a.m.”

No please. No apology. Just the command.

I stared at it until the screen blurred. Then I typed back. One word, “Fine.”

I deleted it. Typed again.

“Yes, Professor.”

I hit send.

Then I turned off my phone, walked back inside, and rejoined the table like nothing had happened.

Mum was laughing at something he’d said. He looked up as I sat.

Our eyes met again.

And for the first time since the reveal, he smiled. I forced myself to smile back.

________

We got home late that night, the drive silent except for Mum humming along to some old love song on the radio. She kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, smiling like she’d just won a lottery she didn’t know she’d entered.

Inside the house, she kicked off her heels and turned to me in the living room, arms folded, head tilted.

“Bon Bon, what’s wrong? You were so quiet at dinner. You barely ate. Did something happen with Marcellus? Did he say something to you in school?”

I forced a smile that felt like stretching rubber. “Nothing, Mum. Just tired. I had a long day.”

She studied me a second longer, then sighed and pulled me into a quick hug. “Okay. But you know you can talk to me, right? Always.”

I nodded against her shoulder. “I know.”

She kissed my forehead. “Get some rest, baby girl. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

I went upstairs, locked my bedroom door, and leaned against it for a full minute, breathing hard.

The red dress felt too tight now, like it was mocking me. I peeled it off, let it pool on the floor, stepped into the shower, and stood under the scalding water until my skin turned pink.

I scrubbed like I could wash yesterday off my body, but the ache between my legs, the faint bruises on my hips from his grip, the memory of his voice saying good girl, none of it came off.

I got myself wrapped in a towel, I sat on the edge of the bed and called Bianca.

She picked up on the second ring. “Finally. I’ve been texting you since seven. Spill. How was dinner with the new stepdad?”

I laughed short, bitter. “It was Marcellus.”

Silence. Then, “Wait. Your professor Marcellus?”

“Yes.”

Another beat. “Bonnie… what the actual fuck.”

I told her everything. The hand kiss. The dropped hand. The look in his eyes. Mum’s oblivious joy. The champagne toast. The way he’d smiled at me across the table like we shared a secret bigger than the room.

Bianca exhaled long and slow. “Geez. Okay. First, breathe. Second, put your mind off him. Like, right now. Block his number if you have to. Make sure this never happens again. And Mum can never know. Never. This stays buried, Bon. For her sake. For yours.”

I stared at the ceiling. “It would be easier if it was that simple.”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

I closed my eyes. “I love him, B. Not like… puppy love. Like the way he fucked me, handled me. The way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. I want more. I crave it. I stayed up all night watching videos, thinking of new ways to make him lose control again. That’s insane, right?”

“Bonnie…”

“I know it’s insane,” I cut in. “But it’s true. I don’t know how to turn it off. And he texted me tonight. He wants to talk to me tomorrow alone in his office. I told him yes. I shouldn’t go. I know I shouldn’t. But I already know I’m going to.”

Bianca’s voice dropped. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring myself,” I whispered. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. About us. About what we did. What we could do again.”

She was quiet for so long I thought the call dropped.

Then, “Okay. Listen to me. You’re not thinking straight right now. You’re high on hormones and trauma and forbidden shit. But if you keep going… you’re going to destroy your mum's feelings. You’re going to destroy yourself. And him, probably. So here’s what we do. We break it. We find a way to end him and your mum before it gets worse. Before there’s a ring, before there’s a wedding, before you’re calling him Daddy in two different ways.”

I laughed weakly, my eyes watery. “She looked so happy tonight, B. Like she finally found someone who sees her. After all these years alone. How do I take that away?”

“You don’t take it away,” she said softly. “You protect her. From the truth. From the fallout. She deserves happiness, but not built on a lie this big. And you deserve better than being your own stepdad’s secret side piece.”

I pressed the heel of my hand to my eye. “I know.”

“So tomorrow,” she said. “You go to his office. But not to fuck him again. You go to end it. Tell him it stops now. Tell him he ends things with your mum, or you will. Blackmail if you have to. Whatever it takes.”

I swallowed hard. “And if he says no?”

“Then we figure out the next move. Together. But you don’t do this alone, okay? You call me the second you leave his office.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

We hung up. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles.

My phone buzzed once more. A notification from him. No message. Just a single photo attachment.

I ignored it and closed my eyes, wishing when I woke up tomorrow my step dad isn't the man I'm craving.