4: The Unholy Morning

Sofia

My eyelids fluttered open, feeling heavy and unwilling, before snapping wide in a blinding jolt of panic. I looked around the room I was in, it wasn't my small, familiar bed in the hostel. The sheets were silk, and the air was filled with an unfamiliar scent of something musky, expensive, and unsettlingly masculine. My heart hammered against my ribs. Where was I?

I pushed myself up, my head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache that felt less like a hangover and more like a physical manifestation of guilt. I look around the room filtered by the morning sun through the heavy velvet curtains. A king-sized bed, dark wood furniture, and modern art on the walls. This was definitely not the hostel.

I pressed my hands on my head trying to calm the headache that I felt when flashes from last night invaded me. I could hear the thumping bass of the club, the dizzying sweetness of the drink Clara had pressed into my hand, the music vibrating through my bones until I felt unbound and weightless.

I could remember the face of that man, his face was sharp and handsome, a predatory glint in his eyes that I had, inexplicably, found utterly captivating. His hand, warm and firm on my lower back, guiding me through, his voice, a low rumble against my ear, promising things I couldn't quite comprehend but found myself yearning for.

I remembered the way we kissed, the press of his lips, so unlike anything I had ever imagined, a dark fire that ignited something deep and shameful within me. Remembered how his hands, traced patterns on my skin, pushing against my clothes, and the way my body had responded, eager and alive in a way it had never been before.

"Oh, God," I gasped, I couldn’t believe I had allowed all that to happen.

My purity? I had messed with everything my parents had guided me about. Every lesson, every sermon, every whispered warning from my mother about the sinfulness of the flesh, about keeping myself holy for my future husband, screamed inside my head. I was ruined, utterly and irrevocably ruined.

My gaze darted around, searching for my clothes, for anything familiar. I saw them flung over an armchair and I scrambled out of the bed, feeling exposed and filthy, and quickly pulled it on, my fingers fumbling with the zipper. I found my small handbag on the bedside table, and my phone inside. The screen lit up with a dozen missed calls and all were from Clara.

A fresh wave of tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging. I couldn’t return her calls cause I felt so dirty.  My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself out of the room, through a short hallway, and into a grand, empty lobby. It was a hotel, just as I had suspected. I stumbled out onto the street, blinking against the harsh morning light, and waved down the first yellow cab I saw.

"The university hostel, please," I choked out, my voice thick with unshed tears, and stepped inside. The ride felt so long and damning, every bump of the road jarring my fragile composure. I wanted to disappear, to rewind time, to erase the last twelve hours from existence.

When the cab finally pulled up to the familiar gates of the hostel, I practically threw the money at the driver and bolted inside. My room was on the second floor. As I pushed open the door, I found Clara pacing back and forth, her usually cheerful face etched with worry. She spun around, her eyes wide with relief, then narrowed in concern as she took in my disheveled appearance and tear-streaked face.

"Sofia! Oh my God, Sofia, where have you been?" she cried, rushing towards me. "I was so worried! You just... disappeared from the club. I couldn't find you anywhere!"

The dam burst and I crumpled, fresh sobs racking my body. "I... I can't believe it, Clara," I whimpered, the words barely audible through my tears. "I just... I can't believe what happened."

Clara's face softened, her eyes searching mine. "What happened? Are you okay? Did something... did someone hurt you?" Her voice was laced with genuine fear.

The thought of recounting anything, of putting words to the unspeakable, made me recoil. How could I explain? How could I tell her the depth of my transgression? All I felt was an urge to push her away, to isolate myself in my shame.

"Just... just stay away from me, Clara," I whispered, my voice rising slightly. "I don't want to talk about it. Not to anyone."

She froze, her hands hovering, unsure whether to comfort me. "Sofia, please. Tell me. I'm your friend. Whatever it is, we can figure it out."

"No!" I screamed, the sound raw and broken. My voice cracked with frustration and self-loathing, lashing out at the easiest target. "This is your fault, Clara! You! You took me there! You told me it would be fun! You messed with... with my…" I stopped pointing an accusing finger at her while her eyes widened in shock, "You knew what kind of place that was! You left me to myself and… and!"

Clara took a step back, her face draining of color. Her mouth opened, then closed, a flicker of hurt crossing her features before she squared her shoulders. She didn't say another word, she just turned, walked to the door, opened it, and left, pulling it shut softly behind her.

As soon as she was gone, I slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor, my knees drawn up to my chest. The tears came in unstoppable, I wallowed in Self-guilt, I was a failure. A disgrace to my family, to my faith, to everything I had ever been taught. How could I ever face them? How could I ever be clean again?

I don't know how long I sat there, curled into a ball, until a soft knock echoed on the door, startling me. I quickly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to compose myself, to bury the evidence of my despair. Who could it be?

Another knock, a little louder this time. I hesitantly pushed myself up and shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. It was Louis. Oh, no. Not him.

I quickly unlatched the door, intending to open it just enough to apologize and send him away, but his foot was already there, blocking the small gap. “Louis I…”

"Sofia, wait," he said, his voice earnest and gentle. The sight of his kind, worried eyes only made my throat tighten again. "Please. Let me talk to you for a minute."

I tried to push the door shut, but his foot held firm. "Louis, please, just go," I mumbled, averting my gaze. "I can't right now."

"No, Sofia. I need to say this." He pushed the door open wider, stepping slightly into the room, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking genuinely contrite. "I'm so sorry. About... about everything. The way I talked to you yesterday, about your papers. It was wrong, all wrong."

My eyes welled up again. Why was everyone making this worse?

"I was a jerk, Sofia. You were upset, and I just made it worse. I shouldn't have said those things. About you not trying, about it being your fault. That wasn't fair. I should have stood with you. We... we should have found ways to help you, to figure out how you could fix things, instead of me just blaming you." He sounded genuinely pained, "I know it doesn't make things better right now, but I really am sorry and I hope we can continue our relationship.”

His words, instead of offering comfort, just twisted the knife deeper. His kindness felt undeserved, I choked on a sob. "Just... just go, Louis," I wept, unable to meet his gaze. My voice was raspy and broken. "Please. We can talk later. Right now, I just... I just want to be alone."

He shifted, his brow furrowed with concern. He clearly wasn't convinced, his eyes lingering on my face, searching. I could feel his unspoken questions, his desire to help, but I couldn't bear it.

"Okay, Sofia," he finally said, his voice soft and defeated. He took a slow step back, removing his foot from the doorframe. "Just... please take care of yourself, okay? If you need anything, anything at all, just... just call me."

I didn't answer, just stared at the floor, willing him to leave. After another moment of hesitation, he turned and walked away. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, and I finally, weakly, managed to pull the door completely shut, latching it firmly.

Then, I slid back down the wall, collapsing in a heap once more. The room was silent again, save for the ragged sound of my own breathing and the soft, steady drip of my tears onto the worn carpet. I was alone. Utterly, miserably alone with the crushing weight of my shame. And there was nowhere left to run.