6: A Stained Reflection

Sofia

A soft touch, light as a butterfly’s wing, brushed my hand. My eyes fluttered open and found Clara’s face hovering above mine. Her expression was muted, a soft apology etched into her brow. She didn’t say a word, just squeezed my fingers. I wanted to yank my hand away, to turn my back, to pretend the last twenty-four hours were nothing but a fever dream, but her grip was surprisingly firm, grounding me.

“I’m so sorry, Sofia,” she whispered, “For everything. For taking you there, for… for introducing you to all of it. I didn’t know. I never meant for…” Her voice trailed off, thick with genuine remorse.

The knot in my chest, the shame and anger I felt all loosened a fraction. My own tears, which had felt like a permanent fixture behind my eyelids, finally spilled over, tracing hot paths down my temples into my hair.

I didn’t know what to say, I was just being stupid too, “It’s not just you, Clara,” I choked out, my voice raspy. “I… I’m just as guilty, I went with you and I let it happen. ” I whispered so low but she said nothing and squeezed my hand again, her thumb stroking my knuckles.

“Let it go, Sofia. Just… let it go. Whatever happened, it’s done, you are here now, and safe.”

I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my free hand. If only Clara understood what happened. Every touch, every illicit kiss, every shameful moan, was stamped into my memory and it was hard to just let it go, I only nodded and Clara took a step away from me.

“Well, while you are busy not letting things go, Louis came to find me in class earlier.”

My head snapped up immediately. “Louis? In your class?” It was shocking because Louis barely acknowledged the existence of anyone outside our church community, let alone someone as ‘worldly’ as Clara.

Clara’s smile grew, a mischievous sparkle returning to her eyes. “Yep. He looked like a lost puppy, asked what was wrong with you, told him you were ‘distraught’ and ‘unreachable’. Can you believe it? Louis is talking to a sinner like me.” She gave a dry, chuckle.

I rolled my eyes, “He doesn’t think you’re a sinner, Clara.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn't entirely true.

Louis, like my parents, saw the world in black and white, righteous and damned. Clara, with her bright clothes and easy laughter and unapologetic love for life, definitely leaned towards the latter in his rigid worldview.

“Come on, drama queen. You look like you wrestled a bear and lost. Go take a bath, you have Professor Davies’s lecture in an hour. He’ll flay you alive if you’re late.” She tugged at my arm, pulling me up from the crumpled heap I’d become.

A weak smile touched my lips. “Thanks, Clara.” The words felt inadequate, but they were all I had. “And… I’m sorry. For yelling at you yesterday. I was just… I was just so angry and scared.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Water under the bridge, Sof. Now go, you smell like regret and cheap cologne.” Her playful shove sent me stumbling towards the bathroom door.

As I stepped into the bathroom, I looked at my reflection in it, I was pale, hollow-eyed and my hair was a tangled mess. I turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the small space, hoping it could cleanse more than just my skin. I scrubbed, hard, imagining the water washing away the memory of his hands, his lips, the taste of sin. But the harder I scrubbed, the more vivid the sensations became.

The rough scrape of his stubble against my cheek, the electric current that shot through me when his fingers brushed my hip, the way his body had felt, hard and demanding, pressed against mine. A shiver, not of cold, but of a forbidden heat, ran through me.

After the shower, I quickly dressed and knelt down to pray, “Our Father, who art in heaven,” I began.

After that, I made my way to my class, I walked briskly into the class and pulled out my notebook while listening to Mr. Davies' lectures, somehow my gaze drifted to the window and I could hear the booming sound from the club that night.

My breath hitched as I remembered how drunk I was, how I had walked to him, and how he had held me in that car, the image of his mouth, full and sensual, pressed against mine, was too vivid. I could almost taste the whisky on his lips, feel the rough silk of his tongue.

“Mmmph,” a soft sound escaped me.

His hands. Oh, God, his hands. They had been everywhere, on my waist, pulling me closer, his lips brushing against my inner thigh, a jolt, like lightning shot through me.

My heart hammered against my ribs, as warmth bloomed low in my belly, spreading outwards, making my skin prickle. My nipples were hardening beneath my blouse. “No. Stop it. Stop it now!” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the images.

This was wrong. So wrong.

“Miss Chris?” The voice cut through my thoughts and my eyes snapped open. Professor Davies stood at the podium, his brow furrowed, his gaze fixed on me. The entire class seemed to have turned, a hundred pairs of eyes suddenly boring into me. My face flamed.

“Miss Chris, perhaps you’d like to enlighten us on the economic implications of the Punic Wars?” His voice was laced with a familiar sarcasm, the kind he reserved for students who dared to drift during his lectures.

My mind was blank, and I wasn’t listening at all. “I… I’m sorry, Professor,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. “I… I don’t know.” My cheeks burned out of embarrassment.

Professor Davies sighed, “Indeed. It seems your mind is elsewhere, Miss Chris. Not only do you fail to engage in class, but you also, I believe, failed two of your core courses last semester.” He paused, “This is your final year, Miss Chris. Your academic future, and indeed your career prospects, depend on your seriousness. I suggest you apply yourself, or you might find yourself repeating this year.”

My stomach dropped at the humiliation but he was right. I said nothing while he kept on teaching, and I hid my face until the class was over.

Immediately I left the class, I burst out into the bustling hallway when I saw Louis standing at the end of the hall, he was clutching his school bag to his chest, his knuckles white, as if his life truly depended on it.

He started walking towards me and I moved closer to him, “Sofia,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, when he reached me. He stopped a respectful distance away, his eyes searching mine. “Can we talk?”

I wanted to say no but remembering how he came last night and what Clara had said, I decided to listen to him. I nodded stiffly, “Okay.”

He led the way until we reached a secluded patch of grass behind the old library. We sat down, a comfortable distance between us, for a long moment, neither of us spoke. I fiddled with the strap of my bag, my gaze fixed on a patch of dandelions pushing through the grass.

Finally, Louis cleared his throat. “Sofia,” he began, his voice soft, almost a murmur. “I… I wanted to apologize. Again.” He shifted, his hands still clutching his bag. “For what I said the other day. For how I reacted, it wasn’t right. I was… I was angry, and confused, and I said things I shouldn’t have, I should have been there for you, I should have listened. Instead, I just… I just judged you.” His voice was laced with genuine regret. He rarely admitted fault, especially not so openly.

My head snapped up, “Louis…”

“No, please,” he interrupted, “Let me finish. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And I realized… I was wrong, completely wrong. Can you… Can you forgive me?”

A wave of guilt washed over me remembering everything I have done, “Yes, Louis,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Of course, I forgive you. I… I don’t even think about it anymore.” It was a lie, a blatant, desperate lie, but it was all I could offer after everything I had done.

A slow, relieved breath escaped him. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he finally set his bag down beside him. “Thank you, Sofia. That… that means a lot.” He paused, then looked at me again, a new question in his eyes. “So… what about us?”

“What about us?” I repeated, my voice flat. I tried to keep my expression neutral, to betray none of the turmoil churning inside me.

He leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped between his knees. “I mean… are we still… are we still going to be together? I know things have been… difficult. But I want to make things right, I want to move past this. I want us to be cool with each other again, to continue our relationship.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

If I said no, what would happen? He would tell my parents. He tells them everything, every minor disagreement, he was their trusted informant, their golden boy, and not just that, saying no was going to start a war with my parents I wasn’t ready for.

“Yes, Louis,” I said, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. “Yes. I… I want that too, I want us to be cool. To continue.”