MARBLE & SALT (Lesbian)

Chapter 2 (Part 2) FAMILY MATTERS IN BATHROOM

NB! the chapter features mature content

She watches my reaction for a couple of seconds, as if enjoying my fear and terrible embarrassment, and then takes away her knee. Releasing her grip, she again runs her hands under my dress. Slightly cool fingertips are sliding along the thin fabric of my bra from my nipple (I winced, drawing in air) to my navel. She turns her palm, and I gasp when she lowers it under the elastic of my panties.

"Not in this hall," I whisper, closing my eyes: my whole body is like one solid bare nerve. "I beg you..." I weakly hold her wrist, preventing her from slipping further.

To my surprise, she agrees too quickly, removes her hand and steps back. The sly smile doesn't leave her face. The glossy shimmer of hair glitters in the unnatural, disgustingly flashing light of the lamp.

"I take you at your word," she grins.

Giving her no answer, I pull back the long-suffering dress (I will never wear a dress again! Never!), and rush to the door. I was ready to face the hum of the people and the sounds of the saxophone, but I find myself in the exact same hall, only dimmer.

"I don't understand anything!" convulsive thoughts are flashing in my head. "What the hell?!"

Maybe this is the wrong door? I'm about to go inside when I hear her voice with a hint of snide: "I wouldn't do that if I were you. If you go deeper, you will never go back. Even I will not be able to find you there and help you out."

I stare at the dark hall and slam the door to another clone room.

"What the hell is this?" I repeat again, but this time out loud.

"Just another reflection," she says, standing with her arms folded on her chest, leaning her shoulder against the mirror. Her cold eyes are examining me.

"But how can I get back to Dasha... get home?" I ask her desperately. I probably look very pathetic, as her expression is changing. She sighs again like a patient teacher who, for the hundredth time, explains the same rule to a stupid student.

"Come to me."

I do not move, deciding if it was worthwhile to open the door again and try my luck in the reflection or somewhere in general.

She grins, "Are you afraid? You're right to be afraid, but there," she points at the door, "it's even worse, and the deeper you go the worse it gets. Without me you will not even get out of the first reflection. If you go further, I definitely will not find you. Nobody will find you there. So be a good, obedient girl and come to me."

I don't know what to do: she saved me, but what prevents her from doing to me the same thing she did to her... mmm... strega colleague? The fact that she has left her hunting sword somewhere "outside" is comforting me.

"Where do you live?"

I am silent, but I immediately think about my address. It's like with the notorious elephant. Give yourself a command: "Don't think about the elephant!" and now he is already dancing in your head.

She laughs again. "You're a treasure for disembodied stregas and normal witches. Such naivety and emotional attachment to one place! Silly girl, you need to have at least some amulets or talismans. Naïve, little humans, sometimes you do wear them to protect yourselves from evil spirits. Half of them, of course, are useless rubbish, but sometimes you can find a real artifact."

She comes up to me, takes my hand and persistently pulls me to the place where she was playing with me like a cat with a mouse. For some reason, all my stamina left me right about now, and I obediently follow her.

"You are kinda weak, girl, aren't you?" she says in a slightly embarrassed voice. "I hope you are not going to kick the bucket now? You need to eat more meat, some good old soviet hematogen, ah?"

When we are at the mirror, she quickly grabs me under my armpits, lifts me into the air and puts me directly to the floor of my room through the oval mirror of the dressing table. Several glass and plastic jars spilled onto the carpet when I touched them with the tips of my shoes while still in her hands.

I staggered, but did not fall. I am either wildly staring at her or at the furniture in the room, not believing that this is my furniture and my room. The "modest" savior leaned out of the mirror up to her waist, knocking Dasha's remaining bottles and other expensive chaneldior beauty products on the floor with her flat stomach. She rests her elbows on the table and holds her sharp little chin in her palms, tapping her thin fingers on her cheek.

I, like a poor relative, bashfully sit on the edge of a luxurious double bed (which Dasha brought from home, and which her parents had decided to give to me as a present, placing the headboard of the bed against the wall in a European way. It practically occupied the entire space, but my friend was highly delighted). I can't take my eyes off of her: the girl is looking at Dasha's trinkets with interest. She smelled Dasha's perfume in a vintage bottle with such a soft thing for sprinkling. I look at her actions as if admiring, as if expecting something pleasant, as if hoping that she would look at me... But then she freezes with a bottle in her hands. Like a cat that looks at what I cannot see, that hears what I cannot hear.

"Well, girl, I have to go," she says cheerfully (But why!? Not now!). "I'm not done with you yet," she adds gravely before disappearing into the horror of the mirror.

She can't just leave me alone with all this information, with unanswered questions and, and, just leave me!

"Wait!" I jump off my bed as if I was injected with adrenaline. Unfortunately, my body shakes to the side, and I see the "specks" in my eyes again. I put my hands on the dark mirror surface, but nothing happens. All I see is my shaggy dumbass.