This Still Happens

Chapter Nine - Soul: Sophie

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Lena asks, pulling my hair into a French braid as I file my nails. She meets my eyes in the mirror in front of us--her bedroom mirror--and furrows her brow. "You won't be able to take it back if you regret it."

I nod. "I know." I cast my eyes to my knees, studying the black twill weave of my skinny jeans. "Believe me, I know. But of all things I might regret... wish I could take back..." I don't finish my sentence, and she doesn't ask me to. Just as well, really; I couldn't tell her if she did. Telling Father Matthew was far more than hard enough.

"OK," Lena says, chewing her lip as she fastens the end of the braid. She leans over me and hugs me tightly, resting her chin on top of my head. Her eyes close. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.

"Hey, what are you sorry for?" I squeeze her arms, looking up at her in the mirror.

Lena sighs. "I'm sorry all this is happening... and that you're going through it all while dealing with a breakup..." Tears roll down her cheeks. "And you thought Gordon had died... Tim told me everything. And I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault. I promise it isn't." I sigh, and make myself give her a half-smile. "Are you OK?"

"I mean, I'm not happy, but..." She shrugs. "That's 'cause of this evening. I really... I really wish you weren't doing this."

I swallow down the lump in my throat, and squeeze my eyes shut. "I don't know how else to fix it if Gordon won't go to the police. I looked it up. You can't press charges against for assault if you aren't the person they assaulted... which makes sense... but doesn't help us with Chris." Staring at the carved wooden frame of the mirror, I bite my fingernails.

"Will this?" Lena whispers, kneeling down on the floor next to me. "I'm scared of what it'll do to you, Soph. You loved Chris last week. And I get that he ruined everything, but... isn't there some part of you that... might still care about him? That might... I don't know... shy away from hurting him as much as the rest of you wants to? As much as Gordon wants to?"

She reaches for my hand and threads her fingers through mine, and I really hope she can't feel how fast my heart's beating suddenly. I pinch my crucifix with my free hand, and nod. "But maybe it'll stop me going too far. I've got to hope so, right?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

I lean against the archway of the boathouse and stare out across the lake. The water is dark and still in the low evening light, and its musty, weedy smell rises in the air, creeping damp hanging in the lack of breeze. But it's cold, almost as cold as the winter, and I curl in on myself, gripping my arms to conserve heat.

Gordon is curled up in a ball in the stern of the larger rowing dinghy, hidden under one of the tartan rugs I saw wrapped around his shoulders yesterday, when he was at Lena's, with the paramedics. Getting him into the stern was one thing. Getting the blanket to cover him was quite another, and, personally, I'm not sure it's going to do the job Gordon wants it to. What I am fairly sure of is that Chris will notice there's a fifteen-year old boy--even a short, skinny one like Gordon--pretending not to be on a boat. There's just something... hmm... noticeable about that kind of thing.

I guess I'll just have to hide him with my legs or something. Or make sure Chris doesn't look down.

Chewing on the cuff of my jacket, I try not to think about how Lena is here, watching me watch the lake, knowing what I'm about to do out on that water.

Instead I try to block her out of the corner of my eye, and think about why I'm about to do this. About what Chris did to Gordon on this very same lake.