Chapter 1

Chapter

One

"That's what life is all about: Let's have a party. Let's have it tonight." ― Lilly Pulitzer

Sofiya

"… this myth is often seen as more than just a story. It's an allegory. Psyche is thought to represent the soul, and her encounter with Cupid is seen as a warning about the dangers of giving in to lust and passion. It's a cautionary tale, reminding us not to let our desires lead us astray…"

My eyes followed Professor Jolley as she expounded on her interpretation of the myth of Psyche and Cupid, delving into the personification of human desires through these characters.

I had always been drawn to this myth— forbidden love and sinful desires were always the most captivating stories to read.

But today, I struggled to focus despite my best efforts, as I was exhausted from several days of sleep deprivation.

As Professor Jolley delved deeper into the myth, my mind couldn't help but drift.

Finals were looming next week, and the pressure was mounting. I couldn't afford to lose focus now, not when I had so much riding on these exams.

Yet, with a month-long break for Christmas waiting just beyond the horizon, I found it increasingly difficult to summon the energy to concentrate.

My eyelids grew heavy, and I struggled to keep my thoughts from wandering to visions of holiday festivities and much-needed relaxation.

"… it stands out for its unique portrayal of a happy ending, diverging from the typical tragic narratives often associated with ancient tales, and instead celebrating the triumph of romantic love…"

I closed my eyes for a moment, hoping to give them a bit of rest.

But, of course, I should've known that my moment of peace would be short-lived.

"Miss Melov, what is your personal interpretation of the myth of Cupid and Psyche?"

My eyes shot open, and I felt my cheeks flush as I realized everyone was staring at me, waiting for my answer.

"Um, well," I began, my voice shaky. "I think the myth of Cupid and Psyche is about how love shouldn't be about changing for someone else. Cupid hid in the dark and forbade Psyche from seeing his true form, which shows a lack of honesty in their relationship. Also, the story explains that love involves pain and sacrifice. Psyche suffered greatly because of Cupid's mother, the Goddess Venus. So, in a way, the myth tells us that love isn't always easy or straightforward—it can be challenging and requires trust and perseverance."

I glanced around, feeling a bit more confident now that I had managed to articulate my thoughts. I also wanted to add that having an evil stepmother was like having a permanent subscription to "Misery Monthly," but I held back.

Professor Jolley nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. "Good," she said. "That's a thoughtful interpretation, Miss Melov."

I let out a small sigh of relief.

She glanced at her watch and then addressed the class. "Alright, everyone, that's all for today. Good luck on your finals next week. Remember, you've got a month off for Christmas after that, so get through the exams, and you'll have plenty of time to relax."

A collective sigh filled the room as students began gathering their things.

I quickly stuffed my notebook into my bag.

As I made my way outside, my phone rang, signalling a text.

C.C:

U these Jimmy Choos are killing me."

"Beauty is pain, Claire. And apparently, it's also sweat, blisters, and possible heatstroke."

She rolled her eyes. "If beauty is pain, I must be a supermodel. My feet are staging a rebellion."

I laughed just as the bouncer finally gestured for us to come closer.

"About time," Claire muttered under her breath.

We stepped up to the bouncer, who checked our IDs with a practiced glance. He handed them back and waved us in.

We walked down the stairs, the air growing thicker and more suffocating with each step. The bass from the music vibrated through the walls, and the scent of sweat and perfume filled the air. Claire grinned at me, excitement lighting up her eyes despite her earlier complaints.

"Ready to dance?" she shouted over the music.

"Let's go," I shouted back.

Finals could wait—tonight was about letting loose.

As "Maneater" blasted and lights danced across the club, bodies pressed together, jumping, dancing, and grinding, Claire guided me to the bar, her hand firmly around my wrist.

Navigating through the sea of people, we finally made it to the bar .

We ordered two cosmopolitans, and as we waited for our drinks, Claire leaned in with a mischievous grin.

"I hooked up with this bartender two weeks ago," she confessed.

I gasped dramatically and then burst into laughter, causing a few heads to turn our way. I took a good look at the bartender. He stood at a solid 5'10", his buzzed haircut giving him an air of confidence, his jawline sharp, and tiny tattoos on his face.

"Claire, you're crazy! Where?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.

I leaned in closer, eager to hear every juicy detail.

Her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh, Sofiya, you won't believe it. It was at this party I went to with Jane. We danced together and had a few too many drinks, and things got a bit… heated. We ended up behind a big tree in the garden, and, well… you can imagine the rest."

"Wait, do you even know his name?" I asked, my eyes widening in disbelief.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "No freaking clue."

My jaw dropped.

Just then, the bartender arrived with our drinks, giving Claire a flirtatious wink.

"Drinks are on me, ladies. Have fun, but not too much," he said with a smirk.

Claire smirked and leaned closer to him. "No promises. You know how wild I can get."

He gave her a wide smile and walked away.

Yep, third-wheeling at its finest.

"I think his name's Paul or Leo," she mused, her blue eyes still locked on the bartender. "Something like that, I can't remember, anyway."

Claire's confidence was something to admire, but her nonchalance about not even knowing the guy's name? That was next-level.

Here I was, struggling to make meaningful connections, and she was out here living her best life without a care in the world.

"Claire, you amaze me," I said, shaking my head. "I wish I had half your guts."

She laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "Stick with me, and you'll have plenty of wild stories to tell. Just try to keep up, okay?"

I took a deep breath. "Actually, tonight's going to be special for me too."

I had already told Claire before about my lack of romantic experiences.

While she seemed to effortlessly navigate relationships and flings, I'd spent most of my life focused on academics and moving around.

The idea of kissing someone felt monumental, almost surreal.

But tonight, something inside me decided it was time.

I didn't want to remain a 24-year-old who had never been kissed.

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How so?"

I blushed slightly. "I think tonight might be my first kiss."

Her eyes widened with excitement. "No way! Alright, we're making this happen. Let's find you the perfect guy for that first kiss!"

As we made our way to the dance floor, Claire kept trying to play matchmaker, discreetly pointing out guys she deemed suitable candidates for my first kiss.

But each time, I shook my head .

I didn't want just any guy; I wanted to feel a connection or an attraction at least.

Claire noticed my reluctance and nudged me playfully. "Come on, don't be so picky! The perfect guy could be right here."

I smiled weakly but deep down, I knew she was right.

As the night passed, we found ourselves on our third cosmopolitan, and I could already feel my cheeks turning red.

Rihanna's "Work" was blasting through the speakers, and I decided to let loose completely. My black short dress flowed around my body as I danced, feeling the music pulsating through me.

Claire danced beside me, laughing and twirling with abandon, and for a moment, I forgot about my upcoming exams, the looming threat of my mama finding out I was here, and my quest for a first kiss.

The energy of the club surrounded us, and I allowed myself to be swept away by the rhythm, abandoning all sense of responsibility in the name of a good time.

Suddenly, two big hands grabbed my hips, and a body pressed against mine.

I turned around, ready to tell off whoever it was, but stopped short when I saw a pair of mesmerizing eyes and a mischievous grin looking down at me. The man was tall, at least 6'4, with light skin, dark hair, and a short beard. Tattoos covered his hands and snaked up his neck.

He wore a black suit with a white shirt, the top two buttons casually undone. His muscles were almost visible through the fabric.

"Hey," he said, his voice deep with a thick accent I couldn't quite place.

"Hi," I managed to reply, my voice wavering slightly .

I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks as his eyes locked onto mine.

He leaned in closer, his hands still on my hips.

"You look like you're having a good time," he said, his accent making the words sound exotic.

"I am," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Just enjoying the night."

"Good," he said, his grin widening.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as he moved even closer, his lips almost brushing my ear.

"What's your name?" he asked softly, his breath warm against my skin.

"I'm…" I hesitated, feeling a bit flustered under his intense gaze. "I'm… Sofiya."

"Sofiya," he repeated, his accent wrapping around my name. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

I could barely breathe as he pulled back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. Maybe it was the alcohol in me that suddenly made me brave, but I found myself encircling his neck and stepping closer to him, his hands still resting on my hips.

I looked up at him, his face close to mine. "Where are you from?"

"Miami."

I laughed and playfully hit his chest. "I knew you weren't from here! You're too hot for San Francisco."

His hands tightened on me as I almost tripped, suddenly feeling very dizzy.

"How many drinks did you have?" he asked, steadying me.

I grinned widely, squishing his cheek with my hand. "I don't know, but seriously buddy, why are you so hot? Did you, like, win the genetic lottery or something?"

He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on me as I continued to ramble on about how hot he was and how I've never kissed anyone yet.

"You know, I've always wanted my first kiss to be with someone like you," I blurted out, the alcohol loosening my tongue.

His lips quivered into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is that so?"

I nodded eagerly, feeling a boldness I'd never known before. "Yeah, like someone tall, dark, and handsome, with tattoos and muscles and, like, a really sexy accent."

He chuckled, his fingers tracing lightly along my waist. "Well, lucky for you, it seems your wish has come true."

My eyes widened. "Really? You mean… you want to be my first kiss?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I think that can be arranged."

A grin appeared on my face.

But then, suddenly, a hot fever took over my body, and sweat began to bead down my back. My heart started to race uncomfortably, and a wave of nausea swept over me.

He looked at me, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you?—"

Before he could finish his question, I cut him off.

"Oh my god," I gasped, clutching my stomach. "I'm gonna throw up!"

"Wha-"

But I was already stumbling away, desperate to find the nearest restroom before disaster struck.

I stumbled into the nearest bathroom, my vision swimming as I fought back the urge to vomit. The tiled floor felt cool beneath my feet as I hurried to the nearest stall, barely making it in time before the contents of my stomach erupted violently.

I doubled over, retching uncontrollably as wave after wave of nausea washed over me. It felt like my insides were trying to escape through my mouth, and I clung to the toilet for dear life, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the vomiting subsided.

I flushed the toilet and collapsed onto the cold tile floor, feeling utterly drained and miserable.

The echoes of the music from the club seemed distant now, replaced by the sound of my own ragged breathing and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above.

I stayed there for what felt like hours, trying to regain my composure.

Eventually, I managed to pull myself up and splash some cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the lingering feeling of sickness.

Feeling weak and shaky, I stumbled out of the bathroom and back into the club, searching for Claire.

I scanned the crowded dance floor, the dimly lit corners, and the bustling bar area, but there was no sign of her.

Panic began to rise in my chest as I realized she was nowhere to be found.

I pulled out my phone, fingers trembling as I typed out a message asking where she was.

Before I could hit send, a text notification popped up on my screen.

I hesitated for a moment before opening it, my heart sinking as I read the words:

C.C::

Sorryyyy girly! Left with the bartender. ; )

Luv' yaaa!

What. The. Hell.

I felt a knot form in my stomach as I stared at the screen, the realization sinking in that Claire had left without me.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of betrayal mixed with disappointment.

She begged me to join her at a place I don't particularly enjoy, only to ditch me the first chance she got.

With a heavy heart, I pocketed my phone and turned to leave the club.

As I made my way outside, my feet throbbing and calling out for relief, I waved my hand frantically for a cab.

A sleek black SUV pulled up beside me, and without hesitation, I kicked off my heels, flung open the door, and practically collapsed onto the back seat.

"Take me home, please," I mumbled to the driver.

Sleep was beginning to elude me as the events of the night swirled in my mind, leaving me feeling drained and defeated.

It wasn't until I sank into the soft embrace of my bed's sheets that a chilling realization dawned on me—I hadn't uttered a word about where "home" was to the driver.