3. Iris #3
“No,” Sophie emphasized. “I am not into men, as I told you. Mark isn’t my boyfriend; he’s my best friend. We grew up together. His family lived next door from mine. And for the record, he’s gay.”
“What!?” I stared at her in stunned silence for a moment. My assumptions were way off. Silence echoed between us for a moment as Sophie made the calculations.
“Wait, is that the reason you’ve been so mean to me? Because you think I lied to you?”
“I—” I was caught in a web of my own making. Of course, Sophie hadn’t lied. Maya had told me I could be wrong. But I’d chosen to cling to my past instead of asking her. Two red splotches lit up my face as Sophie watched me squirm. “I might’ve done so.”
Sophie watched me carefully, and then, she smirked. “Why, Iris Hart, are you interested in me?”
It was a direct statement, a truth I couldn’t deny.
But I avoided answering her. “I’m sorry, I misunderstood.
” I met her eye, feeling raw as I told her the truth.
"My ex did something like that to me. She…experimented with me and then cheated on me.” It was hard to keep my voice steady.
“She made me feel like my feelings were messy, complicated, and disposable. Seeing you with someone else, I assumed you were the same. That you were a liar too.”
The painful, shaky truth was finally out. I braced myself for judgment.
"I overheard you," she confessed, her voice barely a breath. "The night Maya was here. I was right outside the room. I heard you talking about Riley and what she said."
My body went rigid. The depth of my shame and hurt had been absorbed by the very person I had been fighting to push away.
"I didn't say anything because it wasn't my business," she continued, her eyes holding mine steadily. "But I had no idea you’d misunderstood my relationship with Mark. I know you’re fighting a ghost, Iris, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m a fraud.”
She pushed herself off the bed, moving carefully on her ankle, but with a terrifying resolve. She stopped inches away, forcing me to confront her.
"I am not Riley, Iris," she reiterated, her eyes full of a powerful, genuine sincerity. "I know who I am and what I want. The question is, do you?” She was close, and I took a step back until my back rested against the wall. “I asked you a question earlier. Answer me. Do you like me, Iris Hart?”
I couldn't speak. The explicit confession of her desire, combined with the shared secret of my trauma, was overwhelming. The fight drained out of me. I liked her. More than liked her. The awareness of her nearness pulsed in my core like a flame.
"Sophie—" I whispered, the name catching in my throat, a plea and a desperate apology. I wanted to tell her that I liked her, and that was why I’d been making excuses to push her away.
The moment was raw, charged with honesty and attraction, and I wanted to take a step toward her, toward the girl who had been on my mind since she burst into my room.
Sophie caged me in, coming to stand before me, her slightly taller form looking down at my face that tilted toward her like a sunflower toward the sun.
“Yes,” I whispered in a low voice. I watched Sophie’s eyes widen in surprise.
And then, I did something entirely unexpected. I grabbed a fistful of her shirt and pulled her forward, closing my mouth over hers in a kiss. I heard her moan as my lips sealed hers, showing rather than verbalizing my attraction for my roommate.
Sophie melted into me, her hands coming around me, one cupping the nape of my neck and digging into my hair as the other circled my waist. The kiss was hesitant at first, a soft question of apology and confirmation, then deepened instantly into something desperate and necessary, fueled by the agonizing silence and the relief of the truth.
I kissed her with abandon, like a woman awakened, like a woman claimed, unleashing the feelings I’d been holding back for weeks.
Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of ginger tea and freedom.
It wasn't gentle; it was a furious relief. The feeling of her responding, the pressure of her mouth against mine, was the only thing that finally silenced the fearful voice in my head. She responded to my kiss, pushing her tongue between my lips, letting me taste her, letting my find a home in her. The passion between us was wild and uncontrolled, just as I’d always predicted it would be.
It felt so good to kiss my roommate, to feel her body fill my arms, and her heart beat against mine.
The kiss turned frantic and needy, like we were both pouring all our words into it, hoping it never ended.
But when I ran out of oxygen, we broke apart, both breathing heavily, gazing at each other with a newfound awareness.
“Hart, you sure know how to kiss,” Sophie confessed with an adorable smirk. “God, and here I thought you hated me.”
I squeezed her arm, smiling with stunned relief. "I do hate you."
"No," Sophie corrected, pulling me close. "You don't. You just proved it."
And then, she kissed me. I kissed her back, and we kept doing it until we lost track of time.