3. Petra
PETRA
Who pushed me?
Glimpses of faces hover at the edge of the pool, some laughing, some looking concerned, but it’s all a murky mix of shapes and forms.
Panic starts to claw at my guts. I kick my legs, struggling to find the surface. My lungs begin to burn as the air supply dwindles to nothing. Just when I think I can’t hold my breath any longer, a strong hand grabs my arm, pulling me upward.
I break the surface, gasping for air and desperately blinking water from my eyes.
The next moment, Sin is floating right beside me, his hair plastered rather amusingly to his forehead.
He looks half-concerned and half-pissed. He’s saying something, but there’s water in my ears. As I try to shake it out, he guides me to the steps leading out of the pool.
Now I can hear him better.
“Are you okay?” he asks again. The music has been paused, it seems, and people are talking among themselves—while looking pointedly at us, of course.
I nod weakly, still trying to catch my breath. “Ye-yeah . . . I th-think so.”
“Dude, what the absolute fuck?” Elias is back and panicking again. “Are you okay, bro?” He’s looking at Sin with concern and fear.
I mean, I’m the one who got pushed into the pool, but whatever, I guess.
“I’m fine. Petra needs to go inside and warm up,” Sin replies curtly, and I’m surprised he takes that tone with the guy who’s supposed to be his best friend.
At this point, I’m fully drenched and shivering violently from the cold and the shock.
“Who did that?” Sin demands again, looking around the crowd with a menacing expression.
Many of the guys and girls seem to flinch away from his glare. I’m not the least bit surprised to notice that Daphne and her cult are nowhere to be seen.
“Did you see them, Petra?” Sin asks again.
I shake my head, and my teeth chatter miserably as I say, “N-n-no . . . I-it hap-happened s-s-so fa-fast!”
Sin’s jaw tightens as he says, “Let’s get you inside and dried off. You’re freezing.”
“Yeah, man, that’s a good idea,” Elias chimes in, and from his tone, I can tell that he wants to get on Sin’s good side again.
I nod erratically, too cold and too overwhelmed to argue. As Sin leads me back into the mansion, I can’t help but feel a mix of humiliation and gratitude—humiliated by the cruel prank, yet grateful for Sin’s swift rescue.
The warmth of the house assaults my senses at first as the sudden shift in temperature makes my skin crawl unpleasantly.
Sin’s hand is perched firmly on the small of my back, and I’m both discomforted and comforted by it.
I suppose a near-death experience will do that to a girl.
He leads me through the thinning crowd and up a grand staircase as the cold sinks deeper into my bones. We soon reach the third floor, entering a room with an en suite bathroom. I surmise that the washer and dryer are at the end of the hall.
The room itself is spacious, with a large bed draped in rich, dark fabrics and a window that offers a view of the moonlit pool below.
As soon as we enter, I feel something break inside me, and a sob slips past my lips. It’s too late to try to stifle it. The tears come rushing down, almost violently.
If one humiliation weren’t enough, now I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of a stranger, too.
I don’t cry.
I really don’t.
So what the hell is wrong with me now?
“Hey, hey, hey,” Sin says in a soothing voice. “It’s okay, Petra. I mean, it’s not okay, someone pushed you into the pool for fuck’s sake, but you’re okay now. You’re safe.” His palm traces small circles over my back as I try to stem the sudden flow of tears.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know why I’m crying,” I manage to gasp out in the end.
This is partly true. I have been moping around the whole day, but breaking down into tears seems like an overreaction, even to me.
But if I thought that Sin would judge or pity me, I’m proven wrong when he says nothing and continues to pat my back as I finally calm down and bring my breathing under control.
“Better now?” he asks gently, and I nod, feeling lighter than I’ve felt the whole day.
The carpet is plush and soft beneath my bare feet. Sin hands me a towel and a velvet robe, both incredibly soft to the touch. It makes me yearn to snuggle inside and never come up for air.
But there’s still the issue of my clothes, which are still clinging to me, drenched and cold.
Sin shifts uncomfortably by the door, glancing around the room as if looking for something to focus on other than me.
“So, um, if you don’t want to borrow any of Elias’s mom’s clothes, we could just toss our stuff in the dryer,” he suggests. “And while they’re drying, we can change into the bathrobes?”
“Yeah, that works,” I say, suppressing a smile at the lost-puppy look on his face. “Thanks.”
With that, I turn my back to him and start peeling off my wet shirt. He starts taking off his shirt and trousers as well, and for a while, there’s just the squelching noise of our clothes coming off—in the most unerotic sense.
If you had told me that this is what I’d be doing on my eighteenth birthday, getting dunked in the swimming pool and then awkwardly shedding my wet clothes in a room with a guy I just met, I would have laughed at you.
Things like these happen to heroines in novels and movies, I would have told you. I’m just an angsty, rich teenage girl who wants to be seen.
Funnily enough, at one point, I do feel Sin’s eyes on me, and even though I know he’s trying not to look, it’s impossible not to be hyper-aware of his presence.
It’s not like he’s that bad to look at. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of his corded back muscles and athlete’s arms.
Phew, this guy works out, my inner critic mumbles, and I am quick to shush her. As I fumble with the blouse, I catch a glimpse of him looking at me in the mirror.
Just as I see him, his gaze quickly darts away.
“Ahem, Sin?” I say sharply. “Do you mind?”
He flushes a bright shade of red. “I swear I wasn’t looking! I mean, not on purpose.” He’s already shrugged off his attire and is wearing a bathrobe.
“Just turn around, okay?” I say, smiling a little at the sight of his flustered face.
“Right, right. Sorry.” He quickly turns his back to me, staring intently at the wall.
Once I’m out of my blouse and skirt, I feel cold again, and goose bumps erupt all over my skin. Standing there in just my bra and panties, I hastily wrap myself in the soft, warm robe, tying the belt tightly around my waist.
Outside, the party sounds somewhat muted now. People may be starting to leave in earnest.
“Okay, you can turn around now,” I say at last, gathering my wet clothes into a bundle.
Sin turns back, carefully avoiding my eyes.
“Do you want me to take those to the dryer?” he offers, nodding toward the soggy pile in my arms.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” I reply, handing them over. As he takes the clothes from my hands, his eyes meet mine for a moment.
There’s a softness there, a genuine concern that makes my heart ache in grief. Am I going to have to rely on the kindness of strangers all the time? And more importantly, would that be so bad?
“No problem,” Sin stammers. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just . . . make yourself comfortable, I guess.”
I nod, watching as he leaves the room, and the door clicks shut behind him.
Alone again, I let out a trembling breath. Despite the awkwardness, there’s something comforting about Sin’s presence, something that makes this chaotic night feel a little less overwhelming.
Who did that? I can’t help wondering. The most obvious suspects were Daphne and her followers, but I am somehow not convinced.
Sure, the three of them are notorious bullies who have ruined the lives of many an unsuspecting juvenile pariah, and pushing me into a pool is just the kind of petty trick they would play.
But . . . but what? My instincts are telling me something, though I’m not sure what that is.
All I know is that the voice I heard immediately before being pushed into the pool couldn’t have come from any of the trio. It sounded far too calculating.
Does that mean I have another enemy? Someone else who wishes me harm? It’s a daunting question, but one I have to face if I deny that it was Daphne or Lenora or Francois who had sent me into the pool’s icy depths.
“Great, just great,” I mutter. “Could this night get any weirder?”
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have posed more rhetorical questions to the universe. It has a funny way of answering them.