London aquarium, part 2.

Catch up on part 1:

“Who are you?” - Sophie asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognise the woman in front of her any longer. Physically she was more or less the same, except the circles under her eyes looked more noticeable than usual. But her energy felt alien - who was this person, capable of lying not only to herself, but also to others? She was always better than that, genuine and truthful. “What has this city done to your heart?” - she looked into her reflection’s eyes. The girl in the mirror was staring back, not even blinking. There was sadness in her eyes, and Sophie felt a hint of compassion, self-compassion to be precise. She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a subtle black mascara trail behind it. Sophie looked down at her hands, and realised that she doesn’t remember when she last painted her nails, one of the most colourful things about her look. She was blessed with natural beauty, which had already attracted a considerable amount of attention, so she was never big on make up, not even on the nights out. A bit of mascara and a lip gloss was all that was needed - something that frequently annoyed her girlfriends, who needed hours to get ready. Her nails however, told a different story. Since it was always easy to look at her hands, Sophie had decided a long time ago that they shall be her canvas for the colour therapy of all sorts. And now all these colours were suddenly gone, mirroring her internal state all too well.

She looked outside the window, where the grey London skyline further reinforced today’s mood. Sophie lived on the 11th floor of the building, which allowed for spectacular views - one of her favourite pastime activities to engage in - watching the horizon and feeling the kick of possibility, freedom and expansion. But today she only looked down, where people were running around, looking like ants from where she was standing. “What is the point of all this?” - she thought. “This rat race they are caught in. Are they true to themselves? Or do they just run aimlessly, playing by someone else’s rules, never looking up, without any regard for the bigger picture?”

A phone rang, waking her up from the philosophical daydream. “That’s odd, no one rings me on the landline ever”, Sophie thought reaching for the phone, “hello?” - the voice on the other side asked before she was able to say anything. It was her - the person she was actively avoiding. The person she’d pushed away by provoking the most ridiculous conflict on What’sApp and blocking her, just so she didn’t have to deal with this drama any longer. Tallulah. The unapologetic and wild thing, and someone she used to see as her little sister, a “soul sister” they referred to one another, before the real world had made it all too complicated. There was a lot to lose here; she was one of the very few who didn’t feel the need to compete with Sophie in any way, in fact they were fiercely supportive and protective of each other.

“Hi, how are you?” - Sophie responded in as cold a tone as she could manage.

“I’m fine, although I don’t understand what happened between us, and why you had to block me? I was so excited to organise the party and for you to finally meet Jean Claude; what’s this all about, Soph?”

Look, Tallulah - it has nothing to do with you. I just think it's for the best if I stay out of social life for a bit. Please don't take it personally."

She clocked immediately that she was lying once again, shame and guilt washing over her chest and neck. This girl had done nothing wrong; she was so innocent in her idealism and directness - one of the things Sophie had always admired in her.

“You're not yourself. Can you please just tell me what's going on? Either this is because you're annoyed - and possibly jealous that I've been preoccupied with my relationship and wasn't available to spend time with you as much as before, or you're hiding something!" Her words came from a place of hurt and landed harshly as a result. Sophie felt the punch in the stomach, and her heart sank. She immediately got defensive - “Your relationship, please! You don't even know the truth about it. Jean Claude is not who you think he is!

"What are you talking about? You haven't even met him! Clearly you're jealous, and I won't be listening to you any longer."

Sophie had had enough of the wrongful accusations. This would cost her - she knew that much. But keeping the lid on the situation any longer wasn't healthy for anyone involved, and it was best to rip the bandaid off fast. "I have met him, Tallulah. He's married. He's been lying to you. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this."

Silence followed on both sides. Eventually Tallulah broke it - “What?! Are you mad? And when did you meet him? You've been lying to me?"

Sophie sighed. How is it once again that a woman is blamed for everything, without knowing the context? While a man gets a benefit of the doubt. Fair enough, they have both engaged in a deception, that while wasn’t an elaborate lie, but more like a carefully managed omission, was nonetheless harmful to Tallulah. But she is coming clean now, why is this met with hostility? She didn't see much point in continuing this conversation, so she hung up, and before she knew it, she burst into tears.

What followed was a cocktail of emotions: grief for a friendship, guilt over her own silence, fear of losing what mattered to her, sadness at being misunderstood, anger, powerlessness, and something that felt dangerously close to relief now that the truth was finally out. But once the tears subsided, a realisation set in. The anger was still there - if anything, it was sharper now, but she suddenly knew that she wasn't angry with Tallulah, or with herself, not even with Jean Claude, who was certainly an asshole, no doubt about that.

No, her true anger lay elsewhere, as it was becoming increasingly clear that someone had orchestrated this little drama for them to play out in, a puppeteer of sorts. The pieces of the puzzle were slowly beginning to come together in her mind. And while none of this absolved her of responsibility for the choices she'd made, a pattern was emerging - one way more disturbing than any of their individual choices.

To be continued….