Sofia's Curse

Chris meets Sofia

Cold winter afternoons in the month of December in Salem, Oregon are Christopher Jenkins’ least favorite.

He parks his rusty Ford Mustang in front of a gas station two blocks away from his small trailer where he lives with his twin sister Victoria and their mother Yasmine.

"s**t," he curses having stepped into a pile of melted snow. He knows it will ooze through the shoe and soak his sock, because he has two tiny holes in it. Those have been his working shoes for two years now and he can't afford a new pair.

He goes to the fuel dispensers and grabs the yellow nozzle. This is the only gas station in the state of Oregon where people are allowed to tank themselves. There is no clerk working outside. The owner is corrupted and has strong connections both with the police and local mafia. Numerous times g**g settlements happened here, in the middle of nowhere.

As he waits for the tank to fill, he hears loud music approaching. He turns his head back to see where it is coming from. A brand new silver Range Rover pulls up.

The windows are tinted, but the driver's one is lowered, so when they pass by him, he sees the car is filled with adolescents. Rich kids. They must be going clubbing, he thinks. It's been a long while since Chris has done that. It's not that he dislikes it, but he's been saving up to be able to leave their shabby trailer and afford renting a flat.

Click. The nozzle announces the tank is full.

Chris inspects the monitor. Forty-one dollar and sixty-seven cents is displayed on it. That's more than half his daily wage. Good thing he found a mechanics job not so far away from home. He puts the nozzle back into its place and heads towards the little store to settle the check.

As he passes the Range Rover, someone chuckles. "Hey hobo, nice shoes."

Chris finds a blond tall guy, the car's driver filling his tank. He gauges the blondie and is satisfied to conclude he outweighs him. "Tsk," he clicks his tongue with a confident wink on his face, "No, my man, the shoes are normal," he points his chin at him, "It's you who's nice." Chris is broad-shouldered, muscular, and has a fair share of street fighting experience under his belt. Even though he outgrew fighting his peers a couple of years ago, this guy makes him want to bend his morals.

The blondie looks up with an astonished face and a poignantly raised eyebrow. "You trying to start a fight?" He takes a step forward.

Christopher takes a stand with spread legs and rests his hands on his hips. "I damn sure hopeyou’re that stupid," he pompously licks his top lip.

Another guy descends from the vehicle. His jaw is masculine and his chin pointed at the tip.

The blondie smirks. "You've got a problem with us, buddy?" he puts a finger on his chest.

Christopher looks down at his index finger, then painfully slowly directs his eyes up to look at him. "I'm not your buddy. And remove that finger unless you want it broken."

A window curls down. "I don't have all night," a dark-haired girl with emerald eyes peeks out, sighing in annoyance. "Just let the boy go, Ian."

Chris squints to see the girl better.

Blood comes rushing to his brain. "What the hell are you doing with this g**g?" He rushes to the vehicle and grabs the door handle.

It's locked.

"Open the damn door!" he yells and notices another female sitting beside her - a girl with golden sandy hair and bold thick eyewear. She seems uninterested, preoccupied with her smartphone.

"Leave the car or I'm going to drag you out the window," Chris orders.

This attracts the blond girl's attention. "Who is this?" she whispers, frightened.

The dark haired girl stares at Chris in silence, her eyes narrowed. She does not seem scared, but rather curious. Just as she is about to leave the vehicle, Ian grabs the back of Chris' arm. "Hey! What do you think you're doing, pal?"

"I told you not to touch me," he snarls. Then he turns abruptly and nods him onto the ground.

The girl with sandy hair screams.

"Shut up, Vanessa," her girl friend admonishes and leaves the car seemingly unperturbed.

Immediately, Ian picks himself up. "Return to the car," he shouts at her, but she doesn't listen.

"I'd rather buy some popcorn and enjoy the show."

"Finally," Chris puts a hand under her armpit. "You're coming with me."

Ian gives a nod to his friend and the two attack Chris before he can walk away. Ian grapples his arms, locking his elbows, while the other one punches him into the ribs. Once. Twice. Three times.

The dark-haired girl rolls her big green eyes. "Boys..." she mutters, seemingly bored.

Suddenly, for an unknown reason, Chris senses the armlock become looser. He still feels short of breath, but manages to free himself.

All three of them are alert now. Chris moves fast and throws a punch directly at the nose of the young man with the strong jaw. He grunts, covering it with both his hands.

It looks like he broke it.

Now Ian lunges towards him, trying to wrestle him, but Chris knocks him out with an uppercut before he can even bring him down.

"Let's go," he then tells the girl behind him.

She doesn't move an inch. However, she does not look bored anymore, but rather impressed.

"I said," Chris starts talking but a numb pain in his head stops him. He falls to the ground, losing the ability to see.

All pictures become black and all sounds are suddenly muffled. It feels like he has been hit with a baseball bat, he thinks, strangled to the rough cement.

The two are kicking him in the ribs with their expensive leather shoes, as he tries to protect his vital organs.

After a couple of seconds, he hears a distant sound of an opening door.

An employee of the store walks out.

He sees what is going on. "Damn rich kids," he curses. "I'm calling the police!" he shouts. "Go away from here!"

But they don't listen.

"Enough!" the dark haired girl yells. Her voice is pure determination, her posture a queen's poise.

They stop.

Ian jerks his head back to address the storeowner. "He asked for it, John. There's no need for cops," he says in a sarcastic voice and pulls out the nozzle. He places it back and takes a wallet out his pocket.

While his friend hurries to get into the car, Ian approaches John. "I trust we can forget about this," he says as he pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and stacks them in John's shirt pocket. "It wouldn't be good for your business if we didn't." He gives him a nasty look and John's mouth flattens into a grim line.

"Just don't let it happen again," he hisses through clenched teeth.

Ian nods, keeping eye contact. "That should cover the check, too," he adds looking at his pocket. Then he goes for the car.

But the girl doesn't follow. Instead, she slowly approaches Chris and kneels down next to him as if checking how he is doing.

"Are you happy now?" he grunts, wiping the blood off the corner of his lip.

She doesn't answer. She stares at him intensely, brooding, and a deep crinkle appears on her forehead. Checking every single feature of his face. His dark eyebrows, high cheekbones, strong jaw. His hazel-greenish eyes that remind her of emeralds. She runs a finger over his bleeding arcade.

"Sophie!" Ian yells from the car. "What the hell? We got to go!"

Chris doesn't realize what happened at first. She stands up and nods, still looking at him. "I'm coming!"

And then she leaves. Chris' lips part. As she turns, he notices her hair is much longer than Victoria's. And perfectly straightened. Shiny, too. This girl comes from a wealthy family.

She isn't Victoria. She isn't his twin sister.