Isabela

Today

“Are you sure you’re going to do this?” Cris asks, staring at me over her round reading glasses, diverting her gaze from one of the books she stole from my shelf.
I look at myself in the narrow white-framed mirror, nailed behind my bedroom door, as I slide a black 7/8 sock up my right leg. I ignore the number of messages pinging on my phone, the annoying notification sound irritating me. I don’t even need to look at the screen to know it's Ana saying she’s going to hit me for disagreeing with what I’m about to do. I put the sock on the other leg, finishing dressing completely.
I scrutinize my red outfit in the mirror. It’s a short, flared dress. Its length extends to the middle of my too-white thighs. It’s a costume for a masquerade party, with satin fabric on the sides and velvet in the middle, slightly varying in shades of red. I tie a bow with the ends of the black satin ribbons above my stomach, creating the impression that I’m wearing a corset. My small breasts appear modestly under the square neckline. I drape the cape over my shoulders, tying a knot at the top of my chest, feeling the hood snug against the back of my neck. The cape is made of such soft velvet, it seems to hug my skin. The only rougher part is the black lace trim around its edges.
My version of Little Red Riding Hood greets me in the mirror, and I like what I see. I’ve finished my makeup, with my mascara perfectly streaked across my cheeks, the bright red lipstick matching the outfit, and my hair, which I made sure to wash and curl, leaving it with gentle waves. I clean a small smudge at the right corner of my lip with my stiletto-shaped black-painted nail scratching my cheek.
“Damn it!” I curse as I feel the sting of the scratch, turning my irritated gaze to Belladona, who has finally decided to come out of my closet. “Are you going to show up at mealtime?”
“Who likes to be hungry, right?” Cris asks the cat, who jumps onto the bed, purring as she rubs against it.
“A traitor!” I mutter. “She never wants to be near me.”
I watch my new friend. She’s messy-haired, wearing leggings and a white men’s t-shirt, which, judging by the sunset design on the chest, belongs to Vitor, her “not-boyfriend.”
Ana is dying of jealousy over my friendship with Cris. I love sending pictures of us just to irritate her, and I was even “disinvited” from being her wedding maid of honor, only to be “reinvited” the next moment.
“Answering your question from minutes ago, yes, I’m going to do it. I got dumped by my fling, I’m twenty-two, and I want to finally not be a virgin anymore. Tomorrow I might regret it while drinking hot chocolate and crying next to my cat, who, by the way, hates me and will celebrate in feline language at witnessing my defeat.”
I roll my eyes as Belladona rubs her head against Cris’s chin. Jealousy warms my body. This cat is literally poisonous. She loves anyone but me, her mother, who smuggled her to keep her close.
Yes, maybe I’m crazy for leaving my apartment, which is in the neighboring district, and moving to a tiny room in a college full of weird people. But I have a laziness that sometimes possesses me. It’s almost a demonic entity, and, knowing myself, I’d end up skipping some classes until it snowballed into a failure avalanche.
The week flew by with classes, visits to my grandmother’s house or my couple friends to see them and shower my niece with kisses. As soon as I received that damn message from that insensitive tattooed-headed jerk, the idiot I thought I might have a relationship with, I decided that today I would lose my virginity.
I know! I have a damn trauma with touches. I go nuts when people touch me without my permission, and the only people I let touch my body without warning are Ana and my grandmother, though there were two people in the past who could also: Ber, my deceased friend, and him... The boy I killed in my heart. I’ll probably let Cris touch me unsupervised at some point, but I gave her a vague explanation about this, and she understood. Or almost. My classmate held my arm while talking about something in Brazilian Music class, and I froze. Then she remembered what I’d said about the trauma and pulled away, since then she seems to retreat whenever she’s about to touch me.
I have serious issues with my body. I feel safe inside my cocoon, where I protect myself from the world and dodge the pain. And my cocoon is the armor I created, this tough and rebellious appearance that I reinforce with strong-toned clothes, heavy makeup, and the angry look I give the world.
What I’m about to do goes against all these years of avoiding losing my virginity. I’m willing to cross this barrier with a stranger because I know my fate is to be alone. There’s no other path for someone so messed up. I just want a means to an end. And by means, I mean “a dick”… from a stranger.
I can’t stand reliving everything. Meeting someone, falling in love, believing it’s possible to have a relationship and, in the end, ending up crying for days after getting dumped. It’s very selfish to expect someone to go without sex, hugs, decent touches because of me. I can’t offer a real relationship to another person.
Enough!
I’m going to this damn party, find someone who accepts my terms, and that’s it. This way, I won’t have any connection with the guy I choose, won’t have feelings, nothing that ties me to him, and thus avoid being shattered.
I take a deep breath and leave instructions about Belladona’s dinner and supper with Cris. My kitten has to eat on time because she tends to produce a lot of stomach acid and gets nauseous if she’s hungry. That’s why Cris agreed to take care of her, or I would have to drive to Leblon to leave her with my grandmother.
I place a condom on one side of my breast under the strapless bra, and in the middle, between them, my phone. I don’t even bother to bring money; after all, anyone dressed in a red hood gets free drinks. When I finally force myself to be brave and walk out, the dorm corridor is filled with students talking loudly and walking in all directions. I see girls dressed in outfits like mine, others just in red coats with hoods. Some, like me, have their hoods down. The bolder ones already have them over their heads. I see men with gray masks covering from the nose to the top of their heads as I cross the lawn towards the “The Forest” block, the place designated for parties and gatherings.
If at the beginning of the year someone had told me I’d be about to lose my virginity at a college sex party called Revolta, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, I would have laughed in their face and called them crazy. But here I am, entering a place packed with students who will spend the night fucking all over campus.