Stained Beauty

Chapter 8: “Don’t Lower Your Gaze” – The Cafeteria Humiliation

Midday.

The Academy cafeteria is packed, every table full.

Ares and his circle — Cassian, Rheon, Livia, and Elara — are seated in their usual corner by the window.



Helen sits alone in a far corner, clutching her bag.

She hasn't gotten any food.

She just sits in silence.

After last night’s party, she avoids all eye contact.

But the entire cafeteria is buzzing — with whispers about her.



Cassian lets out a soft laugh.

Livia curls her lips into a mocking smirk.



> Livia (mockingly):

“Sweetheart, if you're trying to catch attention with those innocent eyes of yours… you’re using the wrong trick.”







Elara — you might name her differently later — fixes her gaze on Helen:



> Elara:

“Helen! Come here, join us for a little chat.

Don’t be shy now. We don’t bite…”







Ares slightly turns his head, but says nothing.

Helen, with trembling hands, picks up her bag and slowly approaches.

As she reaches the table, the girls giggle.



> Livia (glancing sideways):

“So… how was last night? You seemed lively. All eyes were on you.”







> Helen (barely audible):

“I… I didn’t know… it was a joke…”







> Elara:

“Oh honey, how adorably naïve. So you’re just now figuring that out?”







Cassian chuckles.

Rheon raises an eyebrow.

Ares remains silent.

Helen sits down, her body tense.

She clutches her bag tightly on her lap.



> Elara:

“By the way… your style caught my eye.

You're poor, yet somehow manage to dress fancy.

Come on, Helen. Be honest.

Where do you get the money?”







> Livia:

“That jacket’s designer. And that wallet? Limited edition.

Who’s your sponsor, sweetheart?”







Helen blushes, her eyes falling to the floor.

Laughter grows louder.



> Helen (whispering):

“I’m… not that poor…”







> Cassian (mocking):

“Not that poor, huh?

Maybe you’re into… volunteer work? The late-night kind?”







Suddenly, Livia reaches out and snatches Helen’s bag.



> Livia:

“Mind if we take a peek into your classy little world?”







> Helen (panicking):

“No! Please—”







But she’s too late.

Livia opens the bag and dumps it across the cafeteria table.

Wallet. Makeup. Pens.

And... a sanitary pad.

The entire room falls silent.



Helen’s face turns crimson.

She scrambles to collect her things with shaking hands.

But all eyes are on her.

Laughter erupts.



> Elara (wrinkling her nose):

“Well… at least you’re prepared, darling.”







Helen’s fingers tremble.

As she grabs her wallet, a few bills fall to the floor.

Livia bends down and picks them up.



> Livia (with fake sweetness):

“Interesting.

So much cash, Helen.

Where exactly does it come from?”







> Helen (ashamed):

“My mom gave it to me…”







> Livia (mockingly):

“Really? And where does mommy get her money?

Where does she work, huh?”







Helen can’t answer.

She just gathers her things, face burning, eyes brimming.

But then — she feels it.

A stare.



Ares.

Watching from across the table.

Expression stone cold.

But his gaze — fixed.

Is it anger? Disgust? She can’t tell.



Helen gently tries to fix her hair with her trembling fingers.

And without lowering her head, softly, with broken pride:



> Helen (hoarse):

“I… I’m not who you think I am.”







She finishes picking up her things and starts to rise.



But Elara grabs her arm.



> Elara (mocking):

“What’s the rush, Helen? We’re not done talking yet.

Your fascinating little life has us all curious.”







Livia throws a few more items from Helen’s bag back on the table.



> Livia:

“Come on. Tell us.

Who’s your mom? What about your dad?

Or did he ditch you too?”







Helen turns pale.

Her mouth moves — no words come out.



> Elara (sharply):

“What’s there to be so ashamed of?

Everyone knows how you got into this school.

Was it the principal’s bed? Or someone even higher?”







Helen closes her eyes.

She holds her breath.

She wants to run — but stumbles backward into a chair and falls to the floor.

Her belongings scatter again.



Elara laughs, grabs her juice, and without even making eye contact —

pours it on Helen.



Her white dress stains.

The red liquid trails down her shoulder like a wound.



> Elara (mocking):

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry…

but you’ll have to get used to these kinds of outfits.

They might come in handy… on stage.”







Helen’s tears fall freely now.

But she says nothing.



She tries to gather her skirt, cover her chest — but fails.

Alone, stained, silenced like a drowning scream.



> Livia:

“I’m really curious now.

When a girl stays this quiet — she’s either guilty...

or just really bad at lying.”







Laughter roars.

It’s as if the whole cafeteria has gone silent — except for this table.



Ares still hasn’t moved.

But his gaze is locked on Helen.

His fingers grip the edge of his glass.

Veins bulging.



His face still a mask of cold.

But his eyes — unmoving.



Helen, still on her knees, doesn’t struggle.

Tears fall quietly.

Something inside her has cracked.



But she moves her lips:



> Helen (a whisper to herself):

“I… I’m not that kind of girl…”







No one hears.





---



She runs.



The group:



> “So weak. And boring.”







As if the day is over.

After the cafeteria humiliation, Helen hides in a back corridor restroom of the academy.

One no one uses — small, private, with a single shower.



Water runs.

Hot droplets mask her tears.

She scrubs her skin, trying to erase the stains.

But shame… doesn’t wash off.



The shower ends.

She wraps herself in the towel she grabbed blindly.

It’s small.

Soft, white cotton… but too short.



She tries to cover her chest — fails.

The towel slips at the top, hangs loose at the bottom.

With trembling hands, she clutches it tighter.



And then—



The door opens.



Helen turns in panic —

Ares.



Their eyes meet.



Helen immediately turns her back to him, facing the wall.

She crosses her arms over her chest, pressing against the tiles.

But her hair, the water on her shoulders, her bare back — all exposed.



> Helen (trembling):

“Please… go.

Don’t look at me like this.”







Ares says nothing.

He shuts the door.

His footsteps — slow, deliberate.



He approaches.



> Ares (cold whisper):

“Every time I see you…

you act like you’re trying to hide something.

But it’s all an act.

And you’re bad at pretending.”







Helen lowers her head.

A droplet slides from her shoulder to the floor.

She still clutches the towel.



> Helen (desperate):

“No… please… not like this…”







Ares steps closer.

Suddenly, he grabs her arms and pins her to the wall.

Her back hits the cold tiles.

She gasps.



> Ares (with restrained fury):

“Don’t run from me.

If you’re bold enough to stand in front of everyone…

be bold now.”







Helen’s eyes widen.

But she doesn’t pull away.

She only whispers:



> Helen:

“I’m not… that kind of girl.

Not last night… not today…

I was just trying to protect myself.”







Ares locks eyes with her.

His gaze drifts — to her bare shoulder, the water droplets, the gap in the towel.



> Ares (low voice):

“I don’t know who you are.

But this version of you…

is dangerous.”







He lifts a hand toward her face — doesn’t touch.

His fingers approach the edge of her towel…

Then — he pulls away.



For a moment, time freezes.



Ares takes a step back.



> Ares (firmly):

“Get dressed.

Walking around like this… would be a disaster.”







He turns his back.

Just before opening the door, he glances at Helen once more.



But this time…

his expression has something else —

not a reaction, but conflict.

Like he’s angry for even seeing her.



Ares moves to leave.

But pauses in the doorway.

He doesn’t touch the handle.

He turns back slightly.



His eyes still on Helen —

leaning against the wall, clutching a towel, trembling under the water…



Something inside him breaks.

He turns back.



He storms toward her, pins her to the wall again.

One hand on her shoulder, the other against the tile by her head.

Their faces — inches apart.



> Ares (hoarse):

“What are you shaking for, huh?

Think you're not what they all say?”







Helen shakes her head.

No words.



> Helen (whispers):

“I’m… not that girl…”







Ares studies her.

From her eyes, to her cheeks, to her wet lips.

He holds his breath.



Then—



He kisses her.

Hard.

Without tenderness.

Like rage buried under desire.

Helen’s eyes widen.

But she doesn’t push him.



She only grips her towel tighter.



When Ares pulls away, his eyes still burn.

But he smirks — fake, cruel.



> Ares (mocking):

“Wow. So eager.

You weren’t playing the shy act just a minute ago?”







Helen’s eyes are misted.

Her face flushes red down to her neck.

Tears well again.



> Ares (coldly):

“What’s wrong, Helen?

Crying again? Every time I see you… it’s pathetic.”







> Helen (softly):

“I… I just wanted to look… different to you.”







Ares’ face freezes — just for a moment.

Then he shuts down.



> Ares (stone cold):

“Your different... still looks filthy to me.

And that’s your problem, not mine.”







Without breaking eye contact — he turns.

This time, he truly leaves.



The door shuts.

The warmth leaves.

Only the cold tiles remain.



Helen slowly sinks to the floor.

She pulls her knees to her chest.

Rests her head on them.



And...



Cries.

Silently.



But something inside her —

for the first time —

cracks beyond repair.



Water drips down her chest, soaking the towel.

She shivers.

But her heart… beats even faster.