A burden is the only way Clara would want to describe Christopher. In a drunken state, attempting to speak, Christopher falls on Clara. Clara stumbles backwards but holds Christopher by his waist to balance herself and him. Her arms wrapped around his waist allow Clara to feel the sturdiness under that shirt. Her hearts starts racing for it's the first time she has held a man so close. Their bodies pressed close together, the smell of alcohol and cologne from Christopher's body, his warm cheek pressed against her own- remind Clara of her womanhood. She shakes the thought off her head. Holding Christopher as he is, she drags him into his room. 

By the time Christopher is on his bed, Clara is panting. Her face is flushed. Her head is throbbing. She does not believe that she managed putting Christopher on bed in this state of hers. She stands there, catching her breath, her hands on her hips. She looks around the room. Messy. Just like its inhabitant.

Christopher grunts and turns in his bed. Beads of sweat have formed on his forehead, neck, and chest. He begins unbuttoning whatever buttons remain of his shirt. Clara stares at him agape for a while before hurrying out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. She enters her own room, closing the door behind her and sinking on the floor. She rests her throbbing head against the door. Clara looks at her hands- the hands which had Christopher in their embrace, the hands which felt his sturdy body. Unconsciously enough, she rubs her hand on her neck, remembering the feeling of Christopher's breath on it. The recollection sends a shiver down her spine.

She pulls herself up and goes and stands in front of the mirror. She takes off her coat, then shirt and then pants. The woman--naked--looking back at Clara is all familiar. It is Clara, her real self. Yet, she must take upon another role to guard herself and her family's honour. Clara drags her feet to the bed and lies on it, staring at the ceiling covered in a turquoise and white paper. The dainty designs remind her of her own room. Slowly, but surely, she shuts her eyes and dozes off.

***

When she wakes up, it is evening. Clara sits on the bed and realizes that she had slept naked. For the first time ever in her life. She goes to the wardrobe, picks out a fresh set of clothes, and puts them on. She is now back to being Victor.

Clara goes down to Mrs. Mortimer's receiving room. She freezes midway upon seeing the people gathered there. Mrs. Mortimer, Christopher Fanshawe, and Miss Adelaide Crawford- Benjamin's soon-to-be wife. Clara would not have thought of a more mortifying moment.

"Here is Mr. Victor Waverley," Mrs. Mortimer announces, rising from her chair. "Ohh, Mr. Victor. You had us worried. You should have come here directly. I was upset that you did not consider your little old Mrs. Mortimer to take good care of you." Saying thus, Mrs. Mortimer walks towards Victor, her stick making an odd sound against the floor. She holds Victor's hand, as she observes the bandage on his head. "Should you not remove your hat? It might cause more pain."

By now, Adelaide has risen up from her seat as well. She purses her lips upon seeing Clara dressed as Victor. As much as she sees the resemblance, she cannot help but chuckle at Clara she sees underneath the facade.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Mortimer. I apologize for upsetting you. However, little in that situation was in my favour." Victor assures her.

"But I heard that Mr. Fanshawe was present at the scene too. He-- I firmly believe-- could have brought you here." Mrs. Mortimer turns to look at Christopher. "Is it not so?"

Christopher takes a deep breath and forces a smile. "Mr. Victor's friend was quicker. William or whatever his name is."

"Wilhelm. Mr. Wilhelm Schmidt. He took good care of me, Mrs. Mortimer." Victor assures her. "If you could now allow me to have a word with my soon-to-be sister-in-law whom I haven't met in a long time."

Adelaide smiles at this new Victor and walks towards him. Victor curtsies Mrs. Mortimer before giving his hand to Adelaide who grabs him. They walk out of the receiving room, leaving a bewildered Mrs. Mortimer and irked Christopher Fanshawe behind.

***

Once out of the house and onto the street, Clara heaves a sigh of relief. Adelaide merely chuckles, eliciting a scoff from Clara.

"I had anticipated a lot of things, but not this." Adelaide remarks. "You bear a stark resemblance to Victor. This is not what I had fathomed. You are impeccable."

"This is no time for jokes, Adelaide." Clara sys, keeping her eyes to the ground.

"Do you feel better now? Mrs. Mortimer told me that you resided at a friend's place for a long time. Is there something I must know?" Adelaide raises her eyebrow. "You may share it with me."

"There's nothing you must know. He helped me. In his absence, I wouldn't have survived."

"Does he know your secret?"

Clara nods. "And he shall keep it a secret."

"You must be more careful at Oxford. It is no child's play. Men's ways are tough- so my brother tells me. Surviving as a woman in a man's world is difficult."

Clara chuckles. "Are we not all women surviving in a world ruled by men? What remains of us that is truly ours? Our thoughts? Our bodies?"

"I can speak my mind to Benjamin. I am sure of not being a wife who agrees to every thing her husband says or does. And I am most grateful for Benjamin not being a rake."

"He wouldn't dare. Not so long as Father is around." Clara says.

They walk in silence for a while. The noises of the street cause Clara's head to throb. "I believe we must return. My head hurts."

They turn to walk back. Adelaide observes Clara for a while. "What opinion do you have about the other person staying at Mrs. Mortimer's?"

Clara's face turns pale. "I have no opinion of him. He happens to be a rake, and I refuse to speak to him." Clara looks away for a moment before turning back to face Adelaide. "Why do you ask?"

"For the first time, I found myself unable to read a man's eyes." Clara's confused expression forces Adelaide to explain her point further. "I saw him looking at you while you talked to Mrs. Mortimer. It was a mix of so many things than I wasn't able to single out anything."

"He hates me as much as I do."

"Nobody looks at the person they hate with such a soft expression of eyes. It is something beyond that."

Clara shakes her head, refusing to entertain any more thoughts of Christopher owing to her fear of being consumed by them.

***

Upon their return to Mrs. Mortimer's, they find Christopher pacing in the front garden, hands behind his back. For a man who would rather be drunk by now with plans to head to a woman for the night, grounding himself to his quarters was unusual.

Yet, something unsettled him. Even in his drunk stupor when he had fallen on Victor, he had felt something weird. Victor's body could not have been that of a man. When Victor panted, dragging him to his room, Christopher had heard a sigh that could have been elicited only by a woman. He kept shaking off that thought. No woman would be brave enough to enter Oxford. Victor had to be a man, just a lesser one.

Christopher stops in his tracks upon spotting Victor and Adelaide. Victor's face is ashen. Christopher rushes to his aide. "Victor, are you alright?"

Victor nods. He holds on tighter to Adelaide. "Please take me to my room, Adelaide."

Adelaide nods. She holds Victor tighter to support him and take him upstairs. Victor stumbles over thin air and is about to fall when Christopher's strong arms grab him.

"Let me help you." Christopher pleads.

"I do not need..." Victor begins an argument but is cut short.

"Keep everything aside for the time being. You are not in the best of health. I must call for a doctor too."

"No!" Victor exclaims. "I should be fine upon getting some sleep."

Christopher sighs. Victor is not to be shaken. He shall not listen. Even though Christopher firmly believes getting doctor would be the best of action, Victor's indignancy stops him from doing so. He keeps holding on to Victor, tightly gripping his rather tiny waist and slim hand to usher him to his room.

Adelaide bolts the door from inside once Christopher has left after helping Victor lay down on the bed. Unnatural would it be if Christopher would not be surprised by this unnatural behaviour from Mr. Victor Waverley and the soon-to-be Mrs. Benjamin Waverley. He sighs and goes to his own room. He lays down on his bed. With an arm over his forehead, he shuts his eyes, only to recollect a faint and blurry vision.

As Victor lay him down on his bed earlier in the day, Christopher had half opened his eyes. Although not clearly, he had seen Victor's flushed face. Victor was panting. Something within him had stirred, making him sweat even more, forcing him to unbutton his shirt and take it off. He had slept, remembering nothing that followed.

At present, Christopher wonders the reason a man perturbs him so much. He desires an escape from the burden Victor Waverley has become.