Madam Momus and Her Dirty Diaries.

Chapter 7 - River The Virgin

Jean sat back, one leg crossed over the other and she peeked at me over her floral-themed glasses. She was dressed in some hideous dark purple poncho and sported a bright red lipstick. It was definitely giving Maleficent on a budget.

She looked deep in thought and I had to hold my breath. I was not sure who I was going to get today. Jean the therapist. Jean the drama teacher or Jean, Madam Momus' number one fan.

"Why do you like writing River?" Ah. Jean the therapist, got it.

"I don't know." I shrugged. She placed both hands on her lap, like a therapist would when they expected an answer. "I- I don't know, I like how I can control the narrative?"

She nodded, smiling. "Why do you feel the need to control the narrative? Why not let the narrative unfold itself?"

"Because this is my story?" I said as if I was trying to reason with her. Why would she even ask me that? I'm the author, and obviously, I would want to have a say in how the story goes. Obviously, I wanted to control the narrative. What was she on about?

Then she sat forward and placed both hands on the desk in front of her. She leaned in like she was telling me some revelations. I sighed, here comes a diagnosis.

"Your need to control the love interest is restricting the story. You've written him as the bad boy but you're not allowing him to..." she searched and grasped at the air in a way that reminded me of her Italian heritage. "Go off the rails. He doesn't feel genuine."

I opened my mouth to argue but she continued. "Remember good girls are attracted to the bad boy because they release them from the responsibility of being good. Experiment with the forbidden. Stop fighting him, River. As the author you need to stop fighting him."

Then she sat back, clasping her hands together and resting her chin on them. She had this look in her eye, that was hopeful what she had said just landed.

It did and she gave me a warm smile.

"I love this story River, you're a talented writer. I just want to free you from yourself." Her eyes lit up as if a light switch went on in her head. "Think of it as a ball of yarn. Pull the string and just watch it unravel."

I hated Jean the therapist because she always seemed to give me advice that related to my life. I've always felt like I didn't have any control over what was happening around me and now in my mid-twenties I was finally getting to. I was like a baby wobbling to my feet for the first time and here comes Wesley Sykes pushing me to the ground.

I felt so out of control with him. When I found him staring at my laptop screen, I lost it. Only my reaction had nothing to do with him looking at my laptop screen. It had everything to do with how he made me feel, how he thought he could just show up at the practice and do what he wanted.

"What are you doing?!" I ran to snatch the laptop from under his icy gaze. I slapped the space bar and was relieved to see the lock screen.

"I was only checking for the time." He didn't even seem apologetic, I felt my blood boil.

"You have no respect for anyone or anything!" I slammed my lap shut with a little more force than necessary. I hugged it to me, like some precious heirloom.

"Excuse me?"

"You show up here looking like some biker criminal and change everything!" I pulled at the light pink scrubs I was now wearing because of him. "Why are you back? Why did you come back?!"

He stared at me for a moment, completely unfazed by my outburst. "Why don't you tell me what your real problem with me is?"

I don't like how you make me feel. I don't like how you remind me of the insecurities I worked so hard to shake off but I wasn't going to tell him that. I refused to admit out loud that I had such strong mixed feelings towards him in any way, shape or form.