The skin around my hands and covering my palms nearly peeled at how hard I had scrubbed the house down, the harsh cleaning chemicals drying the usually soft, untouched flesh. Sweaty, frizzy hair falling all over my face as I kneeled onto the floor, in front of the bathtub, aggressively scrubbing the white, ceramic tub. My mom had only asked to make sure the house was decently clean, but I was cleaning every crevice and photo frame, purely because of my intense feelings of anxiety.
My apprehension and anticipation of today's dinner with Harry was making me so nervous, that I had screamed during my intense, strangely erratic shower under the stream of hot water. Scrubbing my skin down until it tinged pink and even offering up my soul to the devil in exchange for this night to never happen. Some may say I was being melodramatic, and I could agree truthfully, but the embarrassment and the anxiety building up was more overwhelming and powerful than my ability to control it.
"Athena, calm down," I whisper to myself, feverishly looking through my drawers to find a pair of underwear, wrapped in my fluffy pink towel, cold and looking like a the sun had done some damage to my deep caramel skin. Only it was a result of my harsh scrubbing and the enormous stress on my nervous system. A combination of both regret and curiosity also roamed the free space in my brain, since the logic already disappeared.
My cold was making me appear even more distraught, as I coughed and sneezed and sniffled through the entirety of my anxious preparations.
I let my curls air dry, deciding on not touching them. My closet was full of my usually unpleasant, mundane, and just simply ugly attire, and I groan to myself. If I looked nice, it might be interpreted as trying too hard. And if I looked awful, maybe he'd realize how unattractive I am, but I was unsure of what I wanted to do from here. I was unsure of what he thought of last night. A man that works as much as he does can't be having that much of an active sex life, and so I blame that it was just in the moment. Maybe we were just simply...horny.
"I'm either going to pass out tonight or throw up, maybe both, but God, if you have any mercy, please let it be passing out. That would be so much better than the latter," I shut my eyes, hands clasped together while I stare at the ceiling in just my underwear. Someday I will look back at this and laugh, but for now, I wanted to cry and turn into the smallest particle in existence.
Some time later, I managed to moisturize my skin and pick out a pale grey long sleeve, one fitted enough around my waist to accentuate my body shape. I knew the color was mundane enough for my mother not to think I was drawing attention to myself, and although everything she said I disagreed with, I found it easier to just accept her demands. A pair of forest green pocketed jeans that were rolled up at my ankles and black socks covered the rest of me, the shoes will have to wait. I wasn't looking to try too hard, and I was home, in my place of supposed comfort.
I don't own any makeup, so that was a lost cause. As I stared at myself in the mirror, I noted the puffiness of my eyes and the very distraught appearance of my facial expression. Awkwardly, I smile at the mirror, only to look like I was in some strange form of pain. The joy was nowhere to be found, so I frown at myself for such a frightening attempt at a smile.
"Athena!"
Downstairs, my mother shuts the door and calls for me. I sigh to myself, feeling my stomach churn in discomfort the more I think about tonight's dinner. As time passes, it becomes more real. The night I returned from Harry's office after we'd gotten...busy, I was so petrified of her being able to tell that I just hugged her and stammered out a quick goodnight. My mannerism was strange, but she hadn't thought much of it.
I jog downstairs, finding my mother in the kitchen. She's set a few bags of groceries down before looking over at me, her cold eyes examining me up and down before her face falls into a disapproving scowl. "Athena...come on. You look like you're going to some sports game or something," she frowns, shaking her head before setting her purse down onto the kitchen island. By her reaction, I don't think she expected me to dress up to her standards, anyways. "I'm going to make lasagna. I need you to prepare things while I go shower and make myself look decent."
Staring quite blankly, I mutter, "It's just Harry..."
Her eyes give me a stern look, and she walks past me, quipping, "I don't care if it's just Harry."
Knowing that I shouldn't say or do anything more, I turn to watch her go up the stairs. My eyebrows lower momentarily in thought and I shake off the strange interaction, blinking and taking a deep breath instead. Taking a few steps towards the grocery bags, I'm busied with most of the preparation, and somewhere in my mind my suspicions disappear. I throw out the bags and rinse a few of the major utensils going to be used, sparing myself the silent torture in my head by humming a random tune to myself.
By the time my mother returns, it's been half an hour. I took it upon myself to start making the lasagna layers. Of course, upon seeing me put any effort into anything, my mother scolds my attempt. Again, disappointed, and urges me to, "Go change into something more classy." She moves me away with a beckoning movement of her hand, and dismisses my presence.
Turned away from her, I angrily let my face contort into its rightful frown. Maybe if my mother made me more angry than I was anxious, the dinner wouldn't be as overwhelming. I would rather be pissed off and unable to care enough about what had happened between Harry and I than feel every embarrassing moment tonight is sure to deliver.
I stayed in my room for another hour, debating on whether listening to her demands about changing into something nicer. That always meant church attire, so now I was unsure of what she thought it means in this instance. Confused and overly exasperated, I dig around my closet and find one of my ugly, long skirts. I keep the flattering long-sleeve I had on, and exchange the pants for the skirt. I looked like someone who had very little awareness of their own fashion sense, but unfortunately I was hyper aware of it.
Then the doorbell rings.
My face pales instantly, my hands that were soothing the hideous skirt pause just as my heart settles in my throat. I look in the mirror, inhaling deeply and exhaling a silent cry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I curse in my head, breathing too quickly now. My hair was frizzy and all over the place, but now I had no choice but to let it naturally set itself. I still had that look of absolute terror and exhaustion plastered on my face regardless of whatever smile I forced into my lips.
"Athena, Harry's here!"
It was sort of funny, because it sounded like if this were a different situation wherein I finally got a date, and my mother wasn't a weirdly obsessive parent, I was going out with a man who is not my mother's lawyer or my boss at all. Interestingly enough, I still blushed and grew hot like a dumbass, and I knew...I just knew this was going to be the most painful night I've ever experienced.
I slip my feet into a pair of ballerina flats and groan to myself, holding tightly to the doorknob of my bedroom door. Inhaling deeply and shutting my eyes, I remind myself it was just some risky little thing we did in his office. I doubt he hadn't experienced plenty of other times such as that one, and it was only a big deal to me because I hadn't even gotten close to something like that...remotely even kiss a man.
"It's fine...It's fine. You're fine." Slowly, I pull the door open and take one step out in the hallway. Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad of a night if I was successful at pretending like nothing had ever happened. All my life, I pretended I was happy so how hard could it be?
Downstairs, I could hear my mother giggling, their faint voices exchanging a few verbal sentences before the clarity of their words increases. "She must be in the kitchen..."
I was. Instead of going to the living room where they were, I ran into the kitchen and started making lemonade. Lemonade. Very sudden, very random, but it was something to focus on and not stand there like a helpless girl. Placing the pitcher on the counter, I bite the inside of my cheek and slide a drawer open to get out the cutting board. In that moment, the two walk into the kitchen, and my eyes are just glued to a cutting board.
My mother, a little surprised, furrows her eyebrows and her hands that were in mid-air gesturing as she spoke were paused. "Uh...Athena?" A fake laugh airs past her lips, and when our eyes meet she's sending me a very strict, forbidding stare.
"I'm making lemonade," I say suddenly in one breath, finally averting my eyes to the man that stands right behind her. Lean, tall body standing straight and his arms crossed over his chest, wrinkling the fabric of his black button up. The shirt had been rolled up at his elbows, exposing the soft, light hairs across his forearms. His matching pants fit his long, muscular legs perfectly. He looks even taller when he wears all black. Hair brushed neatly, and his face appearing as if he had gotten some rest since the last time I saw him. However, that faint beard he refuses to shave down entirely still litters his sharp jaw, and it kills me because just looking at it reminds me of how it felt when we were so close, his mouth kissing mine. I inhale shakily, blinking and breaking out into the most artificial, pretentious smile I could muster before steadily greeting, "Hey, Harry. How are you?"
I examine his mannerism as he responds to my painfully bad acting. His smile was kind, and anyone would have been fooled that it was genuine unless you were me, and you saw the look in his pale green eyes. The adam's apple in his throat bopped slightly, his dark eyebrows lowering and his eyes narrowing, their steady gaze making my fingers nervously tap onto the wooden cutting board. That cute little beauty mark by his lips adjusted to the movement of his mouth as he slowly, hoarsely said, "I'm fine. I'm sorry I couldn't be at the office today. A client needed me for most of the day. I'm assuming you've got the paperwork done?"
"Yes," I nod, unable to hold back a cough, lifting my arm and turning to the side to literally cough out my left lung.
My mother grimaces and my cheeks burn bright pink, averting my eyes from the two adults as she says, "I guess that cold is going around. Maybe you should be making some lemon tea, 'Thena." Her attempt to be light-hearted sickens me, but I'm more embarrassed that she pointed out that Harry had the same problem going on. Little does she know, it was hardly a coincidence.
He clears his throat, fisted hand coming up to his mouth. As he and my mother engage in a conversation, my mother showing him a seat near the kitchen island stools, I move to the fridge, grabbing a little baggy of lemons for the pointless drink I busied myself making. Apparently it was the right move as I didn't have to do much talking and I focused on cutting the lemons in half, which was oddly satisfying. By the time I was bringing out the citrus juicer, squeezing the lemons by pressing the pliers together, Harry and my mother were discussing a few details about the divorce case, which was none of my business at all.
"Well, you don't need to worry about the house. It's yours. Your husband does not seem to be too adamant on property rights, regardless," Harry gruffly states in some time, when I finally tune in after squeezing countless half lemons, the pitcher nearly full with room for sugar and ice. Harry is leaned onto the island, across from where I stand struggling to remain focused on the lemonade. As he speaks, his fingers move across the smooth, cool surface, fingertips drawing aimlessly onto it.
My mother responds with something I pay very little attention to, as now I made the mistake of looking up. With her back turned to us, rinsing something off in the sink, Harry and I have the chance to make long-awaited eye contact. His stilled face and unmoving mouth a result of the turn to speak given to my mother, his pale eyes wander across my face, searching and knowing that we're sharing the same thoughts. A ringed hand reaches up to rub against the side of his jaw, turning his body and averting his eyes to my mother just in time for when she faces us again. As he begins to respond to her, somehow having registered what she said while maintaining an eye war with me, I widen my eyes and inhale sharply, quickly looking back down onto my busied hands.
"I could help," he offers my mother. "I'm quite the cook."
"Oh please, you're the guest," my mother huffs, refusing immediately.
He's your lawyer, I snap in my head. Harry stands anyway, playfully refusing to accept my mother's demand. "No, no, I can't just sit here," he chuckles roughly, his voice so deep and raspy from the obvious cold affecting his throat. I turn my head to watch him walk over to my mother, who is all giggles and smiles as he insists on washing his hands before diving in. My mother is being ridiculous. I realized how outright jealous I sound in my own head, but my jealousy isn't compelling me to react in any which way. I just made the observation that her behavior and mannerism was on the verge of sickly sweet. She was a forty-eight year-old woman, clearly losing her shit because a younger, handsome man was helping her cook one of her favorite dishes to make.
"I'm going to run upstairs quickly to use the restroom. I will be right back," my mother says, kindly excusing herself. She walks away undoing the floral print apron that was tied up on her back. Once she disappears, it's like my heart sinks into my stomach. Harry has a rag in his hands, wiping his hands dry and turning around, walking in my direction.
Silence. I can hear his footsteps coming closer. In the middle of mixing a few spoonfuls of sugar, I spill a bit of it onto the surface of the counter. Sighing to myself, hyper aware of his movements, I go to clean it off, hearing his low voice call, "Athena." He was close, right beside me. Hands pressed onto the counter, his head turned to gaze down at me. I glance upwards at the wall with slight shock, immediately feeling my face grow hot.
My head tilts, shoulder raising to brush away a curl that had been tickling my heated cheek. There was a struggle to keep his hands on the surface, where they could be seen. Nowhere near me. I stare at them for a bit before forcing myself to turn my head, peering at him with a careful gaze. "Athena, I want...I want to talk about--" I've never seen him struggle to speak, usually such an articulate and confident man when he uses his skill of speech.
"I don't," I answer prematurely, shaking my head, feeling my heartbeat rhythm get a little excited. He frowns at me, narrowing his eyes as he studies me. "I just...It was in the moment, okay? We never have to talk about it." I didn't know why I was so scared; why I was so curious, but petrified of venturing any further into the potential this had, whether that potential was positive or negative.
Voice rough and now much lower as he peers up at the archway of the kitchen in surveillance, then looks back at me again, he mutters, "You really think that was in the moment?"
"What else would it have been?" I whisper back softly. Oh my god, oh my god. I was unprepared for this. I thought he'd have the same attitude, the kind that denies the fact that we got a little sidetracked in this mentor/student relationship. However, he was implying that he didn't think this came out of nowhere. I didn't understand, or at least I did, but there were so many components to it. What exactly was he getting at?
"I can't say that I haven't....I haven't thought about --"
"Athena, I'm thinking..."
My mother walks back into the kitchen. Instantly, Harry picks up the rag he had been using again, placing it over his shoulder and I respond to my mother, "Hmm?" I cough into my elbow and walk towards the fridge, opening the freezer in search for ice.
Unaware and unsuspecting, my mother sets down a bottle of red wine nearby me, standing across from me with a happy smile. "I'm thinking about your future law career. Harry always compliments your ability and skill. I know you and your dad have an affinity for math and physics, but I suspect you got your wit from mee," she gushes happily.
Was she wine drunk? I stare at her weirdly for a few seconds, raising an eyebrow. Her pretentious attitude makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but I refrain from showing my disgust. She's my mother after all. Maybe her hardass attitude was always in tune with her motherly instincts. That's what I'd like to believe. Forcing a grin, I tell her, "Yeah....I think so, too." The gentle sarcasm in my voice catches Harry's attention. He turns from the stove to glance at me. Funny how she didn't even notice herself. A man who only knew me for five weeks already understood the tone and vernacular I used when being indifferent.
Staring into the freezer, I hear them start up a conversation again. I grab two trays of ice cubes and then return to my previous spot. Occasionally, Harry and I shared a few glances. Mine a bit nervous, his serious, calm, and analytical. I didn't want to risk my mother sensing the strange atmosphere in the kitchen, and so once I had finished my lemonade and placed into the fridge, I decided to excuse myself to my bedroom for a few minutes to calm down.
I press a hand to my chest and shut my eyes at the top of the stairs, shaking off the chills that crawled down my spine. Heading for the bathroom instead, I shut the door behind me and turn the faucet on fully cold. Cupping my hands beneath the cold running water, I lean forward and splash much of it onto my face, forcing myself to cool down. Opening my eyes, I stand to examine my face in the mirror. My hair was a bit bigger than usual, it's natural state lacking the products that usually weigh the wavy curls down. I huff at myself, insisting that I get myself together. As I reach for my towel that hung behind the door, a soft knock airs out.
Freezing, I debate on responding, but if I don't, it would appear as if nobody was occupying the bathroom. "Yeah?" I call out softly, nervously.
"Can we talk?"
Audibly groaning, I stammer out a plea to give me a few seconds. I wipe my face, drying the remaining, cold droplets. Then I pull the door open, surprised and startled when he quickly steps inside, stalking past me. Eyes growing wide instantaneously, I stutter, "W-hat are you doing?! You know it's super suspicious that you decided to go to the bathroom minutes--"
I stop talking when he turns around and raises his hand to pause me. Eyebrows furrowing and my eyes narrowing with a displeased frown curving my lips downward, I hear him heavily sigh to himself. My nervousness gets the best of me, and I realize I'm still holding the doorknob to the bathroom door that shut once I clumsily leaned against it. Studying his mannerism -- the way he runs his hands through his hair, dark eyebrows lowered, the wavering focus of his stare -- I note the slight difference in him.
"You need to relax." He coughs into his fist a couple of times, his voice faltering a bit as it pained him to use it too much. It was a result of ignoring the early signs of a cold and sore throat, letting it progress until it got worse.
Raising an eyebrow, I mutter, "Well, you accepted a dinner invitation from my mother the night after...you---we...after whatever happened, happened." I finish off a little shakily, crossing my arms over my chest in a protective stance. Protecting whatever dignity I had left because at this point the embarrassment surpassed my nervousness so badly, that I was finding it easy to speak to him.
He stares at me for a second, lips closed and head lowered, peering up at me with curiosity. Clearing his throat once again, he rasps, "Athena...it was sudden and she was a bit...persistent. And I needed to see you outside of work."
Everything in me worked to suppress the girlish blush that tinted my cheeks, but I couldn't prevent the physiological cues my body involuntarily puts into focus. I hold myself a little tighter, pressed up against the back of the bathroom door. It didn't need to be flattering that he had said that, and I was convinced it wasn't. We just needed to talk through this and come to an agreement.
"Okay," I breathe out, frowning as I expectantly watch him. He takes a few steps forward, coming closer to me, and I already feel myself grow a little excited over the fact that we're alone again, the room not being so spacious either. At our distance, it was reasonable and not implying that he was attempting to feed into the tension that has already gone past the brink. Yet, I couldn't help myself but admire how all black looks so good on him, the pale green of his eyes standing out much more. I clear my throat, sniffling and remembering the state of my immune system right now.
"I'm not doing that. I'm not ignoring what happened," he tells me sternly.
Blushing, I remark, "So what are we going to do about it?"
He scoffs a little, tongue gliding across his drying bottom lip. "You think I'm stupid?"
Bravely, I quip, "I never said that."
"But you know."
"Know what?"
Silence.
"You know what I mean," he breaks our silence with very little hesitation, voice deep and steady. I'm left buzzing at his assertion. "For fuck's sake, you know." Harry's not too shy in coming closer, in approaching me. Although my face shows absolute uncertainty and shock, my body is squirming with excitement and curiosity for what he's going to do next. Every time I breathe in, he exhales, but we're both feeling the increase in the pace of our breathing. I bite the inside of my cheek, letting my arms drop by my sides. As my face softens in anticipation, I nearly moan when he dips down to run his hands up my thighs, slowly, rustling against the fabric of my long skirt. I stare at the movement of his hands, gazing down at the rings decorating the length of his individual fingers. My heart was begging for oxygen at this rate, and as I feel the warmth of his body pressed into mine, I glance up again to feel him breathe, "You know," onto my lips.
My nose brushes up against his, big eyes wandering his face as he studies mine. I part my mouth to respond, worriedly whispering, "We can't do this now...Harry..." Though I wasn't planning on pulling away, in fact, my curiosity compelled me to slide my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Nearly shaking, I feel his hands slowly peeled up my skirt, until this bare hands could caress the warm skin behind my thighs. I didn't know if both of us were feeling the slight fever from the cold, but it was growing incredibly hot inside this bathroom. As if someone had turned on the hot water, and the steam was thickening the air.
He groans roughly, moving away from my face. One of his hands drops from my thigh and reaches up to grip my chin. Staring down at me, and myself a little entranced by the whole scenario, he quietly rasps, "You weren't very shy when I was touching you last night." His hand at my thigh forces it up, raising it by his waist. I inhale sharply, enjoying this so much that it scared me. "You liked when I did that?"
Something about everything being so ridiculously naughty and risky burned my skin and scratched an itch that was leaving me in heavenly pleasure. This was my mother's lawyer, my boss, and hell, I had so many fantasies about him, I couldn't tame the monster inside of me begging me to explore, to turn fantasy into reality. I'm a twenty year-old woman, young and always steps ahead of everyone else around me...why couldn't I have this? Why couldn't I get that sweet tinge of rebellion that I never had as a teenager? This was my chance to pursue whatever I wanted, even if it was behind the backs of a few people.
I knew that if I pursued this, I had to grow comfortable with sex as a physical reality and not just in my head. But I couldn't bring myself to worry about that. I was more than ready. Humming sweetly, I softly coo, "Yes, Harry."
His face fell a little at my tone, almost as if he felt himself go weak in every aspect for a few seconds. "You're not good for me, but you know that," he mutters, letting go of my chin. "I focus on my work. Just my career. Bloody hell, I wasn't planning on any of this," he groans frustratingly. "But I have a feeling...that you were."
My lips twitch almost into a smirk, though I suppress it. Of course I was. This was my blueprint. I just needed the courage, I needed something to tip both of us over the edge. I needed the confidence and he needed the distraction, he needed to stop staring at the paperwork in front of him, and look at me the way he's staring me down now. Like he needed to have me.
His hands drop from my body, removing any skin contact, my skirt falling down back above my ankles. Instead, they press against the wooden door behind me, leaning onto them. His fingers expand before bending slight at their joints against the wood, his sharp jaw clenching lightly, nostrils flaring a bit as he takes in when I softly respond to his previous claim. "You're saying I'm not good for you, but...," I inhale deeply. "I can't stop thinking about you touching me."
"Yeah?" He questions, his teeth digging into his bottom lip momentarily. "I could do so much more to you..." his hand daringly, blindly finds my inner thighs with the fabric of my skirt in the way. The sensitivity there heightens when his hand simply brushes past the hot flesh. A soft, excited moan passes my lips. My conscience was screaming with happiness, the rest of my body in unison. This is the only thing that feels this right, never having done something that I truly wanted. He presses a haste kiss behind my ear, mumbling there. "I know you wanna come. You were so close last night, no?"
"Uh-huh," I shakily breathe, shutting my eyes in bliss.
But it never happens. He pulls away from me, his narrowed eyes glaring into me with mischief. He was stern, assertive suddenly, once more. Pushing himself off of me, he reaches for the doorknob, subtly pushing me aside. Before exiting the bathroom, he kisses my cheek and whispers into my ear, my face blank with shock. "I can tease you, too, baby."
I stare at him as he leaves the bathroom, eyes wide.
In time, the food is ready. I sit across him, quiet, so nervous that I might slip up and make it too obvious. My mother is chatty and gushing up a storm about my history. Harry listens, quite amused, but my mother takes his interest as genuine kindness. Instead, I knew his mind was elsewhere. Mine was, too, so I couldn't blame him. I still felt his hand in between my legs, and every time our eyes lock, I know the slight curvature into his kissable, pink lips was evident of his awareness. I was soaking myself just sitting there, sneaking glances at him while my mother is tempted to nearly pull out the baby pictures if no one stops her from talking soon.
A curl falls over my face and I brush it away behind my ear, staring at my lasagna. I scoot my chair further in, shifting a little to try and get rid of the pressure between my legs. Harry clears his throat, taking a sip of his wine before some of the maroon liquid drips at the corner of his mouth. I glance up at him, feeling the goosebumps scatter across my skin when he uses this thumb to wipe at the moisture. His pale eyes narrow as he looks at me, suckling gently onto his thumb, pink lips wrapped around is temporarily until he tunes back into what my mother was saying, effortlessly. He notes how I shift a bit, my eyes shutting briefly. I know that he's finding it all very amusing when he grins widely, unable to stop himself, but fortunately for him, my mother had just made a corny little joke about something only she cared about.
I stab my fork into the lasagna, so hot and turned on that I couldn't stop squirming. My silence remains common throughout the dinner. Every time we looked at one another, he was smirking, smugly, too. His hand by his lips felt over his mouth a couple of times, trying to make the appearance of the smirk as subtle and unnoticeable as possible.
"Athena, you're so quiet." My mother points out. "How was your day?"
She never asks that.
"It was great," I smile sweetly, falsely.
"What was so great about it?" She presses, not liking my vagueness.
"Nothing really...just naturally a good day. I was in a good mood, is all," I gently reply, nodding my head, satisfied with my own answer, adding in, "I guess I'm just so excited for what's to come..."
Harry chews on his food, just staring at me as I speak. Again, the left corner of his mouth turns up, that beauty mark by his mouth calling to me for a kiss. He raises his eyebrows in a quick knowing look, eyes widening only briefly, sipping from his glass again.
"I'm glad! See, you feel so much better by doing new things."
I snort while sipping on my lemonade, and my mother's face falls into discontent with my response. "Sorry. This cold is really taking its toll on me," I manage to rasp out, coughing with my mouth closed. She was making it so difficult to remain unfazed. Harry remains still, though I know he sips his wine in place of an uncontrollable slip. We were really bad at this, I concluded, so I wondered how my mother was so oblivious to it. Maybe her infatuation with our lawyer kept her just busy enough to pay very little attention to me, and all to herself. Regardless, it worked in my favor.
The rest of the dinner was fortunately not centered around me. As they got into the rest of the details concerning the divorce, I start to clean up the table, offering to serve the dessert. The terms of the divorce were none of my business, and quite frankly, I didn't care much about it. Grabbing the cheesecake from the fridge, I set it down at the counter and proceed to pull open a drawer full of utensils. For maybe the eighth time today, I head to the sink to wash my hands. The minute I return with two slices of the dessert, I find Harry explaining his approach on separating finances again as singles. Uninterested, I decided to excuse myself.
"I'm going to get out of the way, and head upstairs..." I announce softly, my mother seems fine with my decision (of course), and Harry only watches me, face neutral. "Thank you for coming, Harry. Hope the rest of your night is good."
Turning around, I can't hold back the wide smirk that stretches my lips.
. . .
If it hadn't been for my curiosity, I wouldn't have nipped my skin while shaving my legs this morning. If it weren't for curiosity, I probably wouldn't have worn the daring black pencil skirt and a matching long-sleeve blouse with a low-cut, v-neckline, revealing the beauty mark on the rounded flesh. While curiosity gave me some courage, it surely wasn't enough to convince me to start wearing heels. Skipping over the shoe problem, I slip into some flats and make my way downstairs for breakfast. Curls moisturized and not held by any kind of updo or familiar hair ties, I feel already a little too liberated.
In the kitchen, my mother is biting into buttered toast, reading glasses on as she reads through whatever Christian-centered, motivational book she chose to focus on this time. With one glance at me, her eyebrows raise and I can hear her take the breath she does, preparing some displeased remark at me. Back to her as I open the fridge, my face grows agitated when I hear her state, "Well...I wonder where you think you're going dressed like that."
Holding tightly to the handle on the fridge, I quip, "Mom...it's a skirt and a shirt. I'm sure nobody cares that much."
"I care, I'm your mother."
Biting down, jaw clenched, I shut my eyes and breathe in deeply. Lately, it was getting easier to respond to her ridiculous demands, but I needed to find my peace. By peace, I mean an artificial satisfaction with my life that internalizes whatever urge to express my feelings and locks them in a vault, never to be heard from again.
"Mom, I'm twenty years old. I can handle this outfit," I steadily respond, reaching out to grab the carton of orange juice. Turning around, I peek up at her to see the way she stares at me, entirely too angry at my replies. She knew something was different about me, the fact that I wasn't staying quiet and adhering to her demands.
She sets her toast down and grabs a napkin by her, wiping her hands as she retorts, "This is still my house. I still pay your tuition. This little attitude you woke up with today, end it now."
I stumble pouring my juice from the vexation that tenses my muscles. Setting the carton down, I frown at her in bewilderment. "How can you actually sit there and hold that over me? Does that give you a sense of control? Controlling my life and everything I do...does that make you feel better about your failed marriage!?"
Oh shut up, Athena! Immediately, I regret speaking to her that way, not because it was disrespectful, but because in the end, she was my mother. A very distant, cold one, with a niche for obsessing over me and every move I make, but still...my mother at that. Managing to maintain the anger on my face through a deep frown, I only watch as her eyes widen with every word I spoke, chest rising as she takes a deep breath to refrain from killing me, it appears.
There is silence among us, and I'm surprised when she doesn't say anything. She picks up her things, food to go along, and walks out of the kitchen. I knew I upset her, I knew that she had to walk away so I couldn't see the hurt on her face. It wasn't a very bright thing for me to say, but it felt good regardless of my guilt. I've never spoken to her in a way that revealed my honesty, my true opinions and feelings surrounding our relationship. She never had to deal with the side of me that I always held back.
But that was just it, she never experienced any refusal from me. As a mother, she was spoiled and believed that everything I did, I did under the control and guidance of her. I had no free will, almost, as she insisted to live vicariously through me. It was a surprise that I hadn't gone absolutely insane already, although I was fearing it was getting pretty close.
"Guess I'm walking..." I whisper to myself.
I was freezing the entirety of my half hour walk to the firm. Not anticipating having to walk, I didn't account for the extra time this morning, and so I was a few minutes late. Inside, the interns were discussing some major event on campus before parting their ways, each of them making their ways to their assigned attorneys.
Shivering still, only just beginning to adjust to the warmth inside, I walk into Harry's office. The lights were off, so I assumed he himself was running late, or he'd overslept from staying up all night going over cases -- the usual. I was bit glad because I've yet to fully cool down from the conversation with my mother. Setting my bag down, I let out a small shriek when I see him absolutely knocked out on his office sofa, my bag hitting him in the face. He's startled awake, groaning and blinking up at me in disarray.
"What? Why are you screaming?" He gruffly complains, squinting and sitting up quickly.
"I...I didn't see you," I mutter.
His shirt had been undone and his tie was on the floor. He looked like his usual self at around midnight. I stand there a little confused and unsure of what to do next, suddenly a little shy around him after the last time we were here, he was doing very good things to me. Swinging his legs so he sits properly, he groans again and rubs his hands over his face, mumbling, "I might have to go home for a bit and...freshen up."
I nod, taking off my jacket. I note that his eyes were now fully focused on my figure, his silence a result of his focus on the way the newer clothes fit my body. This time he did it shamelessly, not concerned with whether I noticed or not. Blushing, I pretend to let it go unnoticed, hanging my coat on the rack by the door. He frowns and lowly questions, "What are you doing?"
"Hanging...up my coat?"
"Hmm, no," he rasps. "You're coming with."
note. thank you so much for reading! what do you guys think?
also, I've started a Go Fund Me for anyone who wants to support me as a writer on this platform and help me keep writing on Wattpad! If you like this story and would like to donate, it would mean a lot to me and help me keeping writing on this platform rather than switching to another. <3
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