Page 17 of Obey

I don’t want to be anyone’s cherry. I don’t even like cherries. And I’m really darn peeved I let him pop my cherry.

“Mama?”

“We’ll talk about this when you get home, Talia Marie.”

“No, Mama. We won’t. I’ve made my decision. If you and Dad can’t accept that.” A lump grows so big in my throat it makes my eyes water. “Then we don’t really have anything else to talk about. And if Mr. Winslow makes life harder for Dad because his son is a no good, cheating piece of dirt, then he’s every bit as bad as his son.”

It’s not untrue, but my whole body aches with the stress of speaking my mind to my mother. It’s probably a first. My whole life I’ve done what my parents said, when they said it. There was no delay, no room for independent thinking, no asserting my opinion.

I learned early in life if I didn’t jump to attention and do what they asked, there were stern consequences ranging from being grounded to spanked and everything in between.

So I became the “Yes” girl.

If Dad cuts me off, I have my trust fund to tide me over until I can figure something out. Now that I’m twenty two they don’t have control of that either. They have nothing on me.

I follow so many “step into your power” people on social media I could parrot back their teachings if Mama comes at me again. It won’t be easy, but I need to hold that boundary. Iwon’t be given away like chattel to a man who doesn’t value our relationship enough to stay faithful to the woman he’s supposed to spend forever with.

Jagger’s still staring, saying nothing. His presence is demanding, consuming, and takes up every inch of space in here. He’s truly something to look at. His muscles fill out his clothes, and those tattoos peeking out from underneath the fabric make me want to explore and see what they are and where they go.

Curiosity is my downfall. Despite the fact I’m afraid to go wandering the halls of this sex club, I generally enjoy snooping. And learning.

“We’ll talk about it when you get home.” Mama’s voice is hard, cold, unwavering. I’ve never heard her so disconnected. I guess not marrying Harry is going to make life complicated for both of them.

Old Talia would have acquiesced.

Old Talia would have said “Yes, Mama. I’ll be right there.”

But the blue hair dangling in my face reminds me yet again I’m not Old Talia. I’m transforming into New Talia. She’s stronger, more self-assured, knows her worth, and even says “no” sometimes.

This is one of those times.

“I’m stranded in a snow storm, I won’t be making it back to Kentucky for at least a few days I’d guess.” Hopefully more. If the snow doesn’t last, I’ll find a different reason to keep me here in Minnesota. It’s easier not to bend to my parent’s wishes from a distance. “But when I do come home, this won’t be a topic I’m entertaining discussion on. It’s done. I’m not taking Harry back. You and Dad need to accept that.”

My voice wavers, but somehow manages to hold out. My insides are like mush. Jagger’s appraisal crawls all over my skin as he silently assesses me with his eyes. Mama’s judgmentbeds in a layer deeper, with barbs that sting, seeping into my bloodstream and poisoning my whole body.

I’m exhausted from this one conversation of setting and holding boundaries. How the heck am I supposed to do this more regularly?

I feel like I need a builder to lay concrete in front of me. Surely, that’s the only way I’m going to be able to maintain these lines?

“Mama, I’ve got to go.”

More silence. I tug at the neck on my sweater. I can’t take the heat engulfing my body. My head’s getting light, my skin clammy, and there’s a thump-thump brewing behind my eyeballs. Not even the faint smell of pine from Jagger is soothing right now. Though since I met him on the plane there’s a part of me that wants to stick my nose in his neck and breathe him in.

But I’d never do that.

Not because of me, I’d totally do that. But because his “stay the heck away” vibes are so strong he’d probably crumple me like a potato chip packet if I tried it. He’d do it one handed, too. And he wouldn’t even break a sweat.

Mama hasn’t said a word. I’ve always known my parents could be difficult, but this? Forcing their daughter into a marriage she couldn’t possibly be happy in simply to suit themselves?

I’m simultaneously surer than ever they want what’s best for me, while also questioning everything I’ve ever learned. Because Harry certainly isn’t what’s best.

“I love you.”

More silence. It’s rare Mama wouldn’t say “I love you,” back to me when I say it. In fact, this might be a first. Tears fill my eyes. Is she really not saying it back?

Jagger holds his hand out. Does he want my phone?

I take a step back, holding my hand out like a stop sign, while shaking my head. I mouth “no,” giving him the sternest, most crankypants look I can muster.

---