Page 40 of Sinful Attraction

And here I am, on the cusp of jumping away from my family and trying to navigate it all on my own. In this economy, with everything uncertain.

And with my family turning on me like this, the whole area just feels less and less like home. Michael... he might be a tie to keep me here, or here, part-time. But after what he said, I don’t know if what’s started up with him will turn into anything lasting. Right now, I’m so hurt and pissed I barely want to think about him.

But he keeps creeping back into my head.

I keep half an eye out for anyone coming up toward the car as I use my phone to reserve a hotel room further south. The best I can get is Fremont, which isn’t great but better than staying in Oakland. I finish up and head back down the hill toward the freeway.

Even after the rain, the whole area is shrouded in a thin layer of smog. The winds keep San Francisco’s air a lot cleaner, but I can’t be there right now. Bad enough that I need to come bymy parents’ place tomorrow to grab some fresh clothes from my closet.

Despite how bad it all looks and the unshed tears hurting my eyes and choking my throat, I am determined to protect myself. My mother will probably start with hercheck-in callssoon since I’ve been away for more than twelve hours again. I’ll deal with one call to make her shut up and leave me be for the day. Then, I’ll order room service, call a friend or two, and try not to think too much about missing Michael.

Michael probably doesn’t look down on my family that much; he is just overprotective of his own. I can see that now. The hurtful thing he said still feels like a red flag, but not a huge one. If anything, the real red flag is that he’s struggling so much with the idea that one of his family members seems to have turned on him.

But that’s the thing.As I think about this, my throat tightens, my vision blurs, and my eyes start to sting. I’m... I’m so jealous of him. He’s had the kind of life where he can actually still believe, as a grown man, that his family is all in his corner. It might be partly self-delusion, but there has to be something real there that it was built on, and it keeps it safe.

“I want that,” I mumble, even though it left Michael blind to potential betrayal. I still want a family that, for all its flaws, I can turn to and know they’ll never betray me.

But that wasn’t in the cards, and I can’t change that now. I can go make a family of my own with someone, but I can’t change myparents or somehow unlearn what I know about human nature because of them.

I think I’m doing all right driving until I nearly smack into a car that stops abruptly right in front of me. I gasp and let out a sob of shock as the sudden braking jolts me in my seat, but we haven’t so much as touched bumpers. I stick my head out of my side window, angry and confused—and then see the kids who spilled into the road ahead of the other driver.

...Oh.

Okay. Maybe I’m not okay.

I pull over by the side of the road and do my deep breathing while I struggle to get myself under control.

It isn’t that bad. I’m capable. I have a doctorate from a good school, two internships, my projects...I’ll get a damn job, and I’ll pick up some gig work in the meantime. And I do have a good amount of money socked away in case I ever get cut off. God knows Dad has threatened.

But do I really want to stay here in a Bay Area that doesn’t feel like home anymore but is still under the sway of my family?

No, no, of course I don’t. Who the hell would? Except... I have no idea where to go. Most places where my savings will stretch further don’t have the kind of jobs I’m looking to get. I’ve been too wrapped up in trying to redeem myself with my family to doany real research yet. Now, I’m on the brink of fleeing—or maybe even getting kicked out—without any kind of exit plan.

That won’t do. I have to think, plan, research, budget, and prepare. I have to make sure that nobody—parents, sister, family friends—knows specifics about me leaving they could use to sabotage me. I can’t let them talk me out of it, either. Once my parents push me past the point of no return—and I’m realizing now that it’s a matter of not if, but when—I need to know what to do exactly without anyone else getting in the way.

I have to be smart. Way smarter than they think I am.Not that that takes much.

I don’t understand how my mom and my sisters can be okay with my dad’s view of women. How they can not only swallow that shit and still treat him with respect but also let it change how they treat each other. How they treat me.

How do you look at other women and go, “Yeah, that’s right, we’re nothing but submissive baby-makers who should be forced to focus solely on serving our husbands and raising our kids,” and not want to throw up all over yourself?

“I’ll never get it,” I murmur, finally feeling calm enough that I can drive again. I put the car in gear and carefully pull out into the traffic flow, headed for the hotel.

I guess that maybe some women take going along to get along to a crazy degree, but... I’m just not made that way.

The hotel room is small but clean, with a queen bed with plain bedding and a television mounted to the wall across from it. There’s a tiny table to eat or use my laptop at, a fridge roughly the size of a sugar cube, and a bathroom with no cameras or two-way mirrors in it.

I set my bags down, feeling uncomfortable but no longer weepy. I feel like I had to hold it all back too long, and now, it’s inside me like poison. I want to be drunk, high, or asleep to get away from this knot of exhaustion and hopelessness inside of me.

Nothing but beer and wine on the room service list, of course. I order a big, gooey cheeseburger, several hundred sit-ups worth of fries, and a bottle of their best red... which is probably a little better than their worst red.

As I wait for my meal, I dial up Lisette, an old college friend who lives in the area. We mostly keep in touch to be nerdy and exchange tips on local hardware sales, but I have held her hand through a few breakups and moves.

Lisette picks up right away. “Hey, there, have you got something for me?” she asks since I’m usually calling with a list of gray-market and black-market goodies she might want.

“I wish, honey. Look, uh... I need your help.”

She’s instantly more serious. “You okay, honey? You don’t usually call with problems.”

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