Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I call to the closed door, voice an octave higher than usual. “Just give me a sec.”
A long, dangerous pause.
“I keep hearing strange noises,” she says. “Like a dog growling,” her voice goes lower “Are you alright?”
OMG, Nancy thinks my low moans are a dog! Thank goodness! I glance at the mirror, trying to smooth my face, trying to look like anything but what I am.
“Just watching a movie, Mom. You know me. It’s probably too loud,” I say, while pantomiming shutting a laptop. “I’ll turn it down, sorry!”
She lingers on the other side. “A movie?”
“Yeah!” I say, chipper and airhead-bright. “It’s actually The Secret Life of Pets, so lots of dogs. Super loud. Sorry if I disturbed you.”
She doesn’t respond. I know the stance: arms crossed, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed like a sniper. I can feel her X-ray vision drilling through the door.
Then, the doorknob jiggles.
Shit. I left it unlocked.
I back up, clutching the robe tight, putting on my most tragic “please don’t scold me” face.
Nancy opens the door a hair and slides in. She’s in her Sunday Target dress, with slippers, and she gives the room a sweep that takes in my laptop, my haphazard bed, and the waft of vanilla lube I never manage to fully clear from the air.
She doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t. Nancy Shaw spent two decades as a hospital administrator and can sense lies in her sleep.
“You look flushed,” she says.
I smile wanly. “Just an intense scene. There was a home invasion in the movie, and I guess I got kind of freaked out. You know, because I’m afraid for the dogs’ safety. But they’re fighters, and they’re ready for the home invader! Bow wow!”
She raises an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Oh yeah,” I babble. “You know how it is. Movies these days are insane, even the kiddie ones.”
Nancy squints at me, then at the bed, then back at me. “Next time, keep it down. Your father and I are trying to watch TV downstairs.”
I nod, penitent. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
She doesn’t leave. She hovers in the doorway, clearly expecting me to crack.
“You sure you’re okay, Eliza?”
I do the thing where I bite the inside of my cheek and look away. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
Another beat. Her eyes flick to my legs, and for a second I think she can see the big wet spot on my thigh, but instead, she just says, “Don’t stay up all night. We have brunch tomorrow.”
Then, finally, she closes the door behind her.
I don’t move for a solid minute, just stand there, robe clutched, sweat cooling in sticky rivulets between my boobs. When my legs work again, I sink onto the bed, knees pressed to my chest, heart jackhammering so loud I think maybe the whole house can hear.
Only then do I realize the cam is still on. The little red light blinks, quietly accusatory. At least I’m off the site, so no one caught that interaction with my mom.
I crawl over and unplug it, breathing like I just sprinted a 400-meter dash.
This can’t keep going, I think. Not like this. Then, my eyes catch a message on my computer screen. It says, “UR SO PRETTY WHEN U CUM. DO IT 4 ME?”
I almost laugh. I almost cry.
Paralegal by day, camgirl by night, and also, Jack Landry’s not-so-secret girlfriend. Every day the walls close in a little more. Every day, my mother’s questions get sharper, my dad’s silences get heavier, the stakes ratchet higher. I’m living three lives, none of them particularly successful, and the grind is starting to wear me down.
I curl up on top of my sheets, the room still thick with the afterglow of both pleasure and terror, and stare at the ceiling, counting the spider cracks.
I can’t keep this up. Not forever.
But for now, I just breathe and pray that I survive another day.
The next morning, I leave for work before either parent is up. I claim a dentist appointment, but really, I need to see Jack. In person, in daylight, where my voice won’t quiver and my hands won’t shake. He picks the spot—Tantor Café, a hipster-brick place halfway across town, the kind of joint with zero chance of running into Nancy’s book club or one of Dad’s old bowling teammates. It’s a full hour before I have to be at the office, but I tell myself if I’m late, then so be it.
Jack is already there when I arrive, handsome in the corner booth, fingers wrapped around a mug of straight black. Despite everything that’s happened, my knees go weak when I catch sight of my man. He’s just so gorgeous with that dark hair brushed back from a patrician face, his blue shirt stretched over broad shoulders. In this light, he doesn’t look like a secret or a sin. He looks like the only true thing I’ve ever done.