“Charlotte!” Dad calls up the stairs. “We brought dinner. Come and get it!”
Upon hearing my father’s voice, another unexpected emotion hits me. Shame. Guilt.
A pit opens in my stomach. If my parents ever find out that I’ve pleasured myself, they’ll see me differently. Not that I expect to ever tell them this, but I always tell them everything. I’ve never kept anything from them.
But this… This is something I can’t share. It’ll completely shatter their impression of their innocent daughter if I do.
Was this wrong of me to explore? Should I not have done this?
Thoughts race through my mind as I frantically grab new clothes out of my dresser and gather the courage to face my parents. The mirror shows small splotchy redmarks are still visible on my exposed skin, but it’s better than it was five minutes ago.
“Charlie! What’re you doing up there? The food’s getting cold!”
“Coming!” I yell down in a higher pitched voice than normal. Crap. Will they catch onto that? Will they suspect what I’ve done?
No. No way. I’m beingwaytoo paranoid right now.
The high I previously experienced fully dissipates, leaving me with only an empty feeling and burning questions.
Jogging down the stairs, I throw a fake smile on and hug them. They beam at me with their usual shining faces. Good. They don’t suspect anything. At least now I know I can keep a secret from them. Well, so far that is. I mentally facepalm myself. Thatcannotbe a good thing.
We eat and joke around during dinner, talking about what fun things we could do during our last summer together. But the forced smile feels unnatural, and I can already tell that this secret’s going to be hard to keep, especially from my mother. My mother, who’s always been my best friend and confidant.
But I can’t tell her this. I can’t ruin her image of me.
They suggest we watch a movie together after dinner, but I decline, unable to fake being okay anymore. Therefore, I lied and said I was tired and just wanted toshower, finish some last minute to-do items for college and read a book.
A small flare of concern popped up on their faces, but I plastered that fake smile on once more which eased their expressions slightly.
Once in the shower, I turn the knob as cold as it can go to shock my nervous system and get rid of this edged feeling, letting the water roll off my hair and down my back. Goosebumps cover my trembling chilled skin, but I stay, embracing the clarity coming from it, the emotional turmoil slowly falling away.
Once the shivering becomes unbearable, I grab a towel and go to my room, wrapping my hair up to keep it off my skin.
Avoiding the mirror, I pull out my favorite blue silk pajamas from my dresser and get dressed. I lay on my bed with my phone on my chest, trying to keep myself distracted from looking at my laptop.
Shame hits me in waves each time I glance at the place where I touched myself.
Rolling on my side away from my laptop, I face my bedroom wall and unlock my phone.
Oh, Ben called me.
Oohhh, Ben called me duringthattime. Subtle heat burns dully underneath the surface again. The thought of him calling me while I touched myself seems tooclose. Like he’ll know what I was doing during that time if I reach out to him now.
But that’s ridiculous. Right? He didn’t leave me a message or voicemail which is rare for him if I miss his call so I should call him back in case something happened. It’s not until after I hear the ringing on the other side of the phone that I remember how I left him in the parking lot.
Oh, God. What if he’s calling to ask about that? The other side picks up. Too late.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. What’s up? I saw you called me.”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you answer?”
Crap, I knew he was going to ask me that. Think. Think. Think.
“Oh, sorry. I was filling out college stuff on my computer and my phone was on my bed on silent mode, so I didn’t hear it when you rang.”
“Sure, you were.” His deep chuckle playfully echoes through the phone. “So, do you wanna hang out? I feel like it’s been forever since you’ve come to the farm, and we’ve just relaxed and talked.”
