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Mark smiles and kisses me on the forehead. “I'm not going to tell you what to do for me. You do whatever you feel is right. That's what I really want. I want you to start doing things for you and no one else. Not for me, and not for your parents. For you. I'll stay if they say I can, but if they say no, I'll go someplace else. I'm not going to be the reason you guys fight, so long as you start seeing your own worth, and standing up for yourself.”
My eyes dart between his and I can see he's serious. I know in my heart he's right. What's the point of living if you're always doing it for someone else? What kind of life is this if it's not mine but someone else's version for me?
Kissing Mark one last time, I head back to my room, falling asleep easily this time. It's like he pulled a weight off my shoulders. He gave me the strength to open my eyes and see things need to change if I want to truly be happy.
After a pretty heated conversation with my parents the next morning, I'm able to get them to agree to letting Mark stay here for the last few days of his trip under one condition: he stays clear of any of the social events my mother has planned.
I readily agree, doing my best to hide the smile I feel inside. I've been trying to figure out the best way to take my life back without hurting my parents. Despite what people might think, and no matter how much control they want to have, I know they love me and want the best for me.
The last couple of days Mark and I tour the city. I take him to the Statue of Liberty and Times Square. We hit the best places for pizza and all the little restaurants that look like a hole in the wall, but the food is to die for.
And the sex. . . The sex has been incredible. At the studio, in his room, in my room, anywhere in the house when no one else is home. I can't stop what's happening to me. I can feel him everywhere. His touch, his voice, his lips and cock, all of it. The connection is like nothing I've ever experienced.
My favorite part about him being here is the time we spend in my studio. He watches me paint, admiring me with so much affection and desire in his eyes, it makes me feel full. The studio feels more like home than my actual house.
In the studio there's no judgment, no expectations, no rules. I get to be me, to do the only thing that's ever given me joy in this world.
I think that's what scares me the most about rejecting my parents altogether. Losing my studio will gut me if I don't have a place to paint.
Waking up with a smile, I grab my phone and send him a good morning text. The time and date light up on the screen and something catches my eye.
It's the tenth already? Wasn't my period due a few days ago?
My heart starts racing and my body grows warm. There's an instant pit in my stomach the more I try to remember the last time I had my period. It was right before Jenna's wedding, I know that much.
I should have had it by now.
Oh fuck. . . Oh fuck. . .
I run to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. Looking at myself in the mirror, I watch the water drip down my face as a very palpable reality hits me. Mark and I didn't use protection that first night, and we haven't even attempted at all this week either. I've been stupid and reckless. I haven't been thinking at all. I've been driven by emotion and just feeling good. All rational thoughts have been tossed aside.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. It can't be. No, I'm not—
Holy shit, what if I actually am. . .?
