I woke up in the morning and enjoyed that single moment of bliss before I remembered my terrible mistake from yesterday.

I pounded my fist against the mattress and forced myself not to curse, because I know I would be punished severely if my mother heard me. There was no cursing in her house. There wasn’t much of anything in her house.

As I sluggishly prepared for the long day ahead of me, I recalled the details of how I had managed to have an orgasm on the phone with the resident bad boy at my school when he had only called to get me to do his homework. I guess it was my punishment for allowing myself to indulge in pleasuring myself.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs down to my front door, I was greeted with my mother’s daily inspection.

“Arms straigt out,” she ordered timelessly. After fifteen years, I had learned to do as she asked and saw no reason to protest.

As her eyes examined every inch of my body to ensure I wasn’t dressed like an “fornicating harlot,” (although I suppose I had behaved as one only hours ago) she stopped and scrutinized the hem of my floral dress.

“I’m going to have to meaure,” she murmured to herself as she fetched her tape measure. She ran it from the end of the dress to the beginning of my knee. “This is half an inch too short. Change.”

“But, mother-” WHAP! I was flat on the cold, linoleum floor. The side of my face stung, especially where it had made contact with the ring my mother had refused to take off, even though my father had killed himself years ago.

“The LORD cares not for resilient youth, or for harlots. Today you are both,” my mother spat callously at me as I picked myself up off of the floor.

Minutes later, I descended the stairs again in a white, lace dress with long sleeves, and thick concealer to disguise the new mark on my face. It was my safe dress that I picked after almost every failed inspection. Once again, it worked like a charm. I was allowed to go to school that day.

Later on, I forced my anxiety down as I turned the knob to my English class. I had expected everyone to have already heard about my ridiculous incident, but the only eyes I could feel on me were Malcolm’s gorgeous, emerald eyes.

“How’re you doin’, Eileen?” he asked as I slid into my desk, opposite from him.

“I’m fine,” I stated, pretending to fidget with something in my bag.

“Just… Fine?” he inquired, leaning in closer to me with a crooked grin and devilish eyes. He must have been thinking that I was way beyond fine the last time he heard from me…

“Great,” I humored him with a forced smile.

“Thats what I thought,” He crooned. I felt something warm brush against my leg and I flinched.