38. Arabella
38
Arabella
I pull up to mom’s house and adjust the hem of my sweater, pulling it down to cover my love handles that always seem to poke out the sides. I feel like I’ve sat in her driveway for far too long before I blow out a breath and pull the door handle to let myself out.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I feel the plug shift in my ass and my core clenches, in an attempt to hold it in place. What the hell am I going to do if it actually falls out? I feel so full with it there, but it’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation. My thoughts flit back to the moment Ryker bent me over in the bathroom, and the way my arousal coated my thighs at the intimacy and vulnerability of him touching me in such a forbidden place. I was so lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t even clock it in his hands when he came in. My cheeks heat and I realize it’s doing the job he intended, because I am officially distracted from the gut wrenching anxiety that plagued me as I pulled up.
I curse internally as I step onto the porch and see her door is cracked. “Mom?” I yell, letting myself in. Thirty seconds pass before worry starts to grow in my belly. The house is a mess. If she’s missed meds, or fallen, there’s no telling what I could be walking into.
I work my way towards her bedroom, grabbing the dirty dinner plate and glass on the coffee table as I walk by and placing them gently into the overfull sink. Seriously, she’s one person. How does she make this many dishes?
Opening the door to her bedroom, I see her wrapped tightly under the covers, fast asleep.
So much for dinner.
I silently chastise myself for allowing myself, even a brief, fleeting, moment of hope that we could have a normal, uneventful dinner. I should have known better, because this always happens.
Her meds on her nightstand are all over the place and it looks like some of the bottles have spilled onto the floor. Fuck. Surveying the scene before me, I wonder how long she’s been asleep. It’s later in the day and it isn’t like her to sleep the day away.
I place my index and middle finger to her neck, at her pulse point and press lightly, breathing out a sigh of relief that my worst nightmare hasn’t come true. I can also feel her breath on my hand, so she’s definitely alive. The irony isn’t lost on me, that she recently berated me for never visiting because she might be dead and here I am, worried that it’s actually happened.
I could wake her, but I opt to pick up the house instead. It feels like the lesser of two evils. I’m not the most organized person in the world, but this even freaks me out.
I pull my earbuds from my purse and pop them in, pressing play on my Clean the House playlist, Gangsta's Paradise by Coolio filling my ears. Time to make this kitchen my bitch.
My phone dings in my ear, distracting me from my very intense living room dusting, and I smile when I pick up my phone and see the letters CP flash on my screen. I giggle at the memory of my best friend calling Ryker Cocktimus Prime and then I accidentally said it to him in the heat of a very sexy moment. It only felt right to change his contact in my phone to CP.
I blow my bangs out of my eyes and open his message:
CP: I hope everything is going okay, sweet girl.
CP: How’s your ass? ??
Interestingly enough, I kind of forgot it was there… until now. But I won’t be telling him that.
ME: Things are okay, but we didn’t actually make it to dinner. I’m just hanging here for a bit. I’ll explain later.
ME: And my ass is… full. Too full, Sir. Surely, nothing bigger than this will ever fit. ??
He’s going to see right through my bullshit.
CP: Of course not. But trust me, it'll fit.
CP: I’m at the club, but I’m here if you need me, baby.
Every time he calls me baby, or sweet girl, my thighs involuntarily squeeze together from the arousal that rushes through my entire body.
“Who are you texting?” Tossing my phone in the air, I look over my shoulder to see my mother staring back at me. Did she see? I remind myself it’s fine. She wouldn’t know who I’m texting, even if she did see, because he isn’t labeled as himself in my phone. I’ve never been more grateful for my dumb inside jokes.
I pick up my phone, inspect it for cracks and turn to face her. Shit, she looks terrible. Dark circles encase both her eyes and her shoulder length hair is a disheveled mess.
“No one important. Are you feeling okay Mom? I got here two hours ago to pick you up for dinner and found you in bed. What happened?”
“I’m fine, darling. I just needed some sleep.” She dismisses my concern so easily, it’s infuriating. She may think I am, but I’m not an idiot. I know something is up with her, I just can’t figure out what.
Her eyes look me up and down, causing me to wrap my arms across my chest, like it's going to shield me from her incoming criticism.
“Is that what you were going to wear to dinner?” There it is.
“Yes, Mom. It is. What’s wrong with it?” I shouldn’t have asked. I'm constantly walking right into her traps.
She reaches out and plucks at my sweater with a look of disgust staining her face. “You just don’t have the body type to pull off this outfit. I’ve told you before, you’d be so pretty if you lost some weight, and then you could wear whatever you want. Especially not leggings, dear. You’re about fifty, maybe sixty pounds too heavy for leggings.”
My face falls and all I can do is stare at her in disbelief.
“And makeup? Honey, what’s gotten into you? You never do up your face. When you’re ready, I’ll teach you how to do it… better.”
Who the fuck do you think you are? You look like you just jumped out of a pile of hot garbage and you want to criticize my makeup? The words are right on the tip of my tongue, but I let them fall away as intense shame begins to flow through me at her words. I actually thought I looked good before I left Ryker’s apartment.
“I’m seeing someone,” I admit. I’m not sure why I say it, but a part of me needs her to know that someone does see my beauty… my value.
Her eyes widen in shock, like it’s the last thing she expected me to say. “Really,” she mocks, drawing the word out for maximum effect. “I’ll believe it when I see it, dear.”
“Why would you think it’s not true?”
“Aside from the fact that I’ve never seen you with a boy, which has been concerning in itself, I just don’t see what you have to offer a man. But don’t fret. With a little work, we could get you there.”
I have no words.
“But if it is true, I’d like to meet him.”
Not going to happen, but I know she doesn’t really want to meet him. It’s a challenge. She doesn’t believe I’m worthy of a man’s love because I don’t meet her expectations of what a woman should weigh, or how they should dress. If she knew my secret, she’d definitely judge me. I should be used to this by now, but her words never fail to hit their mark. I can already feel the emotions she’s stirred up, bubbling just underneath the surface of my skin, that I’d so love to crawl out of right about now.
“Sure, Mom.” I agree because being amenable is always easier than trying to argue with her. Then, before she can see the effect her harsh words have on me, I tuck tail and run, because I’m a fucking coward.