Family Lectures

“Where were you last night?” her mother asked at breakfast. “Studying,” Lashy replied quickly, pouring milk into her cereal.

Her father frowned. “Studying where? It was late.”

“With… friends.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been acting strange lately, Lashy.”

“I’m fine!” The words burst sharper than she meant. She stood, chair scraping against the floor. “Can’t I just have a life without being interrogated?” The silence that followed was heavy.

Her parents stared at her like she was someone they didn’t recognize. And maybe they weren’t wrong. As if she wasn't their very own daughter.

 After talking that matter, she went immediately to her school. Her parents was looking at each others, silently. No words escaped from their mouths, but rather a eye contact that made them feel like they failed as a parents.

As time goes by, Matthew started walking her home after school. “You live around here?” he asked casually. While they are walking.

“Yeah. Just a few blocks.”

“Cute neighborhood. Quiet. Too quiet.” He kicked a rock along the sidewalk. “Bet your parents don’t let you breathe.”

“They’re just… protective.” She defended her parents. Because.. She knows that they treasure their only daughter.

“That’s another word for controlling.”

Lashy bit her lip. She wanted to argue, but deep down, something in her agreed. “Stick with me,” he said, showing her a grin. “I’ll show you what freedom feels like.”

That night, Lashy opened her drawer, staring at the collection of bows lined up like little soldiers. They looked childish now. Out of place.

Her hand lingers them, but she didn’t pick one. Instead, she reached for the black hair tie she’d tucked away last year and pulled her hair into a simple ponytail.

The reflection staring back at her wasn’t the same girl who had walked into Moonlight High School on her first day.

And she wasn’t sure if she missed that girl or if she was glad to see her go.

Lashy wasn’t sure what scared her more. The sound of her own heartbeat beating in her chest, or the thought of being caught.

It was Friday night, and once again she had told her mom she was “studying.” This time, she hadn’t even bothered to pretend. Her mother’s eyes had narrowed, her father’s brow had furrowed, but she slipped out anyway.

Matthew was waiting at the corner, leaning against a flickering lamppost, hood pulled up despite the warm night. He looked like a shadow made flesh, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers.

“You’re late,” he muttered, smirking as he flicked the cigarette away.

“Sorry.” She hugged her jacket close. “My mom—”

“Forget her.” He grabbed her wrist, tugging her down the street. “C’mon, the night’s just starting.”

The city seemed different when she was with him. Louder. Messier. Alive. They went into an alley where spray paint covered the walls in wild colors. Matthew’s friends were there, their laughter rough, their drinks spilling over.

“Barbie made it!” one of them cheered.

Her cheeks flamed, but Matthew only grinned, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Told you she’s not as soft as she looks.”

For the first time, she didn’t mind the nickname. Not when he said it like that.

Inside the abandoned warehouse near the walls they vandalised, music throbbed from a speaker. Teenagers danced, kissed, shouted- every rule she’d grown up with shattered in front of her eyes.

Matthew handed her another red cup. “Loosen up, Pinky. You’re safe here.”

Safe. The word meant something different in his mouth. Safe wasn’t about being careful, it was about being free. She sipped, the bitter taste making her make a face, but Matthew’s gaze stayed locked on her until she forced herself to drink again.

Then he pulled her to the middle of the room.

“I don’t dance,” she said.

“You do tonight.”

His hands guided hers, pulling her into the rhythm of the music. Her heart raced, not from the beat, but from how close he was, how his breath brushed her ear when he leaned in.

For a moment, she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn’t Lashy, the pastel girl in bows. She was someone new. Someone reckless. And it felt terrifyingly good.

The next morning, her mother’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Where were you?” Her mother’s arms were crossed, her face pale with worry.

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just.. out with friends.”

Her father’s voice was sharper. “Friends we’ve never met? Do you have any idea what time you came home?”

Lashy dropped her gaze. “It was just one night.” She said carelessly.

“One night turns into habits,” her mother said, her tone trembling with both anger and fear. “This isn’t like you, Lashy.”

Her throat tightened. Exactly. That was the point.

Without another word, she stomped upstairs, slamming her door hard enough to rattle her fairy lights.

She collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Why did it feel easier with Matthew than with her own parents?

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