Pressure blooms along my hips where the rubber-lined metal hugs too tight. My head pounds, mouth dry from the wine. For a full minute, I can't think. I only yank, twist, search for a clasp that isn't there.
Was I really that drunk? Did I sleep through them doing this?
Fury takes over. I grab scissors from my desk and attack the lock. The steel only scratches. My hands shake so hard I nearly drop them.
Downstairs, I hear plates. The clink of cutlery. The soft hum of Mom's morning hymns. The normalcy of it makes my vision go white.
I storm into the kitchen barefoot, dark brown hair tangled, voice shaking. "What did you do to me?"
They look up as if I'm late for breakfast. Dad sips his coffee. Mom stands by the kettle, perfectly calm.
"Good morning, sweetheart. Did you like your birthday present?”
“I hate it! It’s awful!”
Mother doesn’t bite, “Come on, sweetheart, we spent a lot of time choosing it. Did you sleep well?"
"Didn't. What is this?" I gesture at my waist. "When did you put this on me?"
"After you went to bed." Mom's voice is gentle, like she's explaining something obvious. "It's for your protection."
"Protection from what?"
"From making mistakes you can't undo." She guides me into a chair like I'm feverish. "Sit. You look pale."
"I look pale because you locked me in a medieval torture device!"
Dad folds his hands. "Guarding virtue is never comfortable, Maya. But it's necessary."
"Necessary? I've never even dated. I've never disobeyed you. I had no plans to—" My voice cracks. "Why would you do this?"
"Because the world is full of temptations." Dad's tone is quiet, final. "And you're a woman now. Vulnerable."
"I'm not vulnerable, I'm a prisoner!"
"Let's not be dramatic." He sighs, buttering his toast with maddening precision. "If you have no plans to sin, then the belt shouldn't trouble you."
The logic twists in my brain. I turn to Mom. "How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long do I have to wear this?"
She smooths a nonexistent wrinkle in the table runner. "We'll discuss that later."
"Later when?"
"Maya." Her voice sharpens slightly. "We'll have company this afternoon. Go make yourself presentable."
"Company? Who?"
"You'll see when they arrive." She turns back to the stove. Conversation over.
I stand there, trembling with the urge to scream. But the silence around me feels like a wall I can't scale. Not knowing is part of the punishment. Uncertainty disguised as order.
In my room, I search online. Chastity belt removal. Lock picking. Bolt cutters. Nothing helps. Every article talks about keys, about couples, about consent. My hands shake as I clear the history.
By noon, the doorbell rings. I've changed into a loose sundress, something that hides the metal outline. But I hate how it swishes when I walk, like it's advertising the secret underneath.
I stay upstairs, listening to voices. Then footsteps on the porch. The door opens.
"Jordan! Come in, come in."
My pulse jumps. Jordan?
I move to the top of the stairs, watching through the railing. He steps inside carrying a duffel bag, and the sight of him jars something loose in my chest. Familiar warmth cutting through the sterile air.
"Thanks for having me, David. I really appreciate it."
"Nonsense. You're family. We're happy to have you."
Mom appears, already brighter. "Jordan, let me show you to the guest room. Are you hungry?"
"I'm fine, thank you, Rachel."
He looks up. Our eyes meet. I freeze.
"Maya." His smile is warm, genuine. "How are you feeling? You had quite a party last night."
"I'm fine." The lie tastes metallic. "Just tired."
"Too much birthday excitement." Dad laughs. "Jordan's staying a few weeks. We have a church project to work on."
"A few weeks?" My voice comes out strangled.
"Is that a problem?" Dad's tone carries a warning.
"No. Of course not."
Jordan's eyes narrow slightly, reading something in my expression. The air between us feels charged. Dangerous.
At least the stupid belt keeps me safe. The thought makes me want to laugh. Or cry.
Evening stretches slow. I skip dinner, claiming a headache that isn't entirely fake. In my room, I text Claire.
Jordan is staying here. For WEEKS.
Wait, hot older friend Jordan?
Yes.
Oh my god. This is either amazing or terrible.
It's terrible. Trust me.
Why?
Parents went extra yesterday.
What happened?
Can't explain over text. I'll tell you everything soon.
Hours pass. I lie on my bed, trying to ignore the pressure of the belt, the heat that still lingers when I think about last night. The dance. His hand on my waist. The way I couldn't breathe.
Thirst finally drives me downstairs. The house is dark; everyone is asleep. I pad down the hallway in bare feet, not bothering with lights.
I round the corner into the kitchen and collide with solid warmth.
Water splashes. The smell of soap fills my senses. I stumble back and look up.
Jordan stands there, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips. Water beads on his shoulders. We both freeze.
"I'm sorry." My voice comes out breathless. "I didn't know anyone was up."
"Maya. I didn't hear you coming."
My glass slips from my fingers. It hits the tile and shatters. Water and tension spill across the floor.
"Damn it." I crouch down, reaching for the pieces.
"Don't. You'll cut yourself." He grabs a dish towel, bends beside me. Too close. "Let me."
"I can do it."
"Maya." He says my name soft and startled, and something in his tone makes me look up.
Our faces are inches apart. His eyes search mine. I can't breathe. Can't think. The belt presses against me, a reminder of every reason I should leave.
I bolt. Up the stairs, pulse hammering in my throat, face burning.
In my room, I lock the door and press my back against it. My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
Footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Hesitant.
They stop outside my door.
One step closer. I hold my breath.
The silence stretches. I wait for the knock, the voice, the question.
It never comes.
The footsteps retreat. A door clicks shut down the hall.
I slide to the floor, realizing my heart is beating faster from confusion than from fear.