I arrive home to find both sets of parents in the living room. The atmosphere is thick with tension and unspoken accusations.
Mrs. Ellison sits with her back straight. Lips pressed into a thin line. Mom looks pale and worried. Dad's jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping. Mr. Ellison appears uncomfortable. Like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Sit down, Maya." Dad's voice is dangerously quiet.
I sit on the edge of the couch. Try to control my breathing. Try to figure out what they know and how much damage control I need to do.
"The Ellisons came to us with some very disturbing information." Mom's voice trembles slightly.
Mrs. Ellison leans forward. "I've been concerned about Grant's behavior lately. He's been withdrawn. Moody. Spending too much time on his phone." She pauses for effect. "As his mother, I have a right to ensure he's not involved in anything inappropriate. So I checked his phone this morning."
My stomach drops.
"And what I found was deeply troubling. Text messages between Grant and Maya. Threatening messages." She pulls out her phone. Reads from screenshots. "You have until Sunday to decide. I'll tell your parents you're not a virgin anymore."
Mom gasps. Dad's face goes crimson. My mind races. Grant didn't tell them. But his mother found the texts. The threat was real evidence. And now it's exposed.
"What is she talking about?" Dad demands.
"According to Grant's messages, Maya somehow got her chastity belt off." Mrs. Ellison says it with grim satisfaction. "Has been lying to all of you. And is no longer pure."
The room explodes.
Mom stands abruptly. "That's not possible. We would have known. She's been—"
But her voice trails off. Realization dawning. The lightness I've been carrying. The glow she commented on.
"I'm going to your room." Mom is already moving toward the stairs. "Right now."
"Mom, you can't just—"
"I absolutely can!" Her voice cracks with fury and desperation.
I watch her disappear upstairs. Hear drawers opening. Closet doors slamming. Helpless. Exposed. The performance finally, catastrophically over.
Minutes later, she returns holding something small and metallic. The duplicate key. She must have searched everywhere. Found it hidden in my jewelry box.
"When?" Dad's voice is barely controlled rage. "When did you make this?"
I could lie. Could try to salvage something. But I'm suddenly exhausted by all of it. The performance. The fear. The constant vigilance.
"The night of the gala. I copied the original key and returned it to Mrs. Ellison's safe. You never knew it was gone."
Mom makes a sound like she's been struck. Mrs. Ellison looks vindicated.
"And the rest?" Dad demands. "Grant's messages about you not being pure?"
I lift my chin. Meet his dark brown eyes directly. The truth feels like jumping off a cliff.
"I'm not a virgin anymore."
The room detonates. Mom's hand flies to her mouth. Tears already streaming. Dad looks like he's aged ten years in ten seconds. Mr. Ellison shifts uncomfortably. Mrs. Ellison's expression is triumph mixed with disgust.
They demand answers. Who. When. How long. How could I betray their trust. Destroy my purity. Lie for weeks.
I answer some questions. Deflect others. But the core truth is out. Yes, I removed the belt. Yes, I've been intimate with someone. Yes, I've been performing obedience while living freedom underneath it.
"Was it Grant?" Mrs. Ellison's voice is sharp. "Did my son—"
"No." The answer is quick. Partially true. Grant wasn't first. Wasn't the one who really matters.
"Then who?" Dad's voice is dangerous.
I hesitate. A fatal second too long. Dad's eyes cut across the room.
Jordan stands in the doorway. He must have heard everything from upstairs. Must have been trying to decide whether to intervene or stay hidden.
The decision is made for him now.
Dad's face transforms from rage to something worse. "You." He breathes it. "Tell me it wasn't you."
Jordan meets his old friend's eyes with devastating honesty. "David—"
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The explosion is volcanic. "You were my friend. My guest. And you—with my daughter—"
"Listen to me—"
Dad cuts him off. "If you're not gone in ten minutes, I'm calling the police."
"I'm eighteen." I stand. Desperate. "This was my choice—"
"I DON'T CARE!" Dad turns on me. "He's sixteen years older than you. He was supposed to be protecting you, not—"
He can't finish the sentence.
Jordan's voice cuts through. "David. This is my fault. All of it. Not hers. I should have been stronger. Should have stayed away. Should have—" He stops. Takes a breath. "But I didn't. Because I fell in love with her."
The confession hangs in the air. Too late. Exactly right. Utterly insufficient all at once.
"I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner." Jordan's eyes find mine across the room. "I'm sorry I was too afraid to give you what you deserved. But I love you. That's the truth."
My throat closes with emotion I can't name.
Dad's voice is quiet now. Broken. "Get out. Now."
Jordan nods once. Then he leaves without looking back. The front door closes with terrible finality.
Dad's next words are cold.
"If that's how you want to throw your life away, we can't stop you. But don't expect our support. Financial or otherwise."
"I have a scholarship." My voice is quiet. "To RISD."
The revelation is almost anticlimactic after everything else. But Mom's face crumples further.
"You applied behind our backs?"
"Yes."
"To that godless art school?"
"Yes."
"When were you going to tell us?"
"When I left."
The honesty is brutal. The silence that follows is absolute.
My phone chimes.
Jordan: 247 Wickenden Street, Apt 3B, Providence. When you're ready. If you want. No pressure. - J
"I'm leaving." The announcement lands flat. Final. "For Providence. For art school. And yes, Jordan is there. And I'm choosing him. I'm choosing me."
I turn toward the stairs.
"You're not leaving this house until we decide what to do with you." Dad's tone is ice. "Go to your room. Now."
I climb the stairs. Each step heavier than the last. Behind my locked bedroom door, I realize with sinking clarity.
I'm still wearing the belt. My parents took the duplicate key. The original is back in Mrs. Ellison's vanity. Completely inaccessible now.
I'm trapped in every possible way.
Mrs. Ellison's voice cuts through from downstairs. "We'll be canceling the engagement, of course. And I'll make sure everyone at church knows exactly what kind of girl you really are."
Fuck you. Fuck all of you.