F I F T Y - O N E

ELIZABETH.

Everything I’ve been trying to prevent is happening in front of me right now, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable. I hear every pump of my blood to my heart as my body trembles at where I stand, my eyes fixed on Mom’s angry ones. I’ve never seen them that angry, and it feels as though she’s about to explode– do more than just stare at me with the picture in her hand.

The picture. My eyes go to the hand she has up, and I squint at it to take a better look; it’s a different image from the ones that were sent to me. In this one, I’m pressed against a bookshelf, and my head is thrown back to it, the pleasure I felt at that moment unmistakable on my face. My legs are wrapped around James’ waist, and he has one hand underneath my school skirt while both of mine are on his chest. I remember this moment, and it’s just recently. We thought everyone was busy, and the library was quiet, so we snuck one out. But it was a make-out. Nothing more than that. Not that it saves me from the wr