THE SECRETS WE KEEP.

- POP AND LOCK.

DIANNES POV:
"Joe, just hold still for one more minute!"my soliciting cries for his silent participation warranted further in essen whines from his chair, his unaccommodating nature only heightened the black bottle snapping underneath the strain of his locks. This domestic statuette bears great resemblance to the typical mother and child bickering on a school morning - the restraining him to the chair, the permanent whines, the burning sensation across my fingers from the kneading contact of the hair tie's fabric and skin. As though a miracle was upon us, the heavenly influencers depicting our lives outcomes percepting the escalating frustrations from either party, his rampant strands of chestnut conspired to slither within the bobble, forming an adorable manbun atop his head. Exhaling a deep sigh, that instant relief sensation expansed throughout my entire body from the figurative pressure loads elevating into the atmosphere until dissolving into oblivion. "Now.." my palms sweeped his shoulders to bestrew the carpeted flooring with stray hairs before clutch them underneath my firm grasp to halt any movements temporarily. "..go see what everybody else thinks of this," I delicately commanded him to leave, bending my neck to attach my lips against his cheek in a dainty kiss. Before another word could possibly be uttered, a cloud of dust was left in his place from the speed of his dash out the doorframe.

There was only a partial transient of solitude before a disruption hindered its continuance, my phone vibrating against the table and resounding it's signature humming buzz. My head swivelled to the presumed noise's origin to apprise me of my mother's facetime endeavour from Australia, the unforeseen timing of this call perplexing my mind into a state of confusion. Accepting the call with a light tap of the fingertip on the green button, her face appeared on the screen extremely close that for a moment settled my backstage jitters. "Hi Mum! What are you doing calling at this hour?" I instinctively commenced our discussion with the one single question centring itself as the focal point in my mind, that little figurine an expression of the concern for my family's well-being elated by the intuition. Silencing herself further, the only indication that the acquainted irritant of buffering wasn't re-emerging was her index finger engrossing the entire rectangular screen, signalling a prolonged wait time for an explanation. Thereupon, a separate device, allegedly belonging to my dad, then appeared on the screen, extremely unfocused that the exhibit was a blend of unsightly shades. Whenever the electrical tool relinquished all it's attempts of restraint, conspiring with my mother's scheming, the display was of a social media post, stemming from my account's handle, publicising this intimate image of myself and my partner in a snapshot where our body placement could be described as cosy.

My eyes playfully rolled into the back of my head at her obvious suggestion, striving to achieve this facade of unperturbed and dismissing these implications as though it were silly rumours proposed by the press outlets. However what was unknowingly slipping my mind was my mum's unique ability to read any individual's expressions like a written book before her eyes, devising an offering of reassurance from what she perceived. "He's just.. a really special person," I rejected the probable option of persisting to the fictional tale by conveying a knowing smile in her direction, fiddling a loose thread of fabric off Joe's jacket that cocooned my body in its fluff and warmth. "I understand there is partial repetitiveness to this conversation, a thousand calls of the similar reiteration to this identical concept of the perfect man. But this time it is truly different, his qualities are unalike those once found attractive in others. His needs are constantly below those of others, doors are held open for your stroll in his presence, there is assurance that despite the situation you feel utterly safe and comfortable.. if your truthful response is no, he desperately seeks to rectify that within minutes."

Almost on cue, like there was an ear to the wall anticipating the exact respite that my discourse culminated before my mum could compose a genuine answer, Joe strided himself through the doorframe, his topknot still faultless but his fingers tugged for any loose hairs. In the rectangular screen, my mum's semblance embodied complete complacency at the coincidental timing of this incident, her body reclined in the chair with her arms folded across her chest in a cross position. During his endless babbling, a diversion along the trail of lounge confectionary, he had unknowingly slipped himself directly into the camera's frame, oblivious to his exposure until his head rose confounded by the quiet on my behalf. Discerning his unfortunate placement aligned to the centre of the camera's viewpoint his entire body was affiliated by the forces of paralysis, darting his eyes between my mum and myself for further guidance on the progressive steps. "Actually.." eventually his timid voice projected outwards, his feet slowly retracing his steps backwards into the doorframe. "Stacey was begging me for help.. with her dress or something.." his rapidly formulated excuse diminished itself in volume with each step, until he was completely out of earshot.