Alayna moans desperately, gripping my shoulder blades as I slowly guide myself inside of her. We're both gasping into each other's mouths, and my hands are in her hair as I push a little deeper into her. Alayna's eyes flutter to a close and her head...
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"Alayna! Taeal alaa huna!" Come here. My mum shouted for me from the living room, and I rushed downstairs in my hoodie and a pair of shorts. I was in the middle of tying my hair up when I walked into the living room and saw my parents standing in the middle of the room, looking like they were deep in conversation.
I freeze.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, in Arabic.
"We need to talk." My dad says, moving to sit on the couch. Mum sits next to him and I stay in the middle of the room, awkwardly, with my hands on my hips. I have no idea what this is about, and my stomach drops with anxiety. "It's about that boy, Dawson." Dad adds, and I tilt my head in confusion.
"What about him?" I asked, and dad sighs, looking at my mother. They glance at each other and my stomach drops even further.
"I don't mind that you're friends." Dad shrugs, shaking his head. "But... I don't want anything more out of your relationship." He says, and I raise my eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" I ask, itching the back of my neck. "Dawson is... he's just a friend." I gulp, switching my gaze from my mum to dad and back again. "Where's this come from? You don't even know him."
"He's trouble, Alayna." Dad says. "I may not not know him, but I know his kind. The mysterious, brooding men." He shrugs his shoulders, and I scoff, shaking my head.
"His kind? What the fuck does that mean?"
"La tashtam ya 'Alayna!" Mum scolds me for cursing, and I mumble an apology. "You're not listening to us." She sighs, rubbing her hand over her forehead. "We're looking out for you."
"By telling me who I can and cannot hang out with?" I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air. "That's... it's unfair, mum!" I say, even though they're probably right. Dawson's life is dangerous. It has put me in danger. They're not wrong in wanting to separate us, but they're going about it the wrong way. They've come to this concussion based on his appearances other than what actually goes on in his life.
My parents are typical ethnic parents. I can't communicate with boys until I'm an adult, and when I do, they have to assess said male and make sure he's suitable for me. And, obviously, dating a guy that doesn't have the same background as me is completely out of the question.
Dawson is a white man. That's what makes my parents reluctant at the idea of me being friends with him. "You can't control my life." I state, crossing my arms over my chest. "If I want to be friends with him, that's my choice."
"We're also your parents." My dad snaps, glaring at me. "And if we think that he's a bad influence, it's in your best interest to listen to us."
"You met him once-"
"And once is enough." He grumbles, mimicking me as he crosses his arms over his chest. "That boy is not good enough for you, abnati." He says, and I grimace. Dawson is good enough for me. He's more than enough.
