binded

grace ; silence is golden

The most important rule that I was taught in first grade is that silence is golden. Stay quiet when the teacher is speaking and be attentive. Then I learned in eighth grade that silence is crucial when keeping a secret. Telling a secret that isn't your own can land you in a serious situation, and I learned that the hard way.

It is Saturday night after the party and I have been browsing my phone and trying to avoid my mother. I made up a lie that I spent the night at Penelope's house and she was too consumed by hospital bills to pay any attention to my lie. I've spent most of the night texting Zane, but he claims that he is at a doctor's appointment with his little brother. His absence leaves me with my own thoughts for a solid hour or so.

My mind trails to each of our kisses and how unique each felt despite being with the same person. It wasn't like kissing a different person, but I could remember differences within each that set them apart from each other.

Our very first kiss has been branded into my brain with a smoking hot iron. It burns, but in the way I like it. Like how you purposely take a boiling hot shower or lay out in the sun for so long that you are suspicious of a sunburn creeping onto your skin.

Every detail ignites on my body, his hands on my waist and his chapstick doused lips spreading like wildfire. It burns from my puffy mouth to my curved out hips. Everywhere his body goes, mine sets on fire.

Then the second kiss was at the big party. It was rather similar to that in my room, but felt a bit more aggressive. It could've been due to the amount of alcohol in our systems or the fact that I was craving him more than ever.

The pieces came back after a while, every tug at his fluffy locks of coal and each caress against Zane's silk-like cheeks. My dark hands molded to fit against his face, holding it protectively while his fingers wrap around the bottom of my shirt and yank it over my body. Zane's hands don't come anywhere close to violating my body, but they make me feel special to him.

I even swear that he even breathed out my name, planting kisses against the crevasses between my neck and protruding collar bone. Each of his pecks feels delicate, like he is afraid to break me. Even though we both consumed a fair amount of alcohol that night, the way he treats me feels like he is sober and that I am a princess.

My blissful imagination is concluded by an explosive bang and then the sound of the front door opening. It is 6:30 I think to myself while sitting up and swinging my legs around to the side of my bed, mom left for dinner with her friend twenty minutes ago.

I hear walking up the main staircase and my heart begins to pound faster, like I've drank three cans of Monster or even Red Bull. It is difficult to identify if the feeling I have is adrenaline or anxiety, but as the footsteps approach my room, I am suddenly darting to my closet.

A trembling hand reaches to slide open the closet door and I crouch underneath my baby blue homecoming dress from sophomore year. I move the door just in time so there is a tiny crack to view the intruder. I fumble around for my phone and snatch it as my bedroom door is opened and someone wearing one black beanie that covers his hair and another that conceals his nose and mouth begins to look around at my belongings. His tan hands rummage under my pillows and in the drawers of my nightstand. I have two options, call 911 or text my mom. She can leave work, I know she can.

I pull my phone out and am blinded by my bright lockscreen of a cheesy collage filled with pictures of Penelope, Juliet and my parents. I push my twitching thumb against the home button and scroll until I find the messages app. While finding my mother's contact, I hear one of my drawers open and stare in suspicion. He pulls out a pair of balled up socks and I frantically send my mom a text.

<< GRACE >>

Mom, you need to get h ome. There is so eone in my room

I ignore every typo and hit send as fast as possible. My lip quivers as I fear for the worst. There is a random creep in my house! They're rummaging through my drawers in search for something, but what?

My phone buzzes in my hand and my eyes avert down to read her response. My heart sinks.

<< MOM >>

You're thinking that a lie like that will get me home? Nice try Gracelyn. I'm trying to enjoy a night out with Melissa and you can't even let me do that.

I hear a long and dragged out sniff and my eyes bulge out of my head. What the hell. I peek out and see the mysterious stranger holding a pair of my underwear between his thumb and index fingers on each side that normally embraces my curves.

<< GRACE>>

Mom, I am dead serious. GET HOME NOW!

They stare at the design of cherry blossoms behind a light blue background and shakes their head. Shoving them back into the drawer, they continue to browse my collection of panties.

<< MOM >>

Sure, I get ONE night to myself to enjoy since your dad's accident & you expect me to rush home because you're lonely. Typical

<< GRACE >>

THERE IS A CREEP SNIFFING MY UNDERWEAR! GET HOME!

After repeatedly spamming her phone with messages and even calls for ten minutes, I get no response as the intruder settles on a venetian red thong with lace around the waistband. They shove the pair into their pocket and dart out of my room. Once I hear the front door shut, I carefully open the closet door and look each direction. I feel like I'm safe and collapse onto my bed.

Silence is golden I remember. That may have just kept you safe.