Mom locked me in chastity

Chapter 4

The bathroom is thick with steam. Mom unlocks the front shield with her usual precision. The mechanism clicks open and the immediate relief of air floods against my pale skin. The belt itself stays locked, but without the shield there's access. Narrow. Limited. Enough to torment.

"Ten minutes for washing." She sets the shield on the counter. "Behave yourself."

Her phone rings. She glances at the screen, sighs, and steps into my bedroom to answer it. The bathroom door stays cracked. I hear her settle onto the edge of my bed, her voice drifting through as she talks about the church potluck schedule.

I stand under the spray. Water drums against my shoulders. I should just wash. That's all this is for. Washing.

My hand moves anyway.

I've done this before. Touch myself. Late nights with my laptop, headphones in, the glow of the screen casting shadows. I'd felt guilty every time, but never enough to stop. Those moments had been mine. Private. Chosen.

This is different.

The angle is awkward. The access is minimal. But the sensation hits harder than it should. Days of pressure. Days of captivity. The belt has done something to me. Made everything sharper.

Through the frosted glass, I hear Mom's voice. She's saying something to Dad downstairs. Something about coffee. The words don't register.

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't.

My fingers move through the narrow opening. The restriction makes everything more intense. My breathing grows shallow. The edge builds faster than it ever has.

Her voice drifts back to the phone call. "I think the casserole recipe from last year would be better."

My pulse hammers. I speed up. Desperate. Chasing release before the conversation ends.

Almost there. Almost.

"Maya?"

My hand freezes. I grab the soap with shaking fingers. Force myself to breathe normally. To move like someone just washing. When I finally turn off the water, my body feels strung tight. Unfinished. Furious.

Mom is waiting with a towel and the shield. She reattaches it with calm precision. The click of the lock sounds impossibly loud.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

By noon, Mom drives us to a café that looks staged. Linen napkins. Porcelain plates. The place smells like lemon polish and something sweet burning.

The hostess seats us by the window. Mom orders for both of us without asking.

"You'll have the garden salad. And sparkling water."

"I'm not really hungry."

"You need to eat. You look pale."

The server disappears. Mom folds her hands on the table.

"I wanted us to have some quality time. Just the two of us."

"Okay."

"We don't do this enough. Mother-daughter moments." She smiles. "I want you to know how proud we are. How grateful."

"For what?"

"For the young woman you've become. Obedient. Pure. Everything we've raised you to be."

The words drift around me like paper decorations. I try to shift the topic.

"Where was Jordan this morning? He wasn't at breakfast."

"Oh, there was a misunderstanding between him and your father." Her answer is too practiced. "Nothing serious. He needed space."

The memory surfaces. Their tense silhouettes by the gate. The raised voices I thought I heard. I wonder if any of it was about me.

The café quiets. Mom leans forward.

"We want you to marry someone good."

The statement lands wrong. Out of place. Out of time.

"What?"

"Grant Ellison. He's an excellent young man. Polite, courteous, a gentleman."

My throat closes. "You're arranging my marriage?"

"We're guiding you toward a blessed union. Shared faith. Shared values. The Ellisons are a wonderful family."

"I'm eighteen. I don’t even know him."

"That's what courtship is for."

"Mom, I don't want this."

"Maya." Her voice sharpens. "We've prayed about this."

"You prayed. I didn't."

"Young lady." She sets down her fork with force. "Value what we're doing for you. Your father and I want what's best."

The fight drains out of me. I can't win this. Not here. Not now.

I decide to play it smart.

"Okay." I force the word out. "Fine. I'll meet him. I'll try to make it work."

Mom's expression softens. "That's my girl."

"So if that's decided." I pause. "Can I have the key? To the belt?"

She gives me a patronizing look. The kind that makes my stomach turn.

"Honey, even if we wanted to, we couldn't." She smiles warmly. "We've already given him your key."

The words twist like a blade.

"You what?"

"Grant has it. For safekeeping. Until the wedding."

I can't breathe. Can't think.

"You gave a stranger the key to my body."

"He's your future husband." She reaches across the table. I pull my hands away. "Maya, this is a blessing. Trust us."

At home, the day slips toward evening. The air feels heavier. When the sky turns pink, I step outside just to breathe.

Jordan is standing in the garden. Hands in pockets. Watching the horizon.

I almost retreat. But he notices me.

"Hey." His voice is gentle. "Sorry. I can go if you want space."

"It's fine."

He smiles faintly. Silence stretches.

"I heard you and Dad arguing last night."

"It wasn't an argument. Just a disagreement."

"About what?"

He hesitates. "About how he's handling things with you."

"What things?"

"The arrangement with the Ellisons."

My pulse jumps. "What did you say to him?"

"That you're young. That maybe he should give you more time. More choice."

"And what did he say?"

"That it's his decision. That he knows what's best."

Hope flickers. Dies. "So you tried."

"I did. I'm sorry it didn't help."

"It's not your fault."

"Still." He turns to face me. "For what it's worth, I think you should be patient. These things have a way of working out."

"Patient." My voice comes out flat. "Everyone keeps telling me to be patient. To accept it. To trust that it'll work out."

"Maya—"

"You tried to help and it changed nothing. My parents don't listen. They don't care what I want." My throat tightens. "And now even you're telling me to just wait and see."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Yes it is." Tears burn behind my eyes. "Everyone's on their side. Even the people I thought might understand."

"I'm not on anyone's side. I'm trying to—"

I turn before he can respond. Before the tears come. Before I say something I can't take back.

In my room, I sit on the edge of my bed. Numb. Jordan thinks I should be patient. Accept it. Everyone does.

The decision forms cleanly. If they want the obedient daughter, the dutiful bride, I'll give them a version they'll regret.

My phone buzzes.

A calendar notification. Dinner with the Ellisons — Tomorrow, 7 p.m.

I stare until the words blur. My rebellion now has a deadline.