His Curvy Mate

8. A Parent's Support

“What’s going on girls?” My mom asked for the third time the following morning.  

With the way Claire kept glaring my way quietly –eyes puffy and red from crying through the night– and I carried on avoiding her hateful stares, there was no denying that there was indeed something going on.

“Your sweet innocent little daughter here stole my boyfriend,” Claire spat out angrily as she left the breakfast table.

My head snapped up at that and my eyes bulged painfully large. “I did not.”

“Yes, you did, you with your whorish ways!” The blonde girl exclaimed, in an almost shouting tone. The glares she was giving me could burn my skull if they got any more hateful.  

“Language, young lady,” her dad reprimanded whereas my mom gasped in shock.

“Mom, nothing happened between Ethan and me, I swear,” I began to plead with my mom, to have her believe me, and not Claire.

She nodded at me before saying, “I know you and I know how I raised you.”

I felt my heart swell at that.

To have a parent’s support is very important to a child, even more so to a teenager, I believe. Or perhaps is it the opposite? It’s very important to a teenager, even more so to a child?

Whatever! The point was that I valued my mom’s support greatly.

Claire stomped away from the kitchen and I felt myself slump in defeat in my chair, wishing I could disappear, wishing I could go back in time and not give in to Kyle.

How could I have let him drag me to Ethan’s party? With my luck, my debut was bound to be nothing but a disaster. Deep down, I knew it had been a bad idea to go uninvited there… but nothing could have prepared me mentally for what had happened.

Ethan had rejected Claire, my stunning stepsister for me –kind of. Well, He did claim me as his, and tell her they were over.

In a roundabout way, Ethan had confessed to me... I guess.

When my mom asked me what happened again when my stepdad stepped out of the kitchen, I could only tell her the truth. “I seriously don’t know what happened.”

“Start from the beginning,” she told me softly.

And that was how I began narrating the disastrous evening to her.