It was a bright spring morning when everything went disastrously wrong.
At the tender age of 16, I was still a high school student enrolled in a specialized School of Arts program. I had mapped out my day perfectly—staying home to study for an important acting exam scheduled for the afternoon. I even confidently told my friends that I wouldn’t be heading out, determined to ace my performance. Little did I know, my carefully laid plans were about to take an unexpected detour.
Earlier that morning, I had called A. and invited him over. I just wanted someone to listen—there were no ulterior motives in my heart.
But, as life often surprises you, things started to evolve into something far more complicated.
A Gin-Fueled Transformation
We began by sharing a bottle of gin I’d been saving, letting the smooth notes of our favorite music fill the room. I can still remember the way A.’s warm, affectionate gaze made me feel; it was almost as if his eyes whispered promises of comfort and adventure.
I thought, Maybe this is what it feels like to finally let go, even though a tiny voice inside me hesitated, warning that things might spiral out of control.
Before long, our conversation blurred into laughter, and we found ourselves sharing an impulsive kiss at the kitchen table.
I can’t believe this is happening, I thought, both exhilarated and terrified.
In a moment of reckless abandon, A. scooped me up in his arms and carried me to my room. Once there, all pretense dissolved—as if the world outside ceased to exist—and we became two souls, raw and unguarded, united in passion.
Just as our closeness reached a fever pitch, the sound of the front door creaked open…
The Unexpected Intrusion
The sound was followed by a voice calling out a greeting. My heart pounded, and for a moment, I froze.
What now? Panic bubbled inside me, urging me to pull away from A., and in my haste, I quickly turned the music down.
I could hear the door slam shut, each thud echoing like a countdown in my mind.
In a split second of clarity, I leaped from the bed and rushed to the window. There, to my horror, I saw my mother hurrying toward her car.
Frantically, I grabbed my phone and called her. “Mom, please come back!” I pleaded, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation.
On the other end, she calmly replied, “I can’t see you right now; let’s talk about this later.” But I was insistent. “Please, Mom. We have to talk now.” Finally, she relented, and within minutes, she returned home.
Maternal Intervention
When she walked in, we were no longer entwined in the heat of passion but instead dressed and trying to salvage what was left of the morning’s dignity.
A. sat in a chair, his face flushed bright red and utterly frozen—a stark contrast to the confident man he had been moments before.
My mother didn’t waste any time. With a chilly tone, she approached him directly.
“Don’t expect me to exchange pleasantries right now,” she snapped. “And where’s the gin? I saw it on the kitchen table.”
I fumbled for words, incapable of offering any reasonable explanation for the missing bottle or the earlier events.
I tried to explain, “Mom, I swear my intention was never to deceive you. I just— I got carried away.”
Then, to my astonishment, she burst into laughter, cutting through the tension. “And tell me,” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye, “what would you have done if your father had walked in?”
I paused, startled by the question. In my mind, a small voice whispered, Of course, I’d have managed… but not him.
Later, when it was just my mom and I, sitting down for a quiet, private talk, she leaned in and said softly yet firmly, “I’m glad you’ve begun your sexual journey and that you have a nice boyfriend, but I’m deeply disappointed. Drinking an entire bottle of gin in the morning and lying about your exam isn’t acceptable.”
I was stunned, unsure whether I should laugh or cry as a whirlwind of emotions took over. “He is not my boyfriend…”
Aftermath
That so-called relationship eventually fell apart—the day I reached my breaking point and realized I couldn’t stand seeing him anymore was the day it all ended.
I recalled telling him, “I can’t accept that you’re with another girl.”
His response had been infuriatingly calm: he claimed he loved both of us, but in different ways. “She’s like a cuddly plush bear—sweet enough to snuggle with for a while, until you eventually leave her on the armchair,” he had said.
I had thought to myself, I’m not that kind of girl. I’m different. I deserve more than this half-hearted affection.
And that was when I knew—I had to say enough. I told him, firmly, “I don’t want to be yours anymore.” And just like that, I put a stop to the farce.
Looking back, that morning felt like a whirlwind of emotions, full of unexpected turns and harsh realities. The memory of it lingers, a lesson on the importance of knowing what you truly deserve—even when everything seems to be spiraling out of control.
