Free Love's Learning Curve by Felicia Lynn

assure myself as I walk back to my truck and speed off in the direction of my apartment.  All thoughts of baseball bunnies warming my bed and working over my cock escape me and the only thoughts I care to process are about the beautiful brunette with sapphire eyes who consumes me in all the wrong ways.
     

 
    What a disaster.
    I meant for last night to be fun.  I just wanted to live a little.  I needed to feel my own age for a minute.  I didn’t feel it was too much to ask for, but in actuality, I didn’t ask.  I’m twenty-one years old.  I shouldn’t have to ask.  I knew what the answer would have been and that it wouldn’t have been up for discussion.
    Running on any normal day clears my thoughts, so I thought it would help this morning.  Maybe put things in perspective or, at least, give me a chance to build my own defense.  However, today’s run is only serving as a means to flee.  I’m seriously a grown woman running away and hiding like a caged animal who’s found the hidden escape door.  I’m not naïve enough to believe that a common understanding will be found to allow space to actually live my own life.  My mother believes in sacrificing for the bigger plan.  Giving up any of my goals or dreams that deviate from their political dreams isn’t a sacrifice to them; it’s my obligation.
    Today, I’m alert, hyper-aware of my surroundings, and looking over my shoulder at every turn.  As if Mr. Attention Seeker wasn’t enough yesterday, now, I’m quite convinced someone’s watching me.  How else would my mother know about the party otherwise?  I was at the party for less than two hours in which only half of that time was enjoyable but still not worth this.
    The pounding of my soles on the pavement is doing very little in the way of alleviating my stress or helping me cope with the aftermath.  My mother’s disappointment is overpowering any of my efforts.  Even with music pumping loudly into my ears, I’m unable to drown the voices in my head.
    Ha.  Even my own internal voice is screaming at me currently.
    As of thirty minutes ago, when I switched my phone to the Do Not Disturb mode, I’d already missed fourteen calls this morning and have the double-digit text notifications to match.  I can’t bring myself to read the texts yet.  I only opened one so now I know what to expect with the others.  It’ll go from bad to worse. 
    Avoiding the situation is only making it worse.  Giving her the added time to stew while waiting for me to respond is counterproductive, and the consequences are likely to equal that of dropping a bomb in enemy territory and beginning a world war.  But I couldn’t help it, I panicked.  Now, I’m thinking it’s imperative that I get my plan together before acting too soon.
    The funny thing is when I first saw the missed call log and notifications, panic took over.  I thought it was a serious emergency, that someone was hurt, sick, or maybe even dead.  Oh … I was so wrong.  When I opened the texts and read the first line, I quickly realized I was the emergency.  She knew about last night's adventure and was beside herself with anger over what she considers my betrayal. 
    Morgan … I decide I need to talk to Morgan as soon as possible.  She’d know what to do, but Morgan didn’t answer her phone.  So I did the next best thing I could think of.  I set my iPhone to Do Not Disturb, laced up my shoes, and am now running for my life.  Well … not literally, but it feels like it.
    I knew that escaping the problem at hand, choosing to lace up my shoes and hit the road instead of handling it as an adult, were not actions proving my maturity and ability to responsibly take control of my life.  But I’m sure anyone with Sandra Baker as a mother would do the same.  This is no time for rational resolutions.
    Run until your body aches and you can’t think about the hell of your unfulfilling life. Run to chase away the never-ending expectations.