You can't resist.

You tap the unread email from Chris, heedless of the fact your mother might notice it marked as read before she viewed it. You perceive another blinding flash, but something odd draws your attention away from the email. Your mother is standing in the doorway, looking at you with a surprised expression that quickly gives way to disappointed suspicion.

"Quinton?" You hear her say but it sounds like it's not the first time she's spoken. "What are you doing at my computer?"

"I... I..." You're too taken aback to answer.

Why didn't I hear her come in? Isn't she early? Your mind races as you look at the clock. It reads 5:05. What the fuck? You look at the email and see another video of Chris but he's directing a young woman about the same age as you. He's indicating key points of the workout using her body as an example as she quietly goes through it with a passive expression. You see the subject line reads 'Ab focused workouts' before your mother grows impatient and stomps over, grabbing your attention.

"Quinton Bernard Palmer!" You snap to attention immediately at her use of your middle name. Despite all your depraved thoughts about her, she's still your mother. She looks at the screen, then at you, a look of hurt embarrassment appears on her face at the clear violation of her privacy. Then she notices your lap and her eyes widen, and finally you notice it too. You're hard and leaking precum like a bad faucet, a large wet spot forming in your shorts. Embarrassment washes over you. Between your confusion at the lost time and your current predicament, you almost shut down. She looks back to your face again, its confused blankness clearly unnerving to her, unsure what to make of this. Her hand rushes to the monitor's power button and switches it off. "Quinn?! Are you reading my private emails?"

"You were... You were emailing him." You manage to say. You feel dazed by the realization that you appear to have lost time. As if you've been ripped away from something you were intently focused upon. Your mother's mouth gapes for a moment at your statement. She looks away for a moment and then snaps her gaze back to you. Her deep azure eyes have never looked so icy to you, her darling boy. You see a side of your mother emerging you never even knew existed.

"How dare you!" She almost spits the words at you. "You have no right to be in here reading my emails like a little sneak!" Your mother has never spoken to you this way. Something seems off but in your dazzled state you just can't say what. "What? Were you touching yourself in here or did you piss yourself like a little baby when I caught you? What in god's name made you think you could come in here and read my emails without my permission you little shit? Didn't I raise you better than that?" Your mother's voice is shrill and commanding. You've known her your entire life, you heard her voice in the womb, but it sounds alien to you now. Your shock and uncertainty is evident as you struggle to form words, all you manage is to open your mouth a little but nothing comes out. You feel a sharp pain and your heart rate skyrockets as your mother brings her hand unexpectedly across your cheek. "ANSWER ME GODDAMNIT!"

"I'm sorry!" You shout in return. "I was worried and... and... he's evil..." The conviction leaves your voice as you trail off. You find it harder to think negative thoughts about Chris. As if the trauma of what he did to you that this morning seemed fresh but now you feel like you're just overreacting. But you can't be, you remember the nightmares, the therapy, and the fucked up shit he made you do or did to you. That's not all in your head. Is it? As you begin staring into space again your mother throws her hands up.

"You have got to get over this obsession with Chris and what happened in high school." She says, scolding you, casually forgetting he'd loved to **** you since elementary school. "It's been four years. You yourself have changed a lot since you were fourteen. Chris has had a hard past and he's trying to rise above it. You could learn a thing or two from his example you fucking brat." Your mother's blatant insult sends you reeling even more than you already are. She has never been anything other than an absolute paragon of compassionate understanding to you. You feel tears begin to run down your face. She looks you in the eye one more time with no mercy for your sobs. Her voice takes on an almost threatening edge, as if your safety may depend on your swift compliance. "Go to your room! We'll discuss this later!" You turn and run without looking back. You bolt up the stairs and down the hall to your room, quickly entering and slamming the door. Throwing yourself onto the bed, your world collapses around you as you sob and wail into the pillow, completely overwhelmed.