Page 125 of Darkest Obsession

My mom turns around and flips her dress up, showing me her butt in a thong. Damn, mom can you chill for one freaking second? She’s making me look at her ass and I still can’t figure out what the hell she’s talking about. Ew… She keeps jiggling it. Okay, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but I’m almost certain that most eighteen-year-old girls don’t have to look at their mom’s bare ass and struggle to figure out what compliment she’s fishing for exactly.

“You look great,” I mutter noncommittally, hoping it inspires her to cover up her dang butt.

“Girl, I got a BBL! My butt is on fire. Views are up and the channel is thriving without your father. So many men want to date me now that I’m all caked up.”

She pulls her dress down and grabs my cheeks, nearly suffocating me in a cloud of Agent Provocateur – her signature scent. I cough a little, which lowers my defenses and allows her to plant a red lipstick kiss on my forehead. I gag from the cloud of her perfume but try to act like I’m still coughing.

“You know we’re going to a little pub in a small town, right? You don’t need to get so dressed up.”

If all eyes aren’t on her, she acts like it’s a major crisis.

“You’re worried about my outfit? Honey, you’re dressed like a man,” she says bluntly. I knew she was just waiting for her opportunity to jump all over me. She seriously never changes. Sigh.

I’m wearing vintage green Adidas track pants, fresh all-white Adidas sneakers and an oversized t-shirt with a distressed picture of Left Eye on the front. This is not manly. It’s my style. I shake my dreads out of my face and stake a step back away from my mom’s grabby ass hands and insanely long manicure.

“I’m fine,” I grunt. “I’m not dressed like a man. This is fashion.”

My mother scoffs.

“This is why you don’t have a boyfriend. No man’s going to stick around to fuck some chick who dresses like a little boy. Did you watch that blowjob tips video I sent you? Try those next time.”

My cheeks darken. First of all, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime that she sent something like that to her 18-year-old daughter and if it isn’t a crime, it should be. Second, I definitely did not watch the freaking video. Why the hell is she so obsessed with me getting a man anyway?

“Maybe I don’t want a boyfriend…” I grumble.

“So you’re still single!” she says excitedly, a notable change in mood that immediately raises my suspicions and makes me regret not at least pretending to have a boyfriend.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Don’t worry, if you want to look better, I’ll get you a BBL for Christmas. Maybe a boob job?” She reaches her hands out and squeezes my boobs aggressively with a grossed out look on her face.

“They’re all weird and natural,” she says. “I think you could do much better with H-cups.”

“Mom!”

“I’m trying to help, Clover,” she says in her mom-voice. I take the warning and roll my eyes.

“Can we just eat?”

“Fine. But I’m telling people you’re my sister.”

“We’re going to a small pub in a small British town. There are no people.”

“And nothing to film…” she says, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

We head down to the pub where no one says anything about my mom’s outfit and she’s clearly disappointed when she picks a table in the middle of the room and not a single one of the geriatric small town British retirees comes over to hit on her.

After we start on our salads, she scoffs.

“Clover, this place is dead. If we were in L.A., you would be going home tonight with a sexy producer who could put you in a movie or Law & Order or something.”

“I like it here.”

“Girl, you lame,” my mom says, setting down her fork and reaching into her small Yves St Laurent clutch for a folded stack of six papers which she slides onto the table. I know I’ve walked into a sneak attack, but I can’t determine the nature of the sneak attack.

“What are those?”

She politely dabs her cheeks with the napkin and clears her throat.