My Mouth Before 22

I needed to disappear.

Not forever—just long enough to remember who I was before Professor Lewis rewired my entire nervous system with his voice, his touch, his relentless psychological games that left me questioning every thought in my head.

So I did what any rational twenty-two-year-old having a complete mental breakdown would do: I packed a bag, turned off my phone, and ran home to the place that created half my issues in the first place.

Brilliant fucking strategy, Sophie.

By the time I reached my childhood home, I was wound tighter than a spring and probably radiating enough frustration to power the entire neighborhood.

The moment I stepped through the front Door, chaos hit me like a freight train.

“I TOLD YOU, ABBY, THAT SHIRT IS MINE!” Madison’s voice shrieked from somewhere upstairs, probably the bathroom where World War III typically broke out over makeup and mirror space.

“NO IT’S NOT, YOU LEFT IT HERE FOR TWO DAYS!” Abby screamed back. “FINDERS KEEPERS!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE HELL UP BEFORE I DONATE ALL YOUR CLOTHES TO GOODWILL!” Dad bellowed from the kitchen.

I dropped my overnight bag by the stairs and immediately felt my shoulders tense.

Nothing had changed.

Not the screaming, not the chaos, not the way this house seemed to exist in a permanent state of barely controlled disaster.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most—coming back to the exact same dysfunction I’d been running from since I was nine years old.

“Girls!” Dad’s voice cracked like a whip. “Jesus Christ, one of you is gonna give me a heart attack before I hit fifty-five!”

I rubbed my temples, already feeling a headache building. “Hi, Dad.”

He looked up from the kitchen table where he was surrounded by a mountain of bills, a broken toaster that looked like it had been through a war, and what appeared to be the remnants of a ham sandwich that had seen better days.

His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and he had that particular look of exhaustion that came from single-handedly managing two teenage girls with the emotional regulation skills of feral cats.

“Sophie.” His face brightened slightly. “Didn’t know you were coming home.”

“Last-minute decision. I needed a break.”

He snorted, gesturing at the chaos around us. “From college or from life in general?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” He reached for his coffee mug, which looked like it had been through several rounds of reheating. “Well, welcome back to the circus. Hope you brought earplugs.”

The rest of the day dissolved into a blur of familiar dysfunction.

Madison slammed her bedroom door so hard the entire house shook because Abby allegedly used her face wash. Abby retaliated by “accidentally” deleting Madison’s Spotify playlist.

Dad burned dinner while trying to fix the toaster with a butter knife and what appeared to be sheer willpower.

By 9 PM, I was curled up on our ancient couch in an oversized hoodie that smelled like fabric softener and childhood trauma, trying to convince myself that coming home had been a good idea.

I was just starting to doze off when Abby appeared in the living room doorway like a harbinger of doom.

“Sophie?” Her voice was small, uncertain. “There’s a car in the driveway.”

I blinked, pulling myself back to consciousness. “Okay…?”

“A man is standing outside.” She twisted her hands together. “Like, just staring at our front door. It’s weird.”

Every nerve in my body went on high alert. “What?”

I shot off the couch so fast my blanket went flying. My heart was already racing as I rushed to the front window and pulled back the faded curtains.

And felt my entire world tilt off its axis.

Adrian.

Standing in my family’s driveway like an avenging angel in a long black coat, hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at my childhood home like it had personally offended him.

“What the hell…” I whispered, my breath fogging the glass.

“Sophie?” Dad’s voice came from behind me. “What’s going on? Abby said there’s some guy outside.”

I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs. “It’s… It’s just my professor.”

“Your professor?” Dad’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “At nine-thirty at night?”

“I don’t know why he’s here,” I stammered, my mind racing through possibilities, none of them good.

Dad moved to the window, peering out at the figure in our driveway. “Jesus, he looks like he means business. What kind of professor shows up at a student’s house?”

‘The kind who thinks he owns you,’ I thought but didn’t say.

“I don’t know,” I said instead, grabbing my shoes. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Like hell you will.” Dad’s voice sharpened. “If some teacher is stalking my daughter—”

“He’s not stalking me,” I said quickly. “It’s… a bit complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

I couldn’t exactly explain that my professor had been commanding me and fucking my brains out, now can I?

“Just… let me handle this, okay?”

Dad studied my face for a long moment, and I could see him cataloging every tell—the flush in my cheeks, the way I couldn’t quite meet his eyes, the tremor in my hands.

“Sophie,” he said quietly. “Is this man bothering you?”

The question hit harder than it should have. Because yes, Adrian Lewis was bothering me.

He’d been bothering me for weeks, getting under my skin, into my head, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

But was he bothering me in the way my dad meant? The threatening, dangerous way?

I honestly didn’t know anymore.

“I’m fine, Dad. Just… give me five minutes.”

I shoved on my shoes and stepped outside, the cold night air slapping me in the face. Adrian’s gaze locked on mine the moment I stepped onto the porch.

“Sophie,” he said, low and even. “What are you doing here?”

I stared at him, confused. “I’m visiting my family. What are you doing here?”

“You disappeared.” He stepped closer, just one long stride that made my pulse spike.

“I needed a break,” I said quietly.

“And you couldn’t tell me that?”

My stomach dropped. “I didn’t think I had to.”

His jaw tightened. “You think you can just walk out of my life without saying a word?”

I looked around, half-hoping this was a dream. “I thought it was you who said this wasn’t about feelings. You said you didn’t make a commitment.”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Then why are you here?” I demanded. “Showing up to my house like…”

“Like what?” His voice dropped.

Silence fell heavy between us. He wasn’t touching me, didn’t raise his voice, but the way he looked at me—like I was something he cared about—made my skin crawl and tingle all at once.

“This isn’t healthy,” I whispered. “You act like I belong to you, but you won’t even admit how you feel about me.”

“I don’t owe you declarations,” he said. “I gave you my time. My attention and my control. That’s more honest than any love story.”

I shook my head, dizzy. “I think you should go home.”

His eyes narrowed, jaw ticking. “So you’re just sending me away now?”

“You’re not my boyfriend,” I said, forcing the words out. “And you don’t get to show up here like one.”

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded once. “Fine.”

Adrian turned, walked back to his car, and drove away like nothing had happened. But my knees didn’t stop shaking.

Not even when I went inside and closed the door.