Chapter 2 Web of Control

# Chapter 2: Web of Control

I spent the night at my best friend Olivia's apartment, curled up on her lumpy futon while she made hot chocolate and listened to my tearful explanation. Unlike my mother and Jason, her reaction was appropriately horrified.

"That's beyond messed up," she said, passing me a steaming mug. "I mean, your boyfriend and your mom? That's like, straight out of some twisted psychological thriller."

"I keep thinking I imagined it," I admitted, wiping my eyes. "They were so... calm about it. Like I was the one being irrational."

Olivia's eyes narrowed. "Classic gaslighting. Don't let them make you doubt yourself."

I nodded, grateful for the validation. Around 2 AM, my phone lit up with texts from both Jason and my mother. I showed Olivia.

Jason: *Maya, please come home. We need to talk about what you think you saw. I love you. This is all a misunderstanding.*

Mom: *Sweetheart, you're overreacting. Come home now. We're worried about you.*

"'What you think you saw'?" Olivia read, incredulous. "Unbelievable."

I silenced my phone and finally drifted into an uneasy sleep. The next morning, I woke to more messages—each more insistent than the last—and several missed calls. I texted Olivia, who had left for her early class, that I'd see her later, then reluctantly headed to campus. I had a psychology seminar I couldn't miss, and unfortunately, Jason would be there.

The UCLA campus was bustling with its usual Monday morning energy, but everything felt different. As I walked toward the psychology building, I could have sworn people were staring at me, whispering. Paranoia, I told myself. No one knows what happened.

I slid into the seminar room and took a seat in the back, keeping my eyes down. A moment later, someone dropped into the chair beside me. I didn't need to look up to know it was Jason.

"You didn't come home last night," he said quietly.

"Home?" I hissed, finally facing him. "You mean the place where my boyfriend makes out with my mother?"

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Maya, please. What you saw—"

"Don't," I cut him off. "Don't tell me again that I didn't see what I saw."

"I wasn't going to," he said, his voice softening. "I was going to say that what you saw was... complicated. Linda and I—"

"Stop calling her that," I snapped.

"Your mother," he corrected, "and I have a... professional relationship that sometimes requires physical proximity."

I stared at him, bewildered. "Professional relationship? What are you talking about?"

Before he could answer, our professor entered, and the seminar began. I could barely focus, my mind racing with Jason's bizarre explanation. Professional relationship? What did that even mean?

After class, I hurried out before Jason could corner me again. I needed space to think, to process. I headed to the library, found a quiet corner, and pulled out my phone. Maybe venting to Olivia would help clear my head.

I opened our chat thread and froze. Our conversation from last night was... different. Where I had poured out my heart about catching Jason and my mother, the texts now showed me rambling about a fictional argument with Jason over him forgetting my birthday. Olivia's responses, once supportive and outraged on my behalf, now read as mildly sympathetic about such a minor offense.

My hands shaking, I called her.

"Hey," she answered cheerfully. "Feeling better about the whole birthday thing?"

"Birthday thing?" I echoed. "Olivia, what are you talking about? I was at your place last night because I caught Jason kissing my mother."

A pause. "Um, what? Maya, you were upset because Jason forgot your birthday dinner. Which isn't even until next month, so I told you you were being a little dramatic."

My blood ran cold. "No, that's not what happened. I slept on your futon. You made hot chocolate. We talked about gaslighting."

"Maya..." Olivia's voice took on a concerned tone. "Are you okay? You didn't stay with me last night. We texted a bit, that's all."

I ended the call, panic rising in my chest. Was I losing my mind? I scrolled frantically through my other apps. My Instagram account displayed a "temporarily restricted" message. My Twitter showed an error. Even my email wouldn't load.

"Technology troubles?" Jason's voice came from behind me. I jumped, nearly dropping my phone.

"What's happening?" I demanded. "What did you do to my phone? And why does Olivia suddenly have different memories of last night?"

Jason sat beside me, his expression concerned. Too concerned. "Maya, I think you might be having some... difficulties distinguishing reality from fantasy."

"Stop it," I whispered. "I know what's real."

"Do you?" He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. "You've been under a lot of stress lately with finals coming up. Your mother—Dr. Bennett—thinks you might be experiencing some cognitive distortions."

The clinical way he spoke about me sent shivers down my spine. "My mother the therapist, you mean? The one with her tongue down your throat last night?"

Jason glanced around the library, then leaned closer. "Maya, your mother and I are trying to help you. This delusion about us having some sort of romantic relationship is concerning."

"Delusion?" I repeated, my voice rising. A nearby student looked up, frowning.

"Let's continue this conversation somewhere private," Jason suggested, taking my arm firmly. Too firmly.

I yanked away. "Don't touch me. I'm not going anywhere with you."

He sighed, pulling out his own phone. "Then I'll have to call your mother. She wanted to be notified immediately if you showed signs of... escalation."

As he dialed, I grabbed my backpack and fled the library. Outside, the bright California sun seemed to mock my darkening reality. I ran until I reached the campus coffee shop, ducking inside and finding a booth in the corner.

My phone buzzed with a text from my childhood friend Emma, who attended Berkeley up north.

Emma: *Hey M! How's everything going with that hottie Jason? Still think he might be The One?*

I responded quickly, desperate for someone—anyone—to believe me.

Me: *Emma, I need help. Something weird is happening. I caught Jason kissing my mom last night, and now they're both acting like I imagined it. Even Olivia's texts from last night have somehow changed. I think they're gaslighting me.*

I watched the three dots appear as she typed, then disappear, then appear again. Finally:

Emma: *Whoa, Maya, that sounds pretty intense! Are you getting enough sleep? Remember junior year when you were convinced Mr. Peterson was spying on you, but it turned out you were just super sleep deprived from AP exams? Maybe take a nap and see how you feel?*

My stomach dropped. The Peterson incident had happened, but I'd never told Emma about it. It was a private joke between me and my mother. How did Emma know?

Before I could respond, my phone suddenly locked itself, the screen going black. When I tried to restart it, an unfamiliar security screen appeared, requiring a password I didn't know.

"What the hell?" I muttered, panic rising.

"Language, Maya," my mother's voice said. I looked up to find her sliding into the booth across from me, Jason right behind her.

"How did you—"

"Find you?" She smiled thinly. "Jason's got a tracking app on your phone. For your safety, of course."

Jason sat beside her, their shoulders touching. The casual intimacy made me nauseous.

"What's happening?" I asked, my voice small. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"We're helping you, sweetheart," Mom said. "You're not well."

"I saw you kissing," I insisted. "And now my phone is locked, my social media is restricted, and somehow my texts with Olivia have been altered. Even Emma knows things she shouldn't."

Mom and Jason exchanged that look again—the one that excluded me, that seemed to communicate volumes.

"According to the plan," Jason said to her, not bothering to lower his voice, "she wasn't supposed to notice the digital adjustments so quickly."

"Plan?" I echoed. "What plan?"

Mom reached across the table, her hand closing over mine before I could pull away. "Maya, everything we're doing is for your own good. You need to trust the process."

"What process?" I cried, drawing stares from nearby tables.

Jason checked his watch. "It's time for your session with Dr. Reynolds. We should go."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I declared, trying to slide out of the booth, but Jason had positioned himself to block my exit.

"Maya," Mom said, her voice taking on that warning tone from my childhood, "you will behave yourself and come with us now. Or things will become much more difficult for you."

The threat hung in the air between us. Looking from Jason's cool, calculating eyes to my mother's determined expression, I realized with horror that I was completely trapped in their web of control—and I had no idea how to escape.