Embracing Freedom: A Journey Through Obedience and Rebellion

This story was submitted on September 26th 2026 by Cicada33, author of The road to freedom. If you have a story to submit it’s right here !

This story is a series divided into 15 parts:

Saturday brought the sun, but there was still darkness inside me. I was walking through the city, on a street I hadn’t passed in a long time. My steps were leading me, I was going straight to where I knew my mother would be hurt the most. It was a conscious, calculated act of petty revenge. I stopped in front of a window that said “Beauty Salon Vixen”. I stopped in front of the window. There was a paper stuck on the glass “Helper wanted”. I felt wild adrenaline rush through my stomach. I pressed the doorknob and entered.

It was noisy, three women sat under hoods laughing loudly, old English pop was blaring from the radio, and the air was so thick and heavy with the sweet smell of nail polish, perfume and tobacco that my throat instantly hurt. Right next to the cash register was a noticeable, red “Smoking Permitted” sticker. On the desks and shelves I noticed at least three or four crystal ashtrays full of cigarette butts.

The hairdresser was standing in the middle of the salon, blow-drying a customer. She had curly, wild blonde hair, a bunch of bracelets that jingled with every movement, and a long, thin cigarette that sat casually at the very corner of her mouth. The smoke went straight into her eyes, but she only half closed them. When she saw me in the mirror, she abruptly turned off the hair dryer. She turned, sized me up over her glasses, and then a wide smile spread across her face.

“So who do I see?!” said the hairdresser, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and shaking out the ashes in the ashtray. It was my aunt, Lisa.

She came, hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I smelled a heavy, expensive perfume mixed with the sharp smell of tobacco. As she moved the bangs from my face with the hand in which she was holding the cigarette, the embers passed near my eyes, and the smoke made my eyes water.

“What brings you to my sinful paradise sweetie? Does your mother know you’re here?”

My mother’s words echoed louder than ever in my head: “Lisa is the black sheep of the family, a bum without morals and discipline. Stay away from her world.”

A little later, we were sitting in the utility room behind the salon. Lisa sat down across from me, immediately pulled out one of those ashtrays and lit her cigarette again, watching me through the bluish veil.

I looked at her fox tattoo on her shoulder and long fake nails with mild disgust, wondering if she really was as dirty and bad as Mom claimed. But on the other hand, there was something warm in her eyes and voice that mom never had. I kept quiet about most of the details, my pride did not allow me to break down and confess to her all my misery and my mother’s insults.

“I came because of the ad on the door,” I said coldly, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need a job.”

Lisa took a long drag, and the embers on the tip of her cigarette flashed brightly. She slowly blew the smoke to the side, not taking her eyes off me. “Work? You? Are you sure, Ena? And what does that saintly mother of yours say about her daughter working in salons?”

I straightened my back, and pure defiance flashed in my head. “I am an adult and I make my own decisions. My mother has absolutely no questions about it.”

Lisa was silent for a moment, then gave a low, sly laugh, shaking the ashes on the edge of the ashtray. She seemed to like my answer. Maybe, I thought, this woman isn’t a monster after all. Maybe she’s just free in a way my mother can’t stand.

“Okay, sweetie,” Lisa said, stubbing out her cigarette. “There’s always work at my place. Washing hair, mixing paints and maintaining the salon. The salary is not the manager’s, but it’s yours. You start on Monday. And yes, don’t accidentally tell your saint where you work. I don’t want her to cause me problems.”

I left the salon with some strange, crazy adrenaline in my stomach. For the first time in my life, I did something purely out of defiance, out of revenge. I cut my mom’s threads for the first time and it felt so good.

When I arrived at the apartment, I was greeted by total darkness inside, except for a bright flash of light coming from the living room. Marta was working. I allowed her to bring her equipment into the living room last week, and now the space has been transformed into a real art studio. Large drawings on canvas were lined up along the walls, and Marta stood in front of the easel with a brush in her hands. She was wearing a black, baggy t-shirt stained with paint and looked incredibly focused, professional and powerful. That new, deep respect for her world flashed in me again.

She heard the door creak and turned. “Martha, I quit my job,” I said from the door. “And I got a job with Aunt Lisa in the salon. I’m not going back to that basement.”

Marta was taken aback for a second, and her face lit up with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen on her. “That’s right, Ena!” she exclaimed, walking up to me quickly. “Man, kudos! This, this has to be seriously toasted.” She hurried to the kitchen and returned after a few seconds carrying two glass bottles. It was some weak, sweet liquor, a blueberry cider, with a bright, purple label. She opened them and handed me a bottle.

I instinctively pulled my hands back, taking a step back. My mother’s cold voice immediately sounded like an alarm in my head, “Alcohol is terrible, it’s poison, only weak people who don’t have control over themselves drink it.”

“Martha, I don’t drink alcohol,” I said quietly, clenching my fingers. “I don’t think it should. It’s awful.” Marta didn’t laugh, nor did she make fun of me. She just took a step closer, holding the bottle in front of me, her eyes shining. Her recognizable, warm and reassuring smile appeared on her lips.

“Come on, Ena, relax for once in your life,” she said softly, her voice soft. “One glass won’t do you any good. This is quite a weak, feminine drink with a nice, sweet taste. Like juice. You deserve it after a day like this. You’re free, remember?” I looked into the fogged glass of the bottle, then into her eyes which were looking at me with complete understanding.

Slowly, with a slight tremor in my fingers, I held out my hand. My hand cupped the cold glass. I put the bottle to my lips and took the first long sip. The drink was cold, sweet and fizzy, and the blueberry flavor instantly burned away the bitterness I’d been carrying in my throat for weeks. Warmth slowly spread through my body, relaxing my tight shoulders. I liked it. Maybe mother was wrong about many things.

I looked at Marta who tapped her bottle against mine approvingly. “Cheers, for a new job and a new, free Ena!”

The border was pushed once again, this time with a sweet and intoxicating taste.

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Side effects of obedience (part 5)

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