Sinful Longing

Elle shooed her to the door. “Get out of here. You’re going to be late for your shift. You have fifteen minutes to get to the hospital.” Her mom fixed her with a stare that said this conversation isn’t over, missy, and Elle rolled her eyes. “I love you, but you need to skedaddle. Thank you again.”

“Anytime,” she said and walked out. But in two seconds, she popped the door back open and held up a finger. “And ‘anytime’ also applies if you want to booty call this epic, incredible, out-of-this-world guy again, and you need a warm body here. You know where to find me. Because I’ve got some flesh-eaters to destroy with my grandson.”

“Your booty call offer is duly noted,” Elle said, then shut and locked the door and walked down the hall to check on her son. Alex was sound asleep, curled up under the covers, air conditioning rattling loudly in his pigsty bedroom. His dark hair was a wild mess and would be sticking up in all directions in the morning. She bent down and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead.

“Night, sleepy boy,” she said, then left his room and returned to the living room where she sank down on the couch.

And waited.

Waited to feel the regret.

Waited to feel the shame.

Waited to feel the sting of her bad choices.

She sat, watching the clock, then closed her eyes, trying to meditate, aiming to let her mind clear so she would feel all the things she was supposed to feel after sleeping with a man like Colin. All the things that gnawed at her and vexed her. That nagged and twisted away at her heart. The things that would cement her decision to make this the last time with him.

When she opened her eyes, she didn’t feel any of those things. Not a one.

Instead, she simply felt…good.

What the hell? She wasn’t supposed to feel okay. Being with Colin broke promises. She needed to feel like shit so she wouldn’t go there again with that man.

Maybe a distraction would let the feeling sneak up on her. Leaning forward, she grabbed the game controller from the coffee table and turned on the TV. Lowering the volume so as not to wake her son, she proceeded to blast through a town of the infected, quickly clearing several blocks of zombies as night fell in video-game land. When a flesh-eater appeared out of nowhere, she panicked.

“You need to run away.”

Pausing the game, Elle leaned her head back and looked up at her son. “I do?”

With his rumpled hair, basketball shorts, and gray T-shirt, he walked around the couch, and parked himself next to her. “Yeah, you don’t have to fight the super zombies every time. If you successfully run away from them, you can level up your agility skills.”

“My agility skills suck,” Elle admitted, then added, “Why are you up?”

“Had to pee. Is that a crime?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I’ll let you know if that changes though.”

Alex laughed and grabbed the controller. “I’ll show you how to run away from the zombies.”

“Run! Run! C’mon you can do it,” she said in a rah-rah voice to the big screen.

He swiveled his head to stare at her, then rolled his eyes. Typical fourteen-year-old. “No cheering, Mom. Anyway, here’s how it’s done,” he said, turning the game back on and demonstrating his speed and skill in evading the enemy. “Now, we just need to get back to the safe house.”

“So does this count if you’re playing for me?”

He nodded. “Of course. I’m like your pinch hitter.”

“When we enter the Xbox tournament, can you just fill in for me when I get in a pickle?”

“If there’s a tournament and you’re holding out on letting me play in it, you’re in big trouble,” he said, his voice deepening on the final words as he attacked bad guys on the screen.

“Hey! Your voice just went all crazy low there,” she said, in her own imitation of a baritone. Alex had been hovering in voice-changing limbo for so long she was sure he was going to set some kind of record. While his friends paraded in and out of the home with Al Greene-esque vocal stylings as they sailed over that cusp of adolescence, Alex was still swinging in between the higher-pitched boy’s voice and the deeper notes of an older teen.

“Mom, my voice is fine,” he said then thrust the controller into her hand, his way of saying any conversation that dared to touch on the horrific topic of puberty was so over they’d need a new word for it.

“Fine, fine,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Forget I said a word about your voice.”

“It’s forgotten.” He yawned. “Try not to get killed before you get back to the safe house.”

“I’ll do my best. See you in the morning, sleepyhead.”

“See you in the morning,” he echoed, and returned to his room.