Nora Goes to College

Nora’s fingers dug into the steering wheel, her nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in the leather. The phone pressed to her ear felt like a lump of burning coal, Michael’s voice crackling through with that same infuriating tone he always used when he thought she was being stupid.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Michael,” she snapped, her voice trembling but sharp enough to cut glass. “I’ve tried everything you just said. It’s not starting.”

“Did you even check the battery connections?” His voice was tinny, impatient, and dripping with condescension. “Or are you just sitting there like a helpless little princess waiting for someone else to fix it?”

Her jaw clenched so hard she could feel the muscles in her neck tighten. “Yes, I checked the damn connections,” she lied, her throat dry as sandpaper. She hadn’t touched the hood. She didn’t care about the car. All she cared about was the fact that she couldn’t go back. Not to him. Not to that house. Not to the life where she was second best to their slutty neighbor who probably laughed at her behind her back. “Nothing’s working. I’ll just… stay here for the night. I’m already at Jack’s college.” She swallowed hard, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. Not because she didn’t want to stay. Because she couldn’t bear the thought of going back. “I’ll sleep with Jack tonight.”

“Well, maybe you should try again,” he shot back, his tone rising. “Or do I have to drive down there and do it myself? Christ, Nora, it’s not rocket science.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her chest tightening. “Oh, sure, Michael. Because you’re such a genius, aren’t you? Except when it comes to keeping your dick in your pants.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, and then his voice came back low and dangerous. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. The dam had broken, and all the anger she’d been swallowing for months came pouring out. “I found your texts, Michael. I saw the pictures. How long has it been? A year? Two? Or were you just waiting for me to catch you so you could finally stop pretending to give a shit about me?”

He scoffed, but she could hear the unease creeping into his tone. “You’re imagining things, Nora. You’re always looking for something to be mad about. Maybe if you weren’t so paranoid—”

“Paranoid?” she screamed, her voice echoing in the empty car. “You think I’m paranoid because I caught you screwing her? God, you’re pathetic. Do you even remember our anniversary last year? Or were you too busy bending her over while I was home alone next door?”

“That’s enough!” he roared, his voice booming through the speakers. “You want to talk about pathetic? How about the time you screamed Jack’s name while I was inside you? Huh? Was that my fault too?”

The memory hit her like a punch to the gut, hot shame flooding her cheeks. She gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white. “That was one time! And I was drunk! At least I didn’t make a habit of it like you did!”

“Oh, sure, because getting wasted and fantasizing about our son is totally normal behavior,” he sneered. “Real classy, Nora. Real motherly.”

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her temples. “At least I never cheated on you with the neighbor, you fat, worthless sack of shit! At least I didn’t lie to your face every day for years while you played house with her!”

“You think you’re innocent?” he shot back, his voice rising to match hers. “You think screaming ‘Jack!’ while I’m fucking you is something I can just forget? And now you’re sleeping with him tonight. I bet your car is just fine and you’re just lying to me so you can go fuck our son! You’re disgusting, Nora! You’re sick!”

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You’re such a piece of shit!” she spat, her voice shaking with rage. “Maybe I will fuck Jack, just to piss you off, you cheating bastard! We’re done, Michael. The next time you see me will be with my lawyer to sign the divorce papers!”

She slammed her finger down on the end call button, cutting off whatever retort he was about to throw at her. The silence that followed was deafening. Her hands trembled as she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. She stared at the dashboard, the weight of twenty years crashing down on her all at once.

And then she screamed—a raw, guttural sound that tore through the quiet of the car. Her fists pounded against the steering wheel, each blow reverberating through her body until she slumped forward, her forehead resting against the cool leather. Tears streamed down her face, hot and unrelenting, as the reality of what she’d just done sank in.

It was over. All of it. The marriage. The lies. The pretense. And as much as it hurt, as much as it felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest, there was a strange, twisted sense of relief mixed in with the pain.

She sat there for what felt like hours, her mind racing, her body numb. And then, slowly, she straightened up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was late. Too late to drive anywhere, even if she wanted to.

With a shaky breath, she reached for her purse and pulled out her keys. She stepped out of the car, the cool night air hitting her like a slap, and started walking back toward Jack’s dorm.

She didn’t look back.

“Mom?” He said when she knocked on his door. “Are you okay? I thought you left.”

Nora hesitated, her heart pounding. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. My car won’t start. I was just… trying to figure out what to do.”

Jack frowned, his brow furrowing. “Why didn’t you call Dad? He could’ve helped.”

Her stomach twisted at the mention of Michael. “I… did,” she admitted, her voice faltering. “He couldn’t fix it over the phone. Turns out, there are some things even he can’t solve.” The bitterness in her tone was impossible to hide. “Looks like I’m stuck here for the night. I’ll call for a tow tomorrow.”

Jack studied her for a moment, his piercing blue eyes searching hers. Even in the dim light, she could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his shoulders stiffened. He saw through her. Of course he did. He always had.

“Come inside,” he said finally, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s late. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Nora nodded, though the idea of facing another day filled her with dread. Jack stepped aside to let her in. The small space was sparsely furnished, a desk cluttered with textbooks and takeout containers, a futon, a miniature fridge, a bunk bed built into the wall, the top bunk empty, missing even a mattress. A single lamp glowed in the corner, casting soft shadows across the room.

“You can take my bed,” Jack offered. “I’ll crash on the futon.”

Nora shook her head, her throat tight. “No, sweetheart. I can’t kick you out of your own bed. The futon is fine for me.”

Jack’s expression softened, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. For a moment, he looked so much like the little boy she used to tuck into bed at night that it nearly broke her heart. “Mom, seriously. Take the bed. You need a good night’s sleep. Besides…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You’ve spent enough nights on the couch.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Tears welled up in her eyes again, and this time, she didn’t try to stop them. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. He tensed for a moment, surprised, but then his arms came around her, holding her tight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair. “It’s okay, Mom,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Nora clung to Jack, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as she breathed in his scent—clean and masculine, with a faint hint of cologne. His chest was firm against hers, his heartbeat steady and strong. She could feel the heat radiating from him, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Her mind wandered back to that night, the one Michael had thrown in her face. The memory of screaming Jack’s name while Michael was inside her still burned with shame, but also… something else. Something forbidden.

Nora’s breath hitched as she pressed herself closer to Jack, her mind racing with memories she had tried so hard to hide. It wasn’t the first time she had thought of him this way—far from it. Over the past few years, something had shifted, like a slow, insidious tide creeping up on her until she was drowning in thoughts she couldn’t escape. He had changed. God, how he had changed. The little boy who used to cling to her hand at the park, who would crawl into her bed after a nightmare, had vanished. In his place stood a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that seemed to see straight through her.

She remembered the first time she noticed it. He had come home from basketball practice, shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest as he grabbed a drink from the fridge. She had been standing at the sink, washing dishes, when he walked by, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Her hands had stilled, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes traced the lines of his muscles, the way his body moved with a grace that was almost predatory. She had felt a flush creep up her neck, a warmth pooling low in her belly with an intensity that she hadn’t felt in years.

That night, alone in her bed, she had touched herself for the first time in months, her fingers slipping between her thighs as images of Jack filled her mind. His hands on her hips, his lips trailing down her neck, his voice rough and low as he whispered her name. She had cum hard, biting her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape, shame and desire warring within her. But the shame hadn’t lasted long. Soon, the fantasies became more frequent, and more vivid. She would imagine him walking into the kitchen while she cooked, pressing her against the counter, his hands sliding under her shirt as he kissed her hungrily. She would picture him pulling her onto his lap while they watched TV, his cock hard beneath her as she ground against him, both of them pretending nothing was happening.

The fantasies grew darker, more explicit. She imagined kneeling in front of him, unbuttoning his pajama pants, and taking him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groaned above her. She thought about him bending her over the couch, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her, filling her completely. She dreamed of waking up to find him in her bed, his body covering hers, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

Every time Michael touched her, she closed her eyes and pretended it was Jack. Every time she came, it was Jack’s name on her lips, not her husband’s. And now, here she was, wrapped in his arms, the scent of him surrounding her, the heat of his body seeping into hers. Her heart pounded, her skin tingled, and she knew—she knew—that she couldn’t leave without tasting him, without feeling him, just once.

Her fingers tightened in his shirt, her nails digging into the fabric as she tilted her head back to look up at him. His eyes were dark and intense. For a moment, she thought he might pull away, might see the hunger in her gaze and recoil. But he didn’t. Instead, his grip on her tightened, his hand moving lower to rest on the small of her back, sending a shiver down her spine.

She pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on his arms as she looked up at him. His jawline was sharp, his lips full and inviting. God, when had he gotten so beautiful? Her heart raced as she realized how close they were standing, how easy it would be to tilt her head just a little and press her lips to his.

Did she dare? Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but she squashed them down, as she always did when she was near Jack. No. Fantasies were one thing, but acting on them was going too far.

Even still, she found herself planning how she would do it, if she were to finally let herself indulge. Her plan was simple, get him drunk, as well as herself, then fuck his brains out. It was beautiful in its simplicity. No straight man on earth could refuse a naked woman throwing herself at him, even if that woman was his mother, especially if that woman was his mother for many of them. And the alcohol would provide plausible deniability if things went wrong. She let herself imagine slowly undressing for him, his eyes turning from shock to desire. She imagined pressing her naked body against him, feeling his hard cock against her.

She pulled herself away from him, and away from her fantasy. She didn’t have the courage. She never did.

“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “And I mean the hard stuff. And don’t tell me you don’t have any, I know what college is like.”

Jack hesitated, his cheeks flushing pink. “Uh… yeah,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He turned and opened the freezer of his mini-fridge, pulling out a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka. “Sorry, no glasses,” he said, holding it out to her.

Nora took the bottle, her fingers brushing against his. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she quickly lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a long swig. The alcohol burned her throat, but it was exactly what she needed—liquid courage.

“Don’t need them,” she said, smirking and handing the bottle back to him. “I need to get drunk. Know any drinking games we can play?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her sudden shift in mood. “Uh… sure,” he said slowly, taking a cautious sip from the bottle. “Truth or Dare? Or maybe Never Have I Ever?”

Nora’s pulse quickened as Jack handed her the bottle of vodka, their fingers brushing for a moment. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol filled the air, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. She took a long swig, the burn in her throat calming her.

She thought about her choices. Truth or Dare seemed too risky, too bold, and too many chances for things to go wrong. But Never Have I Ever would be a great opportunity to share some quality time with her son, learning about his life at college the past few months, while also giving her an opportunity to share things about herself, make him see her as a woman with her own passions and desires rather than just a mom.

“Never Have I Ever sounds fun,” Nora said, her voice light but laced with a nervous edge. She patted the spot beside her on the futon, her stomach fluttering when Jack sat down, his thigh brushing hers. The room was quiet except for the hum of the mini-fridge and the occasional footsteps echoing down the hall outside. She could feel the warmth of his body so close to hers, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Focus, Nora, she told herself, though her mind was already racing ahead, imagining what might happen if she let herself go even just a little.

Jack grinned, taking the bottle back and tipping it to his lips. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Never have I ever… skipped class.”

Nora rolled her eyes but laughed, reaching for the bottle. “Guilty,” she admitted, taking a sip. The vodka burned, but not as much as the first swallow had. She smirked, leaning slightly closer, her knee brushing his. “Never have I ever… cheated on a test.”

Jack groaned, taking another drink. His cheeks flushed faintly, and he avoided her gaze. “Once. But it was for a class I hated. And I regretted it immediately.”

She chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “I won’t tell your professors,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. Her heart raced as their arms touched, the heat of his skin seeping through his shirt. She could smell his cologne, subtle but intoxicating, and it made her head spin. God, he smells good. “Your turn.”

He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Never have I ever… gotten a tattoo.”

Nora’s eyes lit up, and she reached for the bottle again. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped them around the neck. “Oh, I have one,” she said, her tone playful. “A little butterfly on my ass.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, and he let out a surprised laugh. “No way. You? A tattoo? I can’t picture it.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she held his gaze, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, her voice teasing but with an undercurrent of something more. Her fingers traced the rim of the bottle absently, her mind wandering. What else don’t you know, Jack? What would you think if you knew how much I’ve fantasized about you? “I got it during a bachelorette party for your aunt. Your dad hated it. I came home all drunk and covered in oil from the male stripper.” She giggled, the memory flooding back—the laughter, the freedom, the way Michael had scowled when he saw the tiny butterfly peeking out from beneath her panties.

Jack guffawed and fell back onto the futon laughing, his whole body shaking with mirth. For a moment, he looked like the little boy she used to tickle until he couldn’t breathe. The sight made her chest ache with a strange mix of nostalgia and longing.

“My turn,” she said once they stopped laughing, her voice dropping slightly.