His mother is waiting for him

By the time Jaden stumbled through the front door of their quiet two-story house, he was heaving for air, he’d sprinted the entire way from campus. Sweat soaked his hoodie, plastered his black hair to his forehead and dripped down his temples. His legs felt like jelly; every step had been pure adrenaline since the library door slammed shut behind him.

He crashed into the foyer, kicking the door closed with his heel and staggered straight toward the warm glow spilling from the dining room.

Dr. Nadia Hayes sat at the polished oak table, a half-eaten plate of chicken curry and rice in front of her, fork paused mid-air. She looked up at the sudden noise and for a split second her face lit with the soft, familiar smile she always saved just for him, warm brown eyes crinkling behind her stylish, thin-rimmed glasses, full lips curving gently. Even at forty-three she was stunning: golden-brown skin that glowed under the light, long silky black hair pulled into a loose ponytail that brushed her shoulders, elegant curves hugged by a simple cream blouse and navy lounge pants. D-cup breasts that sat high and full even in casual clothes, a slim waist from years of yoga and that quiet, composed beauty that made people do double-takes when they learned she was someone’s mom.

“Jaden? Sweetheart, you’re—” Her smile faltered the instant she really saw him: drenched, wild-eyed, breathing haggard. The fork clattered to the plate. “What happened?”

He couldn’t get the words out right. They tumbled over each other in a frantic, barely coherent mess.

“Mom—the club—Mother’s Comic Book Club—it’s not comics—it’s—it’s them—Mrs. Moreno—they’re—they’re dressed—superheroines—and they’re—they’re fucking the guys—Zack—he has this—this thing—a penlight—and it—tizes them—makes them think—he—he made me—and Quickie—blowjob—and he wants Mrs. Reed—and I—I—”

Nadia was already on her feet, crossing the room in quick, calm strides. She caught him by the shoulders before his knees could buckle completely, guiding him gently but firmly to the table.

“Shhh, baby. Breathe. Just breathe with me.”

Her voice was that same soothing, measured tone she used with her patients, the one that always cut through panic. She eased him into the chair next to hers, one hand rubbing slow circles on his back, the other cupping the side of his face so he had to meet her eyes.

“In through your nose… hold… out through your mouth. Again. Good boy. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Ever since he’d bolted from the library, all he’d wanted, needed, was to get back to her. She was a psychologist. If anyone could make sense of this nightmare, if anyone could help him figure out how to stop it, it was her.

She kept the gentle touches going: thumb stroking his cheek, fingers threading through his damp hair, grounding him until his breathing slowed and the shaking in his limbs eased to a tremble.

When he could finally speak without gasping, she sat back slightly but kept one hand on his knee.

“Okay. Start from the beginning. Tell me everything. No detail is too small. I’m listening.”

So he did.

He spared nothing.

The rejection at the door. The complaint to Elena. Following her. The ventilation window. The women in coats and masks. The costumes, crude, obscene versions of comic heroines. The blowjobs, the fucking, the moans. Elena kneeling, bowing, calling Zack “Captain.” The origin story narration. The penlight explanation. Zack’s threat. The device pressed into his hand. Although he did leave out the “reward” blowjob from Gemma that had him cumming in under two minutes like some pathetic teenager.

When he finished, voice hoarse, he pulled the small fob from his pocket and set it on the table between them.

Nadia stared at it for a long moment. Then she nodded once, slow, thoughtful.

“Relax, sweetheart,” she said quietly. “Eat something. You’re shaking from low blood sugar on top of everything else. Then shower and go to bed. I’ll take care of the rest.”