Scent

The tension in the small apartment was palpable, a thick, suffocating fog that clung to every corner. Jack stood under the cold spray of the shower, his body trembling, his mind a chaotic storm of anger, confusion, and shame. The water did little to cool the fire raging within him.

'That fucking doctor!' he thought, his teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached. 'What did he do to me?! I have to go and ask him!'

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wasn't that simple. His body refused to obey him, the relentless hardness between his legs a cruel reminder of whatever twisted experiment Doctor Odd had subjected him to. He had already tried to relieve the pressure once, but it hadn't worked. His body was a traitor, a puppet on strings he couldn't see or control.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to calm himself, but the frustration only grew. He reached down again, his movements mechanical, his mind a whirlwind of dark thoughts. 'Why won't it stop?' he thought, his desperation mounting. 'What the hell is wrong with me?!'

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Jenny sat on the edge of the bed, her face still flushed, her hands trembling. The image of Jack's arousal was burned into her mind, a vivid, unshakable memory that sent a shiver down her spine. She could still feel the heat of his body, the hardness pressing against her, the intoxicating scent that had overwhelmed her senses.

'Jack… his scent… it was too powerful…' she thought, her mind drifting despite her best efforts to stop it. 'That manly…' She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they clung to her like shadows.

Her hand moved almost of its own accord, brushing against her lower regions over her skirt. For a brief, terrifying moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might feel like—what 'he' might feel like. But then, like a slap to the face, reality came crashing down.

'What am I doing?!' she thought, her body jerking as if she'd been electrocuted. 'He's my son! I can't—I can't be doing this!'

Guilt washed over her, hot and suffocating. She jumped up from the bed, her hands clutching at her hair as if she could physically pull the thoughts from her mind. She reached for a water bottle on the nightstand, her hands shaking so badly she could barely unscrew the cap. She took a few desperate sips, the cool liquid doing little to calm the storm inside her.

'How am I supposed to face him after this?' she thought, her mind racing. The image of Jack's arousal was imprinted on her mind, a haunting reminder of the line she had almost crossed. She could still feel the pressure of his body against hers, the scent that had nearly driven her to the edge.

'If it happens again…' she thought, her stomach twisting with dread. 'If it happens again, I might not be able to control myself.'

The thought terrified her. She felt helpless, trapped in a situation she didn't understand, her own body betraying her in ways she couldn't comprehend. She bit her lip, trying to ground herself, but the tension in the air was too thick, too heavy.

The air in the house was thick, the kind of thickness that clung to your skin and made every breath feel like swallowing soup. She moved through it like a ghost, her composure a fragile mask over the storm brewing beneath. I should prepare some food, she thought, the words echoing in her mind like a mantra. It will help me take my mind off these things. The kitchen beckoned, a sanctuary of mundane tasks, and she stepped inside, her hands moving mechanically as she began to cook. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the sizzle of oil in the pan—it was all a distraction, a way to keep the creeping dread at bay.

An hour passed, maybe more. Time had a way of slipping through her fingers lately, like sand in an hourglass with a crack. She emerged from the kitchen, her heart a trapped bird fluttering against her ribs. The living room was empty. Jack wasn't there. She checked the bedroom, her footsteps too loud in the silence. Empty too. A cold finger of panic traced its way down her spine. Did he leave? Because of what happened? Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her pulse racing like a runaway train. Jack was all she had left in this world, the only tether keeping her from drifting into the void. She couldn't lose him. Not now. Not ever.

She lunged for the phone, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the screen. But then she heard it—the faint, steady patter of water. The shower. He was still in the shower. Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived. A frown creased her forehead. It's been over an hour. Is something wrong? The question gnawed at her, a splinter working its way deeper into her mind. She moved toward the bathroom, her feet silent on the carpet, her heart pounding in her ears.

"Ja—" Her hand froze mid-knock. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. The sound was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A low, rhythmic murmur, a sound that was unmistakable. Her face burned, a flush of heat spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. He's… he's masturbating. The realization hit her like a slap, and she stumbled backward, her mind a whirlwind of embarrassment and something else she couldn't quite name. She turned to flee, her legs moving of their own accord, but in her haste, her foot caught on the edge of the rug.

The world tilted. She fell hard, the impact jarring her bones, and a sharp cry tore from her throat. "Ahhh!!" The sound echoed through the house, a shrill note of pain and surprise.

In the bathroom, Jack froze. The noise shattered the fragile cocoon he'd built around himself, and his heart leapt into his throat. "Mom?!" He burst out of the bathroom, his mind a blur of panic, forgetting entirely that he was still naked. Water dripped from his hair, his chest heaving as he skidded to a stop in the hallway. There she was, crumpled on the floor, tears streaming down her face, one hand clutching her ankle. Her expression was a mask of pain, but there was something else there too—something raw and unspoken, something that made his stomach twist.

"Mom! What happened?" Jack's voice was sharp, edged with panic, as he skidded to a halt in the hallway. His eyes locked onto Jenny, crumpled on the floor like a broken doll. Tears glistened in her eyes, her hands clutching her ankle as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored to the world. Her face was a mask of pain, but there was something else there too—something deeper, something that made his stomach twist in a way he couldn't quite name.

Jenny looked up, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch and warp. A shiver raced down her spine, cold and electric, as if the air itself had turned to ice. Beads of sweat prickled on her forehead, and her face flushed a deep, burning red. Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out all other sound. Her eyes flicked downward, against her will, and then back up, but not before they had registered the sight of him—Jack, standing there, naked, his body glistening with droplets of water, his—

'No. Don't look. Don't think about it.'

"Ahh... It's... nothing," she stammered, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "I just fell suddenly. It's okay..." She forced a smile, but it was brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Panic clawed at her chest, a wild, feral thing that made it hard to breathe. She scrambled to her feet, her ankle throbbing but not broken, not twisted. She could still walk. She had to walk. Had to get away.

Her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to him again and again, drawn like a moth to a flame. She hated herself for it, hated the heat that spread through her body, the way her stomach clenched with something that wasn't quite fear. "You should go back and get dressed," she said, her voice too high, too tight. "I'm fine. Really."

It was only then that Jack seemed to realize his own state of undress. His face turned a deep, mortified red, the color spreading from his cheeks down to his neck. His mind, still fogged with panic, suddenly snapped into sharp, agonizing clarity. He turned on his heel and bolted back to the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing like gunshots in the narrow hallway.

Jenny stood there, frozen, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The house was too quiet now, the silence pressing in on her from all sides. She could still hear the faint sound of the shower running, the steady drip of water like a ticking clock. Her ankle ached, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest, the weight of something unspoken hanging heavy in the air between them.