Greyson

Zoe

Sunlight warmed my face, washing the inside of my eyelids with a soft pink glow. Sleeplessness befuddled my mind. Pins and needles prickled my arms. Isaac groaned, rolling off my numb limb. I shifted him off me, twisting towards the clock.

Fuck. The stupid clock blasted its time at my face in full force green LCD. I bolted upright, grabbing Isaac.

"Isaac, we're late. Wake-up."

Isaac groaned, turning to his side, throwing his arms over his head, muffling my desperate pleas. Soft snores drifted from his mouth.

"Harry, Bella" I pounced from the bed, crashing into the nightstand. A half-empty glass of stale water smashed to the floor, hitting a crusty plate and exploding into millions of shards over the dusty carpet. "Harry, Bella, UP. NOW. We're late." I turned my attention back to Isaac, prising the worn, discoloured sheets from his tiny fingers.

"Isaac, if you're late again we go back on an improvement plan, please, wake up."

My ten-year-old child growled, spinning himself a cocoon from the duvet. It was going to be one of those days. Again.

I snatched the edge of the duvet. Isaac toppled out of his cosy duvet hiding place, landing in a sprawled heap in the middle of the second-hand double bed.

"It's not my fault my mother is a loser," he accused, creeping towards the edge of the bed with the haste of injured snail, "it's your fault we're always late. You can't do anything right and I hate you. I wish I was still in care."

Teeth clamped firmly around my tongue, I left the room, counting back from ten. Child services and the know-it-all child psychologist they thrust on Isaac frown upon me badmouthing his parents. Days like today, I wonder if he's right if I am a loser who ruins everything. His dad sure as shit thought so but I'm not the one who died of over an overdose when he was six months old or got myself banged up a month after regaining custody of him.

Harry stumbled from the room he shared with Bella, wiping his bleary eyes with a sticky fist, one foot encased in a grubby black shoe, the other naked.

"Mommy, I can't find my shoe."

"Did you look in the hall?"

He ambled downstairs, scratching his head. Isaac finally made a move, storming to the bathroom, slamming the door. The paper-thin walls shook. Bella screamed.

"Isaac frightened me and I dropped my yoghurt. I stained my dress." A splotch of creamy, pink yoghurt marred her sky-blue school dress. Tearful green eyes pleaded with me. "Mommy, I need a new dress. Mine is sticky and wet, it’s on my belly, mommy, it’s on my belly! It’s touching me and it’s wet."

Her lower lip protruded, she writhed on spot, whimpering.

"Well, you only have one dress, Bella, come on, we'll get you cleaned up. Isaac," I yelled through the bathroom door. "Help Harry find his shoe."

"You’re all so stupid. Bella cries all the time, Harry can find nothing and you're an idiot."

"Fine, but this idiot needs your help, or she'll lose her stupid job again and her loser kid won't get to go on his school trip."

Leaned against the bathroom doorframe, his cherubic face crumpled.  Tears glittered in his eyes. He slunk downstairs, muttering about Harry's shoe. I despise myself. I'm not fit to be a mother. Someone should do my kids a favor and take them away from me. Bella's wailing increased tenfold. 

"I need another dress."

She doesn't have another dress. I'm a failure. We can't afford school dresses, or spare shoes or class trips. Fuck, there are days when I feel like I can't afford to fucking breathe.

"Come on, Belle, we'll clean your dress."

It didn't work, cleaning her dress meant water, water meant her dress got wetter. It got on her belly, it made her squirm, it made the butterflies in her tummy act funny. It was the best I could do. With a tea towel shoved down her dress, Harry in the wrong shoes and Isaac committed to a vow of silence we made it to the car five minutes after school let in and three minutes away from my start time at work. With any luck my boss wouldn’t be in early, the other staff wouldn’t tell him. On my last warning for timekeeping after only six weeks employed there, my next fuck-up is the last I'll get away with.

“I’m sorry,” my eyes darted between Isaac and the road. A swanky new Jag pulled out in front of us. Unnerved by the fancy car, I eased off the gas.  “You’re not a loser, Isaac, you’re amazing. It was wrong of me to call you and I promise I will find a way to get you on your class trip.”

“I hate you.”

“Well, that’s a shame because I love you to the moon and back.”

Bella erupted in the backseat. High-pitched, ear-splitting squeals filled my tiny car.

“Mommy, he’s touching me.”

“Bella’s on my side, her hair keeps going in my mouth.”

“I’m on my own side. Ow. Stop it. Mommy, he’s pulling my hair.”

The chaos-filled my brain, crushing my concentration under its heavy decibels. On the verge of another outburst, Isaac covered his ears, his foot tapping frenetically. My eyes and body ached with sleep deprivation. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a full night without Isaac crawling into my bed in the dead of night, curling his vulnerable body around me, whimpering and crying out in his sleep.

“Stop, both of you stop.”

I leaned into the back to pull Harry off Bella.

“Brake!” Isaac yelled. Metal crunched. Glass smashed. Harry and Bella wailed. My head hit the steering wheel hard. A searing pain cracked across my forehead.

“My neck hurts,” Isaac told me. I lifted my head slowly, praying I hit a parking bollard and not the midnight black, shiny Jaguar.

“Fuck. Fuck, shit and bollocks.”

Concertinaed into the back of the Jag, my car was totalled. The Jag didn’t fare much better. I prised the driver’s door open, my palms clammy and my heart racing. In my wrecked car, Bella wailed, Harry chanted shit and bollocks and Isaac sat dazed, rubbing his neck. I walked to the side of the Jag. A giant man, no a God, definitely a God, stepped out of the expensive car. A well-fitted, high-quality suit covered his broad, muscular frame. His square shoulders were tight, his lush, soft lips pulled into a hard line. He examined the back of his car, shaking his head before locking his ice-blue eyes on me. My pussy clenched. I dug my nails into my fist, fighting to shock myself back to my senses.

How? How, Zoe, how can you think of sex now?

I didn’t brush my hair this morning, my face is drawn and pallid and I’m in the presence of a male model. A fitness model if his body is anything to go by.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. The kids were fighting in the back and I…”

He reached into his glossy, slate grey suit jacket, pulling out a pristine, silver iPhone.

“I’ll need your insurance details.” He tapped at his phone, lifting it to his ear.

“You’re calling the cops?”

“No, I’m calling an ambulance. You said there are children. They need medical attention, we can report the accident later. Write down your details, please.”

He handed me a black notebook. The front is embossed with gold lettering. Greyson Elliot. Slack-jawed, I glanced at the notebook, then cast my gaze over the God before me. It can’t be? It’s not possible. He has Greyson’s eyes but nothing else. Greyson Elliot is a scrawny, acne-ridden geek and dirt poor. And I haven’t laid eyes on him in a decade.

“Is there a problem, Miss?”

Apart from I can’t remember when I last paid my car insurance and we have no medical cover, no.

“Greyson, grotty Greyson Elliot?” The words slipped from my mouth before my brain kicked into gear. A heat so hot it threatened to burn Greyson where he stood crept over my cheeks.

Nice one, Zoe, first you annihilate his new car then you insult him. Why don’t you try stamping on his fine leather shoes next or snatching the Rolex off his wrist and smashing it off the ground?

His lips pursed, he fixed me with a cold, hard glare.

“Yes, that’s me, grotty Greyson, also known as grimy Greyson, Greyson Smelliot and Smelly Elliot. I tend to go by Greyson or Mr Elliot these days. You can call me Mr Elliot. I assume we went to school together?”

“Zoe, Zoe Smithson.”

“Uh-huh. Insurance details.” He tapped a manicured finger on the leather-bound notebook. His coldness towards me came as no surprise. My former social circle made his life Hell, his sister’s too. I didn’t actively join in, but I did nothing to stop it or to help him. I scribbled the name of my insurance company and my personal details and shoved the notebook back. His diamond-encrusted Rolex read 8:45 am. My shift started at 8:30 am.

“The kids are fine and late. I need to get them to school.”

Greyson seized my arm, curling his fingers around my bicep.

“The paramedics are going to be a while. They suggest driving to the nearest hospital. St Mary’s isn’t far and my car may still work. Let me take you there.”

“Really, there’s no need. They’re fine.”

Isaac stumbled out of my car, his face sheet white, complaining of nausea.

“Miss Smithson, I insist.” He tightened his grip on my arm.

“Honestly, we’re all fine.” I struggled to free myself from his death grip.

“Look, you have two choices, I can drive you to the ER and ensure your children receive the care they need, or I can call the Police and Child Protective Services. What’s it to be?”

I cast my gaze down, grinding my worn sneaker into the glass-covered tarmac. I couldn’t find the right colour socks this morning. A pink toe peeked through the hole in my black running shoe.

“My medical insurance isn’t up to date. I can’t afford the ER.”

“Fine, there’s a free clinic close to my office. I’ll take you there.”

He dragged me to my car and freed Harry and Bella from their second hand, filthy car seats. Bella proudly pointed out the pink stain on her dress. Harry asked Greyson if he was rich and if so could he please buy him some new school shoes because I lost his. They might, he thinks, be buried under the laundry mountain in the bathroom. If they are he won’t ever find them again. I wished for a car to wipe me off the road and end my misery. Isaac hopped into the front of the damaged Jaguar.

“Nice car Mr,” he cooed, brushing his hand over the soft, leather interior.

“It was when I left the house.”

The excruciating drive lasted five, awful, humiliating minutes.

“I will escort you inside,” Greyson slipped from the driver’s seat to open my passenger door. He didn’t trust me to get the kids checked over. He stayed at my side until the first child was called to see the doctor.

“Goodbye, Miss Smithson.”

Those were the only three words he uttered to me since he announced he’d escort me into the clinic. My boss texted me, letting me know I didn’t need to bother coming in today or ever again. I could pick my wages up at the end of the week. The kids made it to school by ten. I doubted my day could get any worse then I remembered Greyson Elliot would be calling my car insurance company only to learn my policy expired months ago. I’m going to jail. My kids are going to care and there’s shit I can do to stop it.  School shoes and tardiness are the last of my concerns right now.