Ginger Fox

I let the music play again, analyzing the lyrics of the song. Jon had shared the link to his playlist so I could listen to his songs. One in particular caught my attention, not for its catchy beat that sticks in your brain, but for what it says.
"Yeah, he found a revolver
In his dad’s closet, in the box of cool stuff
And I don’t even know what happened
But he’s coming for you, yeah, he’s coming for you"
With this, it's already the sixth time I’m listening to "Pumped Up Kicks," and I’m only certain that Jon is communicating through it.
"All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You’d better run, better run, outrun my gun
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You’d better run, better run, faster than my bullet"
People don’t usually analyze the lyrics of the songs they listen to, nor those that children hear. Choruses like: "I’ll put a bunch of women in my fancy car and screw them hard" might just seem like a way for boys to view their masculinity, but it still shows a lot about how they’re feeling at that moment, pressured by a world that forces them to be extremely masculine. Similarly, this lyric shows how Jon feels.
"I’ve waited a long time
Yeah, and the dexterity of my hand now pulls triggers
I’m debating with my cigarette
And I say: your hair’s on fire
You must have lost your mind, yeah"
Jon is not okay; he’s screaming for help through the melody. And no one hears the cry for help written in his sad eyes. I stare at the office door, gripping my phone in my hand. Walking here wasn’t an easy choice, especially since I wished, from the bottom of my heart, that Baby was anywhere else in this mansion, except in Mr. Roy’s office. Not because I feel ashamed, nor because I didn’t enjoy last night, but for one simple reason: the keyring that fell out of his pocket when he pulled his clothes from the drawer of the nightstand.
I’m buttoning up the dress, focusing on the black buttons to avoid looking at his naked, sweaty body walking around the room. The light, which had come back when we left the closet, brings a mix of shyness, not knowing what to say after the spectacular sex. My restless fingers go to my hair, pulling it up into a bun. Normally, I’m a chatterbox who could talk for hours because sex for me, between two people, is as natural as having coffee together. But his silence makes me hold back. He lazily walks around the room, keeping his face as expressionless as before. I lift my gaze for a moment as he approaches me and gain more clarity seeing the scar he has on his throat. I was right, it’s a long mark, spanning from one side of his throat to the other. It’s thin, with a faded color, showing that the cut is old. I step aside as he moves forward, stretching his arm and opening the old drawer of the nightstand. Jonathan pulls something from there, which I soon recognize as his spare clothes. They’re meticulously folded, but as he moves to place them on the bed, one of the pants legs unfolds, and something falls, causing a jingling sound to echo in the room. I crouch down, pick up the keyring, and look at it curiously. I raise my eyes to him, extending the keys, and see him putting on his white button-down shirt. I sigh like a cat near its owner, admiring his bare chest. Deep down, my vanity is pleased to see the marks of my nails tattooed on his chest. I’m caught by his intimidating eyes, which are staring at me, and quickly divert my attention back to the keys.
"You must get lost with so many keys when you need one," I say with a smile, trying to sound natural to break the ice.
"I know each one of them." He moves his arm, picking up the underwear on the bed and putting it on slowly.
"So many doors to memorize."
Don’t look at his cock, so you don’t seem crazy, my brain screams inside my head. Fuck it, look at his cock. It was, seconds ago, buried inside you. That second wicked thought, surely, must have come from my hungry vagina, which ended up winning with its argument and makes me glance out of the corner of my eye at the swaying of his fine specimen. Yes, my pussy is starving to have swallowed every inch of the long, thick shaft. I smile shamelessly, lowering my gaze to my feet, trying to put on my flats.

“I thought you had already noticed that the mansion has many doors, Miss Fox.”
“The mansion?” I look back at the keyring, paying more attention to it. I had seen Jonathan with that keyring before. I remember the night I discovered Bob and Lorane’s affair. But I hadn’t given it much thought at the time.
“Yes, Miss Fox.” I look at him again as he puts on his pants.
“Was that how you got into the room and left the gift box?” My fingers brush over each key, feeling the cold, hard material.
“Yes. I didn’t expect you to ask the housekeeper to deliver it, did I?” His eyes are locked onto mine in an enigmatic way.
“Don’t even smile, it brings pain... — His fingers crush the side of his shirt, scrunching his shoulders. — You prefer the dark because in the dark, no one sees. There’s nothing in the dark, only pain.”
Jon’s voice from the library echoes in my mind, so sad, feeling trapped. I turn my face toward the closet, which holds as much darkness inside it as the man who rarely smiles. Jon’s screams that first week, in the next room, made me rush there. The room was dark and filled with pain. And the door, which I was sure I had locked, was open... I had never seen Mr. Jonathan near Jon, not like Baby, who, even though not very present, always found a way to be with the boy.
No!
My heart is racing, beating irregularly. The sweat on my fingers is no longer from the heat of the explosive sex. The perspiration forming is from the horror emerging inside me.
“Ginger.” I turn my face quickly when he calls me. “The keys.”
I look at my outstretched hand, seeing my fingers squeezing the keyring just like my heart is being crushed with the dreadful suspicion. I open my fingers, letting him take the keys slowly, staring at me with such intensity that I swear he reads my thoughts.
“I have to go.” My body turns as quickly as the wind, making me run out the door.
I really didn’t want to be here, not in front of the door to this office after spending most of the morning consumed by doubts and hypotheses, which are just tangling in my mind. It’s like pulling on a ball of yarn—the more I pull, the more it unravels, leading nowhere, to no conclusion. I raise my fingers to my neck, knowing that the bruises from the choker are visible, even though I’m trying to hide them with my hair.
“Where are you headed, Jon?” I whisper, startled when the door opens.
I am met by a pair of enigmatic blue eyes. Mr. Roy has his familiar stern face, a perfectly tailored black suit enhancing the dark aura he carries. He stares at me in silence. My fingers move away from my neck, and I pull out my earphones and remove them from my ear. The movement clears my hair from my throat, drawing his attention to it, as if he’s analyzing a screen.
“Past mistakes are meant to stay behind, Jonathan.” Baby’s voice comes out loud, moving behind him. “Gim?”
My eyes go to her, appearing at the door next to Jonathan.
“I need to talk to you.” She remains silent, just like her brother, looking at me with a lost expression. “Baby, I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, of course!” She smiles, laughing at me. “I got confused for a second, not knowing if you were talking to me or Roy.”
“It’s you. Lira told me you were here.” I look away from her, unable to handle the intensity of Jonathan’s gaze. My hand rises, pulling my hair back to cover my neck, and I feel my shoulders shrinking, feeling cornered. “If you’re not busy, I’d like it to be now.”
“Sure, it can be now.” Baby walks past him, leaving the office and coming toward me.
“Is something wrong, Miss Fox?” The authoritative voice comes out strong, making me feel like I’m in an interrogation.
“No... I, well...” My fingers go to the back pocket of my jeans, and I keep my eyes down at my sneakers. “I just need to talk to Baby, Mr. Roy.”
“Oh, stop being nosy, Jonathan. You’re becoming just like that crazy, gossipy Aunt Charlotte.” Baby raises her arms, passing by my shoulders and moving away from the door.
I muster the courage to look back just once as we’re about to turn into the other hallway. The stern man is standing in the corridor, facing his door, with his hands in his pockets, staring at me. I turn my face back forward as quickly as a flash of light.

“Come on, we can talk better in my room.” I grab Baby’s arm, shaking my head negatively.
“NO!” I don’t mean to shout or sound so anxious, I just need to talk to her where I know no one will overhear us. “Let’s talk on the beach…”
She looks at me anxiously, nodding her head in agreement.