Ginger Fox

When I step out of the shower, drying my hair, with every muscle in my body limp and sore, the sun is already shining outside the window, illuminating the entire room. I glance at the bed and see Jon sleeping on his stomach, a thin trail of drool escaping from his mouth. I smile, grateful that he’s a heavy sleeper. It had taken some time to clean my sticky, messy body after quickly tidying up the kitchen, returning the table to its place after it had been dragged around due to the rough movements on top of it. The empty cake dish had been washed and stored away as evidence of a heinous crime, which Jonathan had used to the last crumb to smear on me. Just like last time, he remained silent, not saying a word; his eyes met mine only once after sex, just to hand me my phone that had fallen to the floor, ending up under the cabinet. And I couldn’t help but laugh at how dirty he looked, with chocolate syrup stuck even in his eyebrows. I reached out, wiping his brow, and then brought my finger to my lips before running out of the kitchen, just before the employees arrived to start the workday, leaving him there. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking back when I heard what might have been a chuckle. Jonathan was holding the rag that used to be my nightgown, swinging it in the air, pleased to know that under the robe, I was only wearing a pair of panties with loose elastics. I felt like a silly teenager, getting lost in the soft, carefree way he laughed. I smiled in response, hugged myself to hold the fabric tighter against my body, and ran up the stairs, straight to my room. I grabbed a pair of leggings, a t-shirt, and panties from the closet and locked myself in the bathroom.
"Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s almost time for breakfast." I pinch Jon’s toe, hearing what must be a groan. He pulls the blanket over his head, showing no sign of getting up.
I finish drying my hair, drop the towel on the side of the dresser, and walk over to the wardrobe to get a pair of sneakers. I use the dresser as support to put on my shoes, but the shaky movement makes me look at it. I watch it sway back and forth, noticing that it’s really wobbly. I walk to the side, stretching my neck. The wardrobe is three fingers away from the wall. A chill runs down my spine. I didn’t leave it like that. I push it back against the wall to block the door that divides the rooms.
"Jon... JON?" My gaze turns to the boy, who uncovers his head, looking at me sleepily when I call him urgently. "Did you move the wardrobe to try to get into your room?"
Jon just looks at me, confused, shaking his head no. Then he covers his head again and buries himself under the blankets. My fingers are sweaty, trembling, and my muscles, which had been relaxed, are now tense. A cold shiver runs down my spine, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I lean my back against the wardrobe, pushing it back until it unlocks the wall. I’m in shock, staring at the open door that connects the rooms. Someone had entered Jon’s room, someone had moved the wardrobe. Maybe the fear of the furniture toppling over and making a loud noise had stopped them. I cover my face, breathing nervously. I wasn’t here; Jon had been alone. Someone knew he was unprotected. I had let my guard down because I knew Bob hadn’t returned. My legs move slowly, entering his room. Everything is just as I left it, organized. I go straight to the door, checking that it’s locked. I know it wasn’t Jonathan who came into the room because he was with me. My frightened body turns to head back to my room with my heart racing, but I don’t move; I can’t lift my leg to leave the spot. The room is completely organized, but there’s one thing that wasn’t there before: the stain in the center of Jon’s bed. Between long breaths, squeezing my fingers around the hem of my dress, my entire body is frozen, from the tips of my toes to the last strand of hair on my head. I approach, looking closely at the viscous liquid that stained the sheet. I bring my hand to my mouth, muffling my scream of terror. I don’t need to touch it; I know what it is. Something inside me screams uncontrollably.
Someone had masturbated on Jon’s bed.


***


"We should tell Mr. Roy the truth," I whisper to Baby as she stops in front of me.
She looks at me silently, then turns her attention to Jon, who is pulling out a chair to sit in the dining room.
"About Jon?" I nod at her, scratching my neck, feeling uneasy. "I think someone..."
"Good morning, family." We both turn to Bob's greeting as he walks past us, pulling out a chair on the other side of the table, sitting directly across from Jon.
My jaw clenches, feeling disgusted and nauseated. What time did this little shit get back to the mansion?
"Are you two going to let this old woman starve for much longer?" Aunt Charlotte, sitting three chairs away from Bob, glares at us, scolding us with her eyes.
"We’ll talk later," I whisper to the blonde beside me.
Baby sighs, rolling her eyes and taking my hand, leading us to the breakfast table.
"Haven’t you eaten enough in your long existence, old woman?" I sit next to Jon, who tries to stifle a laugh at the barbs Baby and the elderly aunt are exchanging.
"Don’t provoke me, freak." Aunt Charlotte raises her wrinkled finger, wagging it in the air towards Baby.
I pour Jon a glass of juice and pull a cup towards myself. I lift my gaze to the little shit across the table, who’s staring at me with a mocking expression, making my mouth tighten with disgust.
"Is that sweet smell coming from you?" My face turns toward Baby, who’s lifting a strand of my hair and sniffing it. "You smell like chocolate all over, Gim."
My cheeks burn under my skin, making me shrug and avoid her eyes.
"I used a new cream," I reply softly, bringing the coffee cup to my lips. "Jon, do you want toast?"
"What’s its name?" Baby is still staring at me, looking curious, even though I try to avoid her gaze, focusing on passing the toast to Jon with a guilty expression.
"But I don’t want any." Jon shakes his head, looking at me in confusion.
"Eat," I whisper through gritted teeth to hide my embarrassment.
"Gim, I asked you a question," Baby insists, sipping her orange juice while keeping her eyes fixed on my face.
"What?" I’m having a nervous breakdown; I feel my skin itching all over from the anxiety.
"The cream, what’s its name? I like it, and I want to see if I can buy it for myself." I wrinkle my nose, imagining the horror poor Aunt Charlotte would experience, sitting on the other side of the table, if I told Baby that my scent was chocolate frosting mixed with Mr. Roy’s cum.
"I forgot the name..." That tiny, almost inaudible sound is my voice, strangled, not knowing what to say.
Baby’s attention shifts to the movements at the end of the table, stopping at Jonathan, who is dragging his chair.
"Good morning, everyone." He’s polite, focusing only on sitting down, with all of us responding.
Jonathan turns his head, locking eyes with Bob, and his face immediately turns grim.
"Good morning, my dear. How was your night?" Aunt Charlotte coddles him, looking at him kindly.
I return my gaze to my coffee just as his blue eyes land on me.
"Delicious."
Son of a bitch! I almost spit out my coffee when I hear his deep voice say that word. Baby turns her attention back to my hair, playing with a strand while chattering about how shiny and silky it is, and that she’ll stop by my room later to check the brand of the cream.
"I’m glad you slept well..." Aunt Charlotte’s sentence is cut short by the maid’s entrance. She raises her head to Lira, who whispers something in her ear quickly before leaving the dining room as quietly as she had entered.