My Psycho Stepson and me

I had eventually succumbed to sleep after eating the sandwich and throwing the wrapping paper out of the window as far as I could.

If Thomas had gotten handsy again during this night, I wouldn't know, but no suspicious marks besides the one he left with my 'agreement' were found, and my lady parts didn't feel molested.

So that was good news. The bad news was that I had no idea what my next punishment would entail, and honestly, currently, I am inclined to remain obedient.

I tried to hypnotize myself with the hope that I would be free after a year, and that at least my cat and new loot were with me. Yet, I have no idea where the treasures from my apartment were.

And I had a job. 

There is not so much difference to my old life, besides the psychos hovering above me. Although, now I am more in favor of my stepson, who not only showed worry (that was the reason for his first appearance yesterday...was it?) he also brought me food. 

Better than the creep with whom I am being forced to share a bed.

The maid came to get me out of the bed, this time unfriendly, with a bellow again. And she wasn't empty-handed, bringing a bouquet of red flowers; in my eyes, it was the red-flag-bouquet I had pictured coming to life and haunting me, bundled up prettily. 

Ignoring it, I asked her,

"Where are the cat food and the cat litter?"

She looked at me as if I had gone mad.

"For what reason would you need that?"

"For my cat." I stood up from the bed and closed in on her,

"Are you saying that you want to starve my cat? No way, that couldn't possibly be what you meant, could it?"

Her head moved downwards more than it was already, with each step I took toward her.

"I will get to it." She answered a bit meekly.

Nodding in satisfaction, I wanted to clothe myself. However, the maid waved the bouquet before my eyes.

"Master presented you with these." There was pure bitterness in her voice, nearly letting me scream out that she just should come and get her love the hell away from me.

"Put them somewhere." The trash or toilet would be my personal recommendation.

Not looking at her reaction, I took the next earth - toned dress out of the closet. Now that I knew of my existence as a substitute, I found these dresses just as sickening as their buyer, betting that my presumed mother had loved that style.

I went downstairs for breakfast; Jude was already waiting. Seeing no husband I rejoiced quite a bit.

However, that changed when I realized that we were the only two people sitting in the dining room, and moreover, facing each other.

I felt strangely stripped by his gaze, so I looked up. He was staring at my neck in the same unsettling manner his father had done, creeping me out.

"You have to cover it up." He commented before starting to eat.

Reaching for that spot he referred to, which hopefully would just go and fall off, I noticed that I hadn't even washed my face or brushed my teeth, going directly downstairs, because of that not seeing my reflection.

The moment I wanted to stand up, Jude had tabbed his mouth with the napkin elegantly and was on his long legs himself

Confused, I remained seated, until he turned back,

"Coming?"

Did he want to help me put a plaster on? In the midst of declining, Jude gave me no way out,

"My father is already at work."

Sighing at my inability to get his voice separated from him, I followed upstairs, suddenly standing in his room, while he went to the bathroom, probably to get that promised plaster.

I didn't want to sneak around and look at his things unasked, so I stood like a statue and stared at the floor.

Until I saw the black sneaker in my view and looked up. Jude was closer than I thought.

"Sit on the bed."

Ugh, a teenage-bed. It should be full of sperm and the juices of that girl from before. No, thank you.

"Just give me the plaster, and I'll do it myself."

"I think that was the longest you have talked to me until now." Jude quirked up the corner of his mouth, and a picture of that scene should be published for every woman to feed on, directly eliminating half of the worldwide hunger.

He bent his knees until our eyes were on the same level, which looked fairly uncomfortable,

"Why don't you want to get on my bed?" He asked, his voice electrifying.

"Because of teenage-body-fluids that I don't want to touch." I obediently answered, unintentionally.

He looked at me, stunned, before straightening up and raising his head. Hearing him chuckle deeply, I wished I had a recorder on me.

"No worries, they are changed every day." He walked to the bed, and I was too awkward to bring up the fact that it was unknown what he did during the previous night and how dirty that was.

Following him once again, I sat on the mattress, which was much harder than his father's, maybe because he was young. I made sure to sit on the edge, which was probably the cleanest spot. 

Seeing my antics, Jude suspiciously pressed his lips together, and I felt dumb and laughed at. He kneeled at my side, where the hickey was, and put cream on his finger.

The kneeling was too unnecessary, and the moment his finger was on my neck, I had the urge to run, not sure from what. Tormenting slowly, he applied that damn cream. Don't ask me why you put cream under a plaster that was only meant to cover a crappy hickey. What the hell was he doing?

To avert my attention, I habitually looked for something I could take with me. The desk, placed across from the bed, was a real treasure trove.

Pens, corks, small trinkets, a tiny keychain, pen caps, paper clips, a miniature tucker, some golden colored small ribbons.

Had he robbed a kiosk and emptied the shopping bags on his desk?

I couldn't decide between the cork and the paper clips - they wouldn't raise attention, and I didn't want to pocket something that he would really need. Stealing from a teenager was unfitting for a teacher.

But the small plastic ribbon was golden-colored, and there were a few, so nobody would notice.