chapter 8

The sun was only just beginning to rise over the steady line of houses when Jasper was snatched away from his slumber, sitting up in his bed as the sheets fell to his hips, the pillow beside him dishevelled and misplaced as his eyes dragged over the ghost of Genevieve's presence. The only remaining detail of her left were the sheet marks printed into his arms from where he had wrapped his arms around her, the sheets bundled in his fists and his lips against her skin.

He frowned- a puzzled frown- as he climbed to his feet; stuffing his legs in his sweat pants and padding his way across the wooden flooring of his room and into the cold bathroom, where only a bloody towelette and plaster wrappers scattered across the countertop, spoke to their evening, plastic bold and iridescent, flashing in the light like highway signs.

His lips parted at the absence of her sneakers that he remembered distinctly to sit by the counter on the floor, saturated in water. He shook his head, pushing his bedroom door open before he made his way out of his room and down the corridor, determination showing in his features; the creases of his face and the setting of his sharp jaw.

The kitchen was left empty brightened only by the untucked chair where the small girl had taken a seat the previous evening, moments before it all began. The fridge was not closed properly- left open just a crack as light poured through the gap and illuminated the kitchen in a harsh yet silent white light that fanned over the tiles... and the laundry light was barely visible down the twist of yet another corridor. The dryer was silenced.

His heart sunk in his chest as he crossed the kitchen, pulling open the fridge properly before he pushed it shut once more, sealing away the light though it would not do much- his milk was probably already warmed and butter softened.

Jasper then turned and made his way towards his laundry, his suspicion confirmed as the dryer now sat silent, unmoving. But, he could see her socks, the socks he left to dry on the rack in the far corner, gleaming metallic in the heavy laundry lighting that partly consisted of the rising sun bleeding through his window in a high arch, winking behind the swaying trees and whispering against his skin as a small smile graced his lips and he picked up her socks. Tube socks- white tube socks with small, almost invisible frills sewn to the tops where they clung to her calves.

He had left them to dry, for he had hated when socks went through the dryer and came out shrunken, and you had to shove your toes into the fabric and feel them stretch against your toenails and bent toes for the entirety of the day. He could not help but notice how small her feet were, and he could just imagine the size in the memory of last night- her legs wrapped around his torso, his hands moving in her hair, their lips tangled.

He shook his head, tossing the socks into a nearby washing basket that sat atop the dryer, empty, and made his way out of the laundry and into the kitchen once more, where he picked up his mobile phone from the benchtop. He paced sluggishly across the kitchen before he reached across the counter and pressed the button on his automatic coffee machine, sliding a mug under the trickle of coffee that began to flow—steaming as it splashed into the bottom of his mug. He flicked through his notifications, leaning up against the counter as he listened keenly to the sound of his morning brew being... brewed.

Genevieve sat upright to the sound of her alarm blaring through the silence, followed closely by the sound of cutlery hitting bowls and voices wafting to the threshold of the staircase, and swiped her hands across her heavy eyelids. She knew immediately what time it was, as she had set that detail on the digital clock that sat on the nightstand by her bed, her pale blue walls that set the room in a misty haze decorated by banners of school spirit from her hometown, the township of Washington, New Jersey, the town in which she still lived currently.

She swung her feet over the edge of her bed, the cold of the wooden floor seeping through her less decorative, more plain tube socks, chilling the soles and her toes that she curled, a long shiver racing through her body.

She held her hand to her mouth as she stifled a large yawn, screwing her face up with fatigue before her arms swung loosely by her sides once more and she pulled her door open, stepping out and letting it fall shut behind her once more. She could see, from the landing of the staircase, that her entire family was already up and awake- her brother, mother, father... and even her dog who's long claws beaded on the tiles as her father held the bowl and placed the metal dish filled with the dog's early morning meal by the counter.

Her mother glanced up at her daughter as she began to make her descent to the lounge room and forced a smile that told her husband the lie he had believed for years now- that he lived in the perfect household, and the shattered glass that he had awoken to his wife sweeping was something she dropped whilst taking her pills, though the scratch in paint on the wall nagged at his eyes and told him otherwise.

Another reasonable excuse would easily pop to mind if a suspicion or doubt surfaced in the water- that he was too drunk to remember himself doing it or anyone else throwing the glass, just like his wife had made sure her son and husband were too drunk to remember the fact they did not celebrate their daughter's birthday- a luxury Mona Smith would deny her daughter for as long as she could.

"The new school year starts tomorrow." Her father smiled excitedly upon her entry, flipping his wrist as he glanced down at the watch that bound the cuff of his shirt, eyes scanning the time. He was visibly dressed to head off to work- a respectable job high up in an electricity company, one that put an elaborate roof over their heads and more than nice-quality food on the table.

"Yes," Her mother sighed, a wry smile covering her lips as she gripped her coffee with both hands from her seat at the bench, her expensive heels clicking against the metal of the barstool as she appeared already dressed and ready for the day... which always meant one thing- she had something planned. "I've booked you in for an appointment at the hairdressers and then you're getting your nails and eyebrows done." A darker emotion flashed through her eyes, she knew her daughter hated the new semester routine she had to abide by, and that is the sole purpose that fueled her, that and the constant need to have her daughter void of imperfection.

"Anything else?" She asked wearily as she took a seat at the dining table reluctantly, averting her gaze from her brother who sat before her, nursing his own steaming cup of coffee. He was as much of an ignorant pig as his father... with a pair of eyes that had even wandered over the figure of his own mother at times. To the last grain, the man was a sick fùck.

"Well, of course, we have to go shopping, I'm not sending you to school wearing the clothes you own." She replied with what she thought could be taken as a caring smile, and her father packed his items into his briefcase for work- a pen, his books and stock notes, the usual.

"Excuse me, is there something you would like to say to my face?" She snapped in response, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at her challengingly, and her father made his way around the table in a few even strides, stopping behind his daughter's chair. The kitchen reeked of both cleaning products and coffee—it seemed routine that the entire family would neglect the need to eat something of real substance to instead drink only caffeine and mill over devices.

"Oh, be nice Genevieve. Your mother just wants you to go to school looking respectable, you know we both work hard to remain a dignified family in this neighbourhood- that's all." Her father sighed, clapping her shoulder before he turned back to his wife, planting a kiss on his wife's cheek. It was a display of affection that would fade away when he was tempted by a bottle the next time he saw one. It was a display that could've even fooled Genevieve. "Now, I have to go to work- I'll see you tonight." He turned to his family before he hooked his hand in the handle of his briefcase and crossed the room, his loafers load on the marble flooring before the latch in the door could be heard giving way as the door sprung unlocked- like a bullet clicking into the chamber of a now loaded gun... which is much like what the situation had turned to when her mother climbed to her feet from her barstool and turned to her daughter.

"Get out of those skanky shorts and wash your hair- we leave in ten." Her mother's comments drew an amused chuckle from her brother's lips as he flicked his phone from his pocket, casting his eyes down on the illuminated screen.

Genevieve opened her mouth to protest her mother, as she turned and crossed the room once more, her elegant attire matching the black leather furnishing and statement pieces of naked trees laced with minuscule glass ornaments in small pots sat on tables and sheepskin rugs. It was an uneccessary, ornamental display Genevieve despised. The constant need for her mother to exist in melancholic aesthetic. "Get the semen out of your hair."

Genevieve reached up and touched her silky blonde hair that she had ran a brush through just minutes ago... and could promise there was no trace of male bodily liquids, though a hard blush still coated her cheeks like spilled scarlet paint on an ivory canvas and she pushed her chair away from the table, following her mother's tracks as she made her own way up the staircase and back towards her room. She made a point to slam her door behind herself as she went, triumphant and child like.