**TRIGGER WARNING: Homophobic slurs**
Three years ago…
John hissed as he applied the ointment to his arm. The bruise was already swelling, turning an ugly shade of purple. This was the seventh one he had gotten this week, along with the ones on his stomach, arms, knees, and cheek. He looked in the mirror and winced at the pathetic-looking band-aid on his left cheek.
At least he didn't get my nose, he thought as he gingerly touched the band-aid. Ow, still hurts. Their words still rang in his ears.
Faggot! Go die in a hole! You deserve every black eye I give you! Should've just given us the money, homo!
John squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Thankfully, the school day was over, so he wouldn't be taking any more hits anytime soon. Just gotta cover this up. He walked out of the bathroom and entered his room. He got out the makeup kit and started gently applying concealer to the bruises on his arms.
Ding dong. Someone was ringing the doorbell. John quickly pulled down his rolled-up sleeve and made his way to his apartment door. "John!" a muffled girl's voice was calling from outside. "Open up! I got you food!" John opened the door, revealing a smiling girl with wavy blonde hair on the other side.
John smiled back at her. "Hey, Martha. Good to see you."
Martha grinned, flashing her straight white teeth. "Right back at ya, John." She stepped into the apartment, and John closed the door behind her with a click.
"So what brings you here?" John asked his visitor.
She rolled her eyes. "Didn't you hear me? I said I got food for you." She held up the plastic "Have a nice day!" bag she had brought with her. Something box-shaped was sitting inside it, and a heavy aroma floated out of it.
John's mouth watered, but he hesitated to take the food. "You know I can cook for myself, right?"
Martha shrugged. "Yeah, but Mom insisted on making something for you anyway." She firmly pushed the bag into John's arms. "Just take it. You know Mom won't take no for an answer."
"Ow, it's hot!" John winced at the sudden burst of pain in his arm and almost dropped the food. He set it down on his coffee table. "Well, thanks anyway for the food, Martha."
But Martha was frowning now. "John, did you get into a fight again?" she asked, her forehead wrinkled worriedly.
"Um, no," John fibbed. He stiffened when Martha reached out and tapped his arm.
She gasped. "You are hurt!" She looked around frantically. "Where do you keep your first-aid kit?"
"Martha, there's no need—"
"Where," Martha growled slowly. "Do you keep your first-aid kit?" John gulped. There was no avoiding the situation with Martha Manning.
"It's… in the bathroom," he answered finally. Immediately, Martha took off for the bathroom, and returned no less than ten seconds later with the first-aid.
"Let me see that arm," Martha demanded.
"Martha, I told you. I'm fine—"
"Let me see that arm, John, or I'm telling Mom," Martha warned.
"Gah, fine." The last thing John wanted to do was worry Mrs. Manning and have the older woman come barging into his apartment, asking over and over if he was alright. He did not like being fussed over like a small child with a scraped knee.
Martha grabbed John's arm, then apologized when he let out a yelp of pain. She rolled up his sleeve and squinted at the partially hidden bruises. "You tried covering them up again, didn't you?" John was silent. "Ugh, makeup is not even supposed to be used this way. Wait here." She went to the bathroom, and John heard the sink turn on. A moment later, Martha emerged with a wet towel. She wiped the concealer off John's arm, and started reapplying ointment.
"I already put ointment there, y'know," John muttered.
"And I don't care. I'm gonna put more ointment on there now." She continued spreading the medicine over John's arm. "Done. Are there any more bruises?"
"Uh…"
"I take that as a yes." Martha rolled up John's other sleeve. "Seriously, John, you need to stop getting into so many fights."
John snorted. "Kinda hard to do when everyone knows you're gay, and everyone happens to be homophobic."
Martha glared at him. "I'll have you know that I support LGBTQ+ rights, thank you very much." She shook her head. "This is getting out of hand. And here I was, thinking all your troubles would go away once you moved out of the dorms." John pressed his lips together tightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up."
John sighed. "It's okay." They stayed silent, before Martha spoke again.
"By the way, I didn't want to say this, but, uh, your rent is due in three days." John sucked in a breath. "Sorry, John. I mean, Mom is willing to give you more time to get the money, but Dad says it wouldn't be fair to extend your rent due date while everyone else has to pay up right away."
"I know," John said quietly. "He's right. I need to stop stalling time and get a job." He tried to stand up, but Martha firmly sat him back down.
"Don't get up now! Wait until I'm done!" she hissed.
"Tch, Bossypants."
"Shut up, Freckle Face."
One day had passed, and John still didn't have a job. His application got rejected twice, and an application he submitted to some restaurant was still pending. By the end of the day, he got so frustrated, he grabbed his coat and went out for a jog.
The streets were quiet that night, and the only sources of light were the streetlights overhead. It was like the world had finally answered John's prayer for peace, when the silence was shattered by a sudden meow. It was soon followed by more meows, and the occasional "Yeow!"
Curious(and a little concerned), John followed the cat noises towards an alley, and peeked around the corner. At first, he saw nothing. But then he did a double take when he saw a group of four, maybe five, cats staring back at him. The cats had ceased their yeowing and trained their almond-shaped eyes on John.
John felt shivers run down his spine. He found this strange phenomenon extremely unsettling. This is not normal. I'm out of here.
He quickly ducked out of the alley and started power-walking all the way back to his apartment. His peripheral vision caught on something white, though, and he slowed down. Taped to a pole was a flyer. It read: HELP WANTED-Housekeeper who is not allergic to cats, Is available for however long you prefer(though payment will vary), Call…" And there was a phone number. John whipped out his phone and copied it into his contacts, saving it as "Washington."
The next morning, John's hand trembled as he dialed the number. He thought it would be rude if he had dialed it right away last night, so he waited until 7 in the morning to do it. Then it occurred to him that Washington was probably still asleep, and he panicked until the person on the other end picked up.
"Hello?" a deep voice said. "This is George Washington." Oh man, John thought. This guy sounds like someone who's not to be messed with.
"H-hello, Mr. Washington," John greeted nervously. "My name's John Laurens, and I saw your flyer for a housekeeper?" Wtf, why did I say that like a question? "I was, um, wondering if the job was, er, still available." I want to bang my head on a fucking toaster now.
There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, John was sure Mr. Washington was coming up with a way to gently tell him the job was already taken, or that he had changed his mind and didn't need a housekeeper after all. Or to harshly tell him to scram and never call him again. That was a possibility.
Finally, after several minutes of sweating profusely, John heard Mr. Washington say, "Oh, finally! It's about time we got a new housekeeper!" New housekeeper? So people applied here before? "So when are you available to come to our house?"
"Wait, I got the job?" John asked. That was quick. "You're not gonna give me an interview?"
"What is there to interview you about?" Washington said. "You're just keeping our house clean. You know how to do chores, right?"
"Um, yeah." Halp, I'm dying inside now. Something else occurred to John. "Um, Mr. Washington?"
"Yes?"
"The flyer mentioned an allergy to cats. Is there—"
"Oh yes! I forgot! As a housekeeper, you're going to also have to take care of our cat. Don't worry, he doesn't bite." He let out a low, rumbling laugh. "Unless you're up to no good, that is. So"—his voice turned serious again—-"When are you available, and for how long?"
"I can actually come today. I'm available on the weekends, and I can stay the whole day."
"Wonderful! Can you come now?"
So soon? Ugh, but I need that money. Better than nothing. "Um, right now?"
"Sure, why not? Unless you have something to do first, then we can be flexible."
"No, no, no! I can come over now!" Need that money.
"Excellent! Can't wait to meet you, John."
"Y-you too, Mr. Washington."
"Well, I have to get going now," Mr. Washington said. "See you in a bit."
"Yeah, goodbye." Mr. Washington hung up, and John's heart hammered. He stood staring at his phone, trying to register what this meant for him. I did it. I got a job. Now I just gotta not fuck this up.
He grabbed his backpack with his unfinished homework and threw his wallet and phone in there. Then he grabbed the flyer with Washington's address on it and headed out.
"Holy shit, this mansion is big af" was John's first thought when he arrived at the Washingtons'. The mansion was big and white, with two floors, each adorned with numerous windows.
And I'm supposed to clean the whole thing? John gulped as he approached the door, and rang the doorbell. Ding dong.
There were footsteps on the other side, and then the door opened with a ka-chak. John came face-to-face with a bald man whose stern eyes scrutinized John up and down.
"Hello," the man said, and John recognized the same deep voice he heard during his phone call. "Are you the new housekeeper?"
"Erm, yes?" John answered.
Washington continued staring at John with his hard eyes, before he nodded curtly and extended his hand. "George Washington. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, his brown eyes boring into John's hazel ones.
"The pleasure is all mine," John responded, his polite instincts kicking in, and he shook the older man's hand. "J-John Laurens." He attempted to smile to show his friendliness, but when the bigger man's lips didn't even turn up, John went back to having a neutral expression on his face.
Mr. Washington motioned for John to come in, and John obliged. This man is scary, he thought as he stepped into the mansion and took in its contents.
The living room was the first thing that greeted John as he walked further into the mansion. A more-than-comfortable-looking couch sat in the center of the large living room, its cushions decorated with fluffy pillows. John got the sudden urge to run over and squish the pillows. He saw the couch was flanked by several other soft chairs and a coffee table. All the furniture were facing a black TV stationed on the other side of the living room. Somewhere farther back, John could make out what looked like the refrigerator in a kitchen.
"We're going to get going now," Washington said abruptly. "Your orders are to clean every room in this house. Make sure they're spotless. You can find the equipment you need in the kitchen back there."
"W-Wait, you're going now?" John stammered, then wished he hadn't.
Washington raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"
"N-no! It's just, I don't know, this is so sudden, and I just got here, I just-"
"Ah, you must be John," a sweet voice called out suddenly. A short, plump woman emerged out of the kitchen. Curly white hair sat on her head like a soft cloud. The woman's rosy cheeks matched the delighted smile on her face. "Martha Washington," she introduced herself. "But you can call me Martha."
Mrs. Washington extended a hand to John, just like her husband had, and John noticed the furry bundle she cradled in her other arm. A brown and white cat peeked out at him, its brown-tipped ears wiggling slightly as its round head swiveled to look at John better. "Mrow?"
"Nice to meet you," John said as he shook Mrs. Washington's hand. He could feel the cat's brown eyes staring into the depths of his soul. He glanced briefly at the cat before focusing on Mrs. Washington again.
Mrs. Washington chuckled. "I see you've taken an interest in Alexander." She held out the cat to John. "You can pet him if you want. He won't bite."
John hesitated, before reaching out his hand. His fingers brushed Alexander's soft furry head, and the cat held still for a moment. Then he leaned into his touch and purred contentedly.
"Aw, he likes you," Mrs. Washington cooed. "He normally doesn't like men, but I see he's made an exception for you." She leaned in close to John. "I lost count of the number of times he scratched George," she whispered. "I think the poor kitty's scared of him."
John stifled a laugh. As if the cat heard him, Alexander let out an indignant yowl and nipped at John's fingers. John reared back in surprise at the sharp sting of the cat's teeth.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Mrs. Washington apologized quickly. "Are you okay, dear?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." John examined the small bite marks on his hand, which were starting to fade now.
"Alexander," Mrs. Washington scolded. "Bad kitty." The cat merely let out an unfazed meow. "You better get along with John now. He's going to be taking care of you for the rest of the day." She turned back to John. "You can find his cat food and bowls in the kitchen," she informed the boy. "Just fill one bowl with food and the other with water. He's house trained, so you don't need to worry about him pooping everywhere. He does not need a bath. He really hates water. Ah, what else?" She thought for a moment. "Oh yes! He knows to use a scratching post, but he still claws the furniture sometimes. Just pick him up and get him to his scratching post if you see him tearing up the sofa."
She then kissed the cat on the head, then gently placed him on the ground. "Momma's gonna get going now. See you tonight, my love."
Alexander stared up at Mrs. Washington, and curled his sleek body around her legs. She let out a soft chuckle. "Momma loves you too, Alexander." She stepped over the cat, and walked to the door, where Mr. Washington was waiting. She turned back to John. "Any questions before we go?"
John shook his head. "No, I think I got it."
She smiled, then her eyes widened. "Oh goodness, I forgot again!" She fished around in her pocket, and John heard something jangling. Next thing he knew, Mrs. Washington had placed a set of keys in his hand. "These are our spare keys. Feel free to go outside if you want. You can also help yourself to the food in the fridge."
"But don't stay outside for too long," Mr. Washington warned in his rumbling voice. "And don't think you can gobble up everything in sight. And if you take anything, I will not only fire you, but also charge you for attempted theft. Do I make myself clear?"
John gulped. "Y-yes, sir."
"George!" Mrs. Washington exclaimed. "Don't scare the poor boy!"
Mr. Washington crossed his arms. "I just don't want anyone breaking in and stealing from us. It's already bad enough that our last two housekeepers tried to sneak money out of the mansion. Plus, someone keeps disabling our security cameras." John could've sworn he saw the man's eyes flick briefly to Alexander, but the movement was too quick for him to tell. He turned to leave. "It was nice meeting you, John. Good-bye."
Mrs. Washington was about to follow him, but stopped in the doorway. "I'm sorry for my husband's behavior. He may be frightening at first," she told John. "But he's actually a really nice man once you get to know him. He's just on edge right now."
Threatening someone he just hired certainly don't sound nice to John. "I'll keep that in mind," he said simply.
Mrs. Washington smiled. "It was a pleasure meeting you, dear." Her eyes twinkled excitedly. "I know! When we get back tonight, I'll bake cookies for you."
"Oh! You don't have to—"
"I insist," she said. "I can tell you're still uncomfortable around us. I'll make my famous oatmeal cookies, to make it up to you."
"Mrs. Washington, you really don't have to…" John trailed off when he saw Mrs. Washington wasn't set on changing her mind. Finally, he sighed. "I'd love that."
She smiled. "See you tonight, John." And the plump woman walked out the door. John looked through the windows. The Washingtons got into an expensive-looking car, and drove away. He was alone.
"Mrow?" Alright, he wasn't quite alone.