Not Anymore

Chapter 11

Later, Chris made his way down to the dining area. The soft sounds of murmuring and friendly chatter drifted toward him, piquing his curiosity and prompting him to quicken his steps. As he approached, he slowed down, eager to catch a glimpse of what was taking place at the wide dining table.

When he finally had a clear view, Chris's heart sank. Sitting at the table were three familiar faces that he would have rather avoided. Irene occupied one side, with Marlin beside her, while Jennifer sat directly opposite them. The sight of her made Chris feel uneasy—not because he was afraid of her, but because she had an uncanny ability to turn any moment into a headache. It was as if they were destined to repel one another; any time Jennifer was around, more often than not, trouble would follow. To preserve his own peace of mind, he had learned to avoid her, but now he found it impossible to turn back.

Chris let out a deep sigh, contemplating his escape from the dining area, when a voice called out to him.

“Mister Eaton, is that you?” It was one of the maids, her cheerful tone capturing the attention of everyone at the table. Three pairs of eyes shifted towards him.

Chris forced a smile, shaking his head lightly in an attempt to deflect any attention. “Good morning. Tell the Miss that I’ll take my leave first.” Just as the maid began to respond, Jennifer’s voice rang out from across the room.

“Chris, you here? Come join me!” she called, her tone almost too inviting.

He hesitated, shooting Jennifer a cautious glance. Her smile, which might have seemed warm to an outsider, felt like a warning to him. He shot a brief look at Irene, who quickly averted her gaze. Sighing once more, he resigned himself to the situation. He knew Irene well enough to understand that skipping breakfast after Jennifer's invitation would come with consequences.

“Alright,” he said reluctantly as he made his way to the table.

Jennifer gestured for him to get closer, pointing to the seat right beside hers. Chris nodded and sat down, immediately sensing a momentary, awkward silence hanging in the air. Ignoring the tension, he let his eyes wander over the impressive array of food spread out before him.

A frown crossed his face as he scanned the table, his gaze searching for something specific. After a moment, he looked up, unable to hide his annoyance any longer.

“What is it?” Jennifer leaned in, feigning concern, an act that unnerved him.

“Where’s my tea?” he asked, his voice slightly raised, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

He called out to one of the maids. “Why didn’t anyone prepare my special tea today?” His tone was firm but edged with frustration.

The maid lowered her head, visibly anxious. “I’m sorry, sir, but the chef who knows how to make your tea burned her hand while making Master Marlin's coffee,” she explained, her voice trembling slightly.

Chris's eyes widened in disbelief as he turned his gaze from the maid to Marlin and then to Irene. “What a mess,” he muttered under his breath. The maid began to speak again. “I’m so sorry, sir. Perhaps I can—”

But Chris cut her off. “It's alright. Just go rest. I’ll make it myself. And please let Cindy know. I hope she gets better soon?” He smiled warmly at the maid, who looked relieved at his understanding.

“Thank you so much for understanding, Mister Eaton,” she said gratefully as she bowed.

“Don’t call me Mister Eaton, just Chris,” he replied, his voice gentle but firm.

“Uh, okay, sir,” she replied hesitantly before walking off, still looking grateful for his kindness.

Chris flashed a quick final glance at Irene and Marlin before turning on his heel and heading toward the kitchen, feeling the familiar weight of frustration settling in his chest.

As he left, Irene watched him go, her eyes burning with unhinged fury and fists clenched tightly at her sides. For the first time, Jennifer sat in stunned silence, uncertainty washing over her.

“Irene, dear, did I offend Mister Eaton in any way?” Marlin ventured, concern lacing his tone. “Maybe I should go apologize?” He stood, ready to rectify what he presumed was a mistake.

“No, no! You don’t need to apologize to him, and certainly not to *that* person,” Irene replied with fierce conviction, her voice low yet filled with intensity.

Marlin managed a nervous smile. “Thank you, Irene,” he murmured, sensing the brewing storm in her demeanor.

“I’m going to make him apologize to you,” she declared in a single breath before storming off, her determination palpable.

“Bestie, what are you doing?” Jennifer called out, sprinting after her friend only to find herself a step too late, leaving Chris unaware of the chaos he’d just set into motion.

Chris was busy mixing his herbal tea, carefully measuring out blends of dried leaves and flowers as the water slowly hummed on the stove. The aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted through the kitchen, creating a cozy atmosphere. On the other side, a maid busily cleaned the sink, her hands moving deftly as she arranged plates in neat rows, the clinking of porcelain punctuating the serene ambiance.

Suddenly, the calm was shattered when someone stormed into the kitchen, breaking the tranquility with their presence. Chris turned his attention to the newcomer, and as he spun around, he was met with the unmistakable sight of a fuming Irene standing just a few steps away. She looked furious, her face flushed, and her eyes burned with anger.

Without hesitation, she raised a trembling finger and pointed directly at him. “Chris, what is wrong with you?” she growled, her voice low but filled with venom. Chris frowned, confusion coursing through him as he tried to decipher what could have upset her so much.

Irene took a step forward, invading his personal space. “Whose house is this? Answer me!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the kitchen walls. The maid, sensing the tension, paused her work, watching the unfolding drama with fear and disbelief etched on her face.

“It’s your house,” he finally replied, trying to maintain a calm demeanor despite the escalating situation.

“Then why the hell do you need to make my guests feel uncomfortable?” she shot back, her anger palpable.

Chris stammered, “I… I don’t understand.” Before he could elaborate, she cut him off sharply.

“You don’t speak unless I ask you to.” The authority in her voice left little room for any dissent.

“You made Marlin feel bad, just because of that stupid tea of yours! Who the hell do you think you are?” Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The accusation took him by surprise, like a cold splash of water.

“So all this is about Marlin?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He had never imagined his simple act of preparing herbal tea could have such consequences.

“I need it for my kidneys,” he explained, his voice barely above a whisper, hoping she would understand his health concerns.

Irene sneered at him, her expression dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, is that so?” she muttered, her voice dripping with contempt. “Then from today onwards, that junk is not allowed in my house.”

Just then, Jennifer arrived at the door, pausing to take in the chaotic scene. She stared at her fuming friend, uncertain about how to intervene or defuse the situation. Beside her, Marlin stood quietly, her expression one of concern and confusion, as the two of them watched the intense confrontation unfold in disbelief. The air in the kitchen was thick with tension.

Chris bitterly gritted his teeth.

“I am afraid I cannot do that,” he said.

“Uh!” she said in disbelief of his words.

“I need the tea for my kidneys. It’s a doctor-approved medication, so I cannot stop taking it,” he muttered.

Irene huffed with frustration, shaking her head in resignation. “Well, in that case, leave my house,” she stated firmly, each word dripping with finality.

A heavy silence fell over the room, as her words hung in the air, the gravity of the situation weighing down on everyone present. Chris stood there, staring at her in disbelief, his mind racing to comprehend the abrupt dismissal. After an agonizing moment, he let out a weary sigh and nodded slowly.

“Will do, ma’am. Thanks for your generosity all these years,” he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. Without even bothering to turn off the stove, he began to walk away, the shock of the moment evident in his demeanor.

Irene watched him go, her heart racing, unable to fully grasp the reality of what had just transpired. How could things have escalated so quickly? The tension in the room was palpable, and everyone present felt the weight of the moment. They stood, frozen, as if the very air had thickened around them, the flickering flame on the stove the only movement in the charged atmosphere.

Chris took only two steps toward the door before he heard a blood-curdling shout that sent a chill down his spine. “Look out!” the maid yelled, her voice piercing through the stunned silence.

He swiveled around just in time to see the silhouette of Irene stepping back, oblivious to the boiling pot on the stove behind her. “Irene!” a voice cried out, urgency filling the air. Chris rushed forward instinctively, but before he could reach her, another figure dashed past him, shoving him aside, careening him dangerously close to the boiling pot as it grabbed the dazed Irene and pulled her away from the perilous heat.

Chris's body collided with the stove, the force rattling the pot and sending the scalding water cascading down his back. “Arrgghhh!” A scream erupted from his lips, echoing through the once-quiet kitchen as searing pain engulfed him, the boiling water instantaneously burning into his skin. He collapsed on the floor, writhing like a snake on hot sand, gasping in agony.

“Chris!” The sound of Irene’s voice sliced through his haze of pain, momentarily pulling him from his torment. She looked at him, her horror mirrored in the pale faces of the maid and Jennifer, who stood rooted to the spot, their hands clasped tightly against their mouths.

Amidst the chaos, Marlin suddenly let out a sharp cry, clutching his left hand where a thin line of blood trickled down. Irene’s eyes widened in alarm. “Marlin, you are hurt!” she cried, rushing over to him and gently examining the wound.

“Call an ambulance! Someone help!” Her frantic shouts pierced the air, desperation lacing her words as she desperately tried to assess the injuries around her.

Keith’s eyes shot open wide, his own hand clenching involuntarily, pain ricocheting through his senses like a jolt of electricity. Just then, guards and other maids rushed into the kitchen, startled by the scene of chaos. Their eyes widened in horror as they took in Chris’s burned back, steam still curling up from the raw wounds.

“Someone help me!” Irene’s voice rang out, shaking them from their stupor. They glanced between the injured Chris and Marlin, who was clearly in distress. The sight of Chris’s horrific burns, flesh fused with the fabric of his shirt, was enough to send them into a panic.

“But ma’am, Mr. Eaton…” a maid stammered, anxiety etching her features. She looked back and forth between the two, uncertainty clouding her judgment.

“Help Marlin first! He can’t bear the pain!” Irene’s command cut through the hesitation in their ranks, determination infusing her voice with authority.

Finally, the maids exchanged glances of understanding, and under the force of Irene’s pleading gaze, they sprang into action, carefully carrying Marlin out of the kitchen while Chris remained on the floor, helpless and in agony.

Through the haze of his pain, Chris’s eyes were locked on Irene, who resolutely turned away, storms gathering in her eyes. Jennifer followed her out, casting one last, fleeting glance in Chris’s direction, a mixture of concern and dismay crossing her face.

“So, this is it,” Chris thought, feelings of betrayal and regret swirling inside him. “After all this time… I cannot believe how stupid I have been.” His head shook in disbelief at the unfolding disaster.

“Sir, sir!” the maid who had been near him called out, her voice laced with panic. “Put… the… stove off!” He raised a weary hand, struggling to get the words out as the searing pain became his only companion.

Reacting quickly, the maid turned the knob, extinguishing the flame; the sudden quiet in the room almost deafening. She leaned down, concern etched into her features as she examined him. “Sir, are you okay?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly between sobs.

“I was… so stupid,” he mumbled, the weight of his realization crashing into him like an unforgiving wave. “No more chances…” The pain came rushing back, overwhelming his senses and blanketing him in darkness.

Just before consciousness slipped away, he felt a solitary tear trace its path down his left cheek, a bittersweet reminder of choices made and the consequences now come to fruition. In that darkness, a single thought resonated—had it all truly been worth it?