Uncle John's Bathroom Readers Novels & Stories

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, crawling over my skin. Haley returns with a bottle of water and presses it into his hand without a word. Muscle memory, not thought, he twists the cap and takes two long gulps, water sloshing loudly in the quiet room. I notice stupid things — like how his hand trembles just slightly, how the bottle crackles under his grip, how he struggles to swallow. Whatever is about to come next … it’s been buried deep. And it’s finally clawing its way out. “There are a lot of people in that we,” Uncle John says carefully, like the word itself might explode. “Some of them I can’t name right now. For … different reasons.”

I just finished getting dressed after Warren barged in the shower earlierwhile I'm getting a bath. I heard him playing with bubbles from inside the bathroom, he is been there for half an hour, he is still taking a bath. I just explored the whole house, this house is too big for a simple minded boy. I didn't think that my uncle loved Warren so much. he doesn't look like he has a special feelings for his children. I gues I really shouldn't judge the book by its cover.

But ignoring him, I go and lean against my table as I hear noises coming from outside as the door knob rattles. I hear Uncle's rage-filled voice as he orders someone to break the door. Crossing my arms, I wait for them to break the door as I eye John, slowly bleeding to death. When he begins to pass out completely, I throw a glass of water on his face along with the glass. His eyes snap open as blood splatters from his mouth that is flowing from his broken nose. I hear gunshots as the door knob falls on the ground as Uncle kicks the door open. He steps inside and looks around the room, scanning it.

“If you need a drinking buddy, you should head to a bar. I’m done. Just tell me if you’re going to let me appeal without contesting or not.” “I don’t need a drinking buddy. I just believe alcohol has a way of making people tell the fucking truth,” he replies in a cold, almost breathless tone, staring icily into my eyes and that sends a quick shiver down my spine. What truth? What is he talking about? “I don’t get what you mean. What truth is that, that my dad didn’t do it?” “Don’t play dumb little kitten,” he says in the same icy low tone, maintaining the cold stare into my eyes. “The truth……the one where you used an uncle to get back at his nephew by fucking sleeping with him.”

“Tell me you’re not married to my uncle!” His eyes searched mine, but all I saw in his was pride… broken pride. “If this is your idea of payback because I told you the truth… then fine! But did you really have to climb into my uncle’s bed?” he sneered. “That’s just sick.” The moment Caleb said those words, the room broke into whispers. Eyes turned toward me—cold, judging, cruel. I could feel every stare like needles in my skin. They were tearing me apart without even touching me.

What? Did he say I? I said it in my head. The tension was a live wire, vibrating with unsaid things. Then his gaze dropped to my mouth for a fleeting, electrifying second. The click of the bathroom door unlocking startled him. He swallowed and looked away. I blinked, confused and also very angry. Angel came out of the bathroom. She looked between our faces, sensing the tension. “Mommy? Mr. Uncle? Are you fighting again?” John ran a hand over his hair.

My uncle was dead, and now I’m stuck living with the man who killed him, the same man who threatened to kill me and who I’ve spent weeks secretly fantasising about. Could my life get any more ironic? The image of my uncle's lifeless body comes rushing back, and I feel a familiar churning sensation in my stomach, forcing me to jerk up and dash for the bathroom. I crouch over the toilet seat spewing up the alcohol mingled with stomach bile from last night. When I'm finished with my morning throw-up session, I groan and push down the flusher. My throat burns and my chest aches. All probable symptoms of someone who watched her uncle get shot. I fall to the bathroom floor and for a second I just

Everything about the night had been traumatizing… John’s Uncle, smashing the heirloom John was so protective of, becoming entrapped by him, and being treated like trash… At first, he had been so hurtful by telling me cheating was what every man did. He didn’t even sound genuine with his apology. He had sounded like I was overreacting. Then the stranger I had slept with had walked in, and he had turned out to be John’s Uncle. How could such a young man be his Uncle? How could I have slept with him?

A hand placement that I definitely did not like. But I'd like to remind myself again. It will end soon. As if the universe had grown tired of watching me suffer, it handed me exactly what I needed to win against my uncle. I stumbled on my uncle’s conversation with his secretary Josh who flew in this morning. Something about pills. He held out a small unlabeled container. My uncle had declined saying he was now in a good mental state and didn’t need them anymore. Unlabeled Pills. Mental Health. His impulsive character.

When the five of them arrived at the Bailey mansion, they rang the bell furiously. “Show yourself, Anthony Bailey!” Anthony had seen them from upstairs. He knew he could not avoid them any longer, so he put down the bottle, washed away the smell of alcohol, and changed into a clean set of clothes. As he got downstairs, he then sat on the sofa and removed himself from all emotions he should not be seen with. He casually picked up the financial newspapers and read them nonchalantly. The butler opened the door. The four Uncles rushed inside furiously, and the sight of Anthony casually reading the newspapers angered them even more.