Scrub.
Scrub.
Scrub.
My skin had cracks in it, permanently etched like scars of my purpose. Obsessively cleaning with bleach day in and day out had torn the outer layer of skin away, leaving nothing but my soul. My dirty, tainted fucking soul that oozed and leaked with disobedience.
“You look so much better like this, my little Elio.”
I just needed to finish cleaning the kitchen floor, and then I could see what I could make us for dinner. Jude wouldn’t be home until the evening, but he’d been working so hard lately that I was sure he’d want something extravagant. I hadn’t thought to marinate any meat, but I knew I could come up with something.
Scooting across the floor on my knees, I waded through the mess beneath me. I’d have to grab the mop later. I hadn’t meant to use so much bleach, but there I was. Surrounded by the nose-burning scent of…
Bleach? No, no, it wasn’t bleach. Was it? I frowned, looking down at where my knees were coated in it. I looked to the left, then the right, staring at the color of the kitchenfloor. It wasn’t right. Had I accidentally used the wrong thing? But how? All we ever had was bleach. Or so I thought. Maybe I was imagining things again. That silly little thing I seemed to do far too often.
The washcloth dripped with whatever it was I was cleaning with, the liquid running down my wrist, dripping until it met with the ditch of my elbow. I watched the flow, sickeningly attuned to it.
And then the doorknob started to jiggle. I had a trained ear, always ready for Jude to burst through the door or to walk into frame when I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to.
Aslamreverberated through my bones, vibrating along with it. It sounded like Jude had hit the door. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet. It was too early. Way too early, and I didn’t have dinner ready yet. I wasn’t done cleaning.Oh, god, I wasn’t done yet.
I gasped as the doorknob jiggled again. The water and bleach mixture ran down my arm slower than before, just as my breathing picked up pace.
Footsteps. He was walking in, and he was already angry. Something must’ve happened for him to be home so early. I wasn’t prepared. Not when I was hurting so bad already. He’d really done me in last time.
Last time.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He was closer. I could hear his shoes against the floor, stomping the entire way, and I wasn’t ready.
“Elio?”
I slumped on the floor, resting my elbows in the liquid below me. Closer, closer, closer, pause. I tried to keep my gasps to a minimum, but my body kept shaking and my shoulders fucking ached, and nothing made sense, but itdid. It made perfect sense. I had disobeyed, so I was going to be punished.
The least I could do was curl up on the floor so that maybe he wouldn’t get me too bad. If he kicked me in the back, I could handle it.
I inhaled the bleach again, contorting my body until my nose almost touched the floor. My back was screaming, but I was ready. Sort of. I could at least handle it better than a few minutes ago. I could hear my own breathing—big, deep sniffs that echoed back at me.
He walked further in, until I could feel his presence standing off to the side, ominous and heavy as he stared at me. Just stood there, probably mocking the sight of me. The swirls in the hardwood beneath me came to life, laughing and crying right in my face. They were old friends. Ones I’ve had my face pressed into a million times over. I could’ve sworn I knew every detail in them, but they looked different for some reason.
One swirled to the left when I thought it usually swirled to the right. One made a circle when I remembered it being more like a weird, cut-off triangle.
A palm against my back had me tightening every muscle in my body, forcing a pained whimper from my lips. I tried to stay quiet. I really did. I waited for his hand to grip my arm, or my shoulder, or to punch me right where it was, but… it didn’t.
“Elio,” he whispered. Soft and gentle. His hand jerked back the moment I flinched, confusing me further. “Elio, it’s me.”
Did he think I didn’t know who he was? How could I ever forget? When my body was branded with memories of him, some I’d carried since our teenage years.
“It’s Crescent. Come on, look at me, El.”
I blinked just as the sound came back to my ears. Ihadn’t realized how echoey and distant everything had been until my sobs drowned out everything else.
“Can you turn your head for me?”
Slowly, I followed his voice with my head. I only turned a little bit, just enough to see his pants drenched in the bleach.His pants will be ruined if he stays there.
“That’s it. Come on, El, look at me. There you go.”
When I looked up, I saw it. Pain I could recognize because I’d worn the same features many times in my life. Crescent’s beautiful, courageous brown eyes were dull, yet terrified. I saw my reflection in them. A reflection of cowardice, mixed with horror.
