I got up, stretching, trying to convince myself I wasn’t even remotely affected. Yeah, right.
I grabbed a mug from the counter that was cracked, chipped, and probably harboring more germs than I cared to imagine, and poured myself a cup of coffee that tasted like burnt hope. Perfect.
I needed a plan. Felix wasn’t just some annoying man I could avoid; he was my constant, looming shadow now, and ignoring him wasn’t an option. And yet, every time I thought about the way he’d looked at me… damn it, why did he have to be so infuriatingly attractive?
I should hate him. He took me away from my life, and now I was basically a hostage forced to clean.
Not that the life he took me from was great. Dead-end shifts, my dad’s gambling debts, and a constant hum of stress had been my reality. But at least it was mine.
I missed my father. Was he paying the rent, or had he skipped it again? Eating, or surviving on chips and whatever beer he had left? Was he even sleeping properly, or just tossing and turning, worrying about me the way I worried about him? I wished Icould call, check in, make sure he was alright. But for now, all I could do was hope he was holding it together.
“Another day, another cleaning session,” I said to no one.
Felix came home late and left early most of the time. It was often just me, the dust bunnies, and the spiders.
I stood up and grimaced. My feet hadn’t been healing properly after getting ripped open on the asphalt. I didn’t have any shoes to wear, and I’d been walking around the house all day like some kind of barefoot casualty. Every step made me wince, but I had to keep going. I always kept going.
After I had finished his bedroom Felix had given me orders to start on the kitchen. I wasn’t sure why. He didn’t seem like the type who cook for himself. But, I didn’t ask questions. Asking questions had a way of backfiring.
I stood in the kitchen, blinking at the chaos like it was some kind of abstract art. Counters disappeared under stacks of unopened mail, stray utensils, random papers, and crumbs that had probably been there since the last apocalypse. I groaned and started sorting, tossing, and relocating, creating little piles just to make room to even think about cleaning.
I sighed and rolled up my sleeves, bracing myself for the years old sticky counters, greasy stovetop, and mystery crumbs that littered the floor. Another day, another room, another chance to pretend I wasn’t completely overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of this place, and the man who ruled it.
I started with the counters, scraping crumbs that had probably been there since the last apocalypse. The sink was buried under dishes, some crusted with mystery gunk that made me gag. I scrubbed the worst ones first, but every time I cleared a plate or pot, three more seemed to appear, as if the clutter was breeding.
The stove came next—grease like a second skin—and I cursed under my breath as I sprayed, scrubbed, and wiped until my arms ached. I moved on to the floors, sweeping up dust bunniesthat could have formed their own nation, then mopped, slipping once and muttering curses at my sore feet.
I cleaned the fridge, tossing out expired condiments and mystery leftovers that could have been used as science experiments. I scrubbed the shelves until they shined, grimacing at the goo that clung stubbornly.
The cabinets weren’t much better. I had to dig through old Tupperware, expired snacks, and forgotten spice jars just to make space. Every corner I cleared revealed another hidden mess—crumbs, sticky spills, and rogue utensils waiting to ambush my sore feet.
I glanced out the window. The sun was getting low in the sky and I wasn’t even halfway done.
As I moved to the far counter, my elbow caught a loose strip of peeling wallpaper near the corner. It flapped slightly, revealing wood that looked fresher than everything else in here. Curiosity piqued despite my exhaustion, I leaned closer and peeled it back further.
Etched into the wood were dozens of dates, scratched in neat, precise lines. My brow furrowed as I traced my fingers over them. They didn’t look random; someone had been keeping track of something, marking the passage of time.
“What the fuck?” I muttered, stepping back. Who carved all this? And why the hell were they hiding it behind peeling wallpaper?
It was probably an older person who lived here before—the decor gave it away—and they probably did it. Senile, bored, carving random shit into the walls. I shook my head and muttered, “Ok, then.”
I pressed the wallpaper back into place, as best as it would go. I needed to show Felix I was making progress, so the place needed to look as clean as possible when he got home.
Sighing, I took a step back and scanned the kitchen. It was still a mess. I had shoved expired food and old pans into boxes to be thrown away, but piles of clutter still dominated the counters and corners. Every time I cleared one area, another seemed to emerge, as if the kitchen was conspiring against me.
“Just standing around?” Felix’s voice whispered into the shell of my ear.
I shrieked, stumbling backward and nearly toppling over a stack of boxes. My heart slammed against my ribs as I spun around, eyes wide.
“What the fuck!” I exclaimed, hands flying to my chest as I tried to calm my racing pulse. “Don’t just sneak up on me like that!”
Felix stepped closer, smirk dark and dangerous. “Don’t get distracted.” His voice dropped low. “You should be earning your keep. Don’t forget why you’re here.”
I squared my shoulders, glaring up at him. “Oh, believe me, I remember. I’m scrubbing, sweeping, shoving expired food into boxes. I’m sorry the mafia prince’s abode isn’t sparkling yet.”
Felix leaned in just enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Do you really?” He murmured, voice low, each word dragging out. “Let me remind you, just in case.”
A shiver ran down my spine despite my best efforts to stay defiant. His dark eyes held mine, teasing, claiming, and somehow daring me to look away.
