Page 47 of Mayhem and Minnie

“Piece of cake,” she repeats, smiling brightly.

Before I go, I find myself mentioning, “You should go for the heavy soil and double rinsing setting. And don’t be too stingy with the detergent.”

Those clothes need all the help they can get. Even though they’re going to be burned the moment she has a new wardrobe.

“Marlowe?” She calls my name just as I’m about to leave the room. I stop in the doorway and turn.

“Thank you. For everything. You have no idea what this means to me.” She gives me a shy smile as she crosses her legs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

I gulp down.

Now that she’s clean, I can let my eyes roam over her face without the previous disgust—not that I could even call it disgust, which in itself was surprising. There’s something striking about her. I wouldn’t call her a beauty, not in the traditional sense. But there’s something warm about her presence, something that goes beyond her physical appearance. Something…that puts me at ease and I’m never at ease with other people.

I grunt, unable to form a coherent sentence, and before I say something I might regret, I get out of the room and close the door behind me. Spotting a slight trail of wetness on the floor, I grab a mop and wipe it clean until everything is spotless again—until balance is restored.

You need to sleep, Marlowe. You need your eight hours of sleep. Otherwise, the next day will be ruined.

After I make sure the kitchen and living room are clean—since I will not be able to sleep otherwise—I force myself to put one step in front of the other until I reach my room. I lock the door—for my safety and hers—I take my sweatpants off and slide between the sheets. I close my eyes and start counting, knowing sleep will come.

One hundred eighty-nine, one hundred ninety, one hundred…

Just as I feel my lashes heavy with sleep, a loud screech penetrates the stillness of the house.

I shoot up, and my eyes collide once more with the clock.

It’s almost dawn.

Fucking hell! I’ll never get any sleep at this point.

I get out of bed, shrug on my sweatpants and a shirt and go investigate what went wrong this time.

Yet just as I get closer to the laundry room, I spot wetness seeping through the door, followed by small bubbles.

My eyes widen in horror.

Surely no…

I swallow hard as I push the door open.

“What the fuck, Minnie!” I thunder.

The entire floor of the laundry room is covered in bubbles. Minnie is sitting on the floor, drenched from head to toe. Her hair too is wet and the white shirt I’d handed her before is now clinging to her skin, once more leaving nothing to the imagination.

A pop resounds in the air before more bubbles exit the machine.

And to make matters worse, instead of trying to do something about this insanity, this damn little heathen takes her finger and sticks it in the bubble, then giggles.

She turns to me then, her entire face lit up with mirth.

“It’s bubbles, Marlowe! So many bubbles!”

Good fucking Lord! I must have bubbles for a brain for thinking it would be okay to leave her alone for one moment.

“Right. So many bubbles,” I mutter drily.

It’s not too late to kill her, no?

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