Page 17 of The Naked Cleaner

He’s obviously feeling better, speaking to me.

“He faked a big migraine.”

Pontus just snorts.

“So he could get me lain.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me. Really.”

“If that was an attempt at a limerick that was the worst one ever. Truly. Go the fuck to sleep Louis, my head hurts.”

“My head hurts from you hurting me.” I am giggling again. Fuck I am a mess.

We go quiet and I can’t help it. I hold him a little tighter, and my lips press a little kiss to his shoulder blade as I feel myself drifting off.

I haven’t held someone like this for a long time, and it’s amazing what it can do for you. Skin against skin, warmth. Human contact. His fingers in my hand. His heartbeat slow and strong against my wrist. I’m almost asleep when he speaks again.

“There once was a dude called Louis. Who was kind of weird but ambig…ouis.”

“That’s not even a real word.”

“Fuck off, Louis”

"He never wore clothing, but was full of loathing."

That's me. Fuck my life.

"And he was definitely a heathen."

I’m still smiling when I fall asleep. I don’t even question it.

Chapter Seven

Pontus

Stretching out in my own bed feels kind of… weird, since it takes more than a few seconds for things to become clear functioning memories in my head. And I cringe, just a little. Because, yup. That was me. Probably crying and hurling the contents of my stomach all over the shop in front of Louis. Louis, of all people. Someone I definitely don’t want to impress, in any shape or form. Well, thank god he has left, and that my little sanctuary of an apartment is nice and quiet and still, and… I’m alone again.

That’s the way I like it. Isn’t it?

At least my brain feels like it’s swimming in cool jelly, as my temples are screaming. I need another dose of pills and a couple of cups of strong coffee and I should be back into some kind of functionable state. I think. I usually am.

There is a little bit of nausea curling into my stomach as I stumble down the hallway and take a long satisfying piss in the loo. Smiling a little then cringing again when I realise the bathroom is clean and smells sweetly of some cleaning product that I don’t recognise. He cleaned up then. Damn him. I don’t like feeling that I owe him, but I kind of do. I think my tab is filling up to the point where I have to do something nice back, and that is so out of my comfort zone that it’s not even funny.

I mean Jonas is easy. I buy him stocks and shares for his birthday every year and manage his portfolio. When I feel my tab of things I owe him for gets out of control, I just buy him another portfolio and send him a screenshot. Which makes him laugh and reply something along the lines of not understanding shite of what I have just sent, but I’m sure he knows. I’m investing in his future and his retirement and hoping that he will one day be able to just enjoy a nice holiday on me. That would kind of make me happy.

Well, bullshit. I know nothing about being happy. And Jonas for all I know doesn’t give a shit about money, as long as he gets to drive around in that high-tech wank-wagon of an ambulance. That makes him happy. Even spending twelve-hour shifts with that surly grumpy Clara makes him happy.

It’s obviously sometime in the afternoon, with the dull light making big showy shapes on my living-room floor, and the slow creeping panic descends on me again as I look over at my workstation, with it’s dull blinking modem lights and what I know is an overflowing inbox of messages that I should have dealt with two days ago. I should not be this careless, ignoring my customers’ needs and getting behind on assignments and jobs. I should just bite the bullet and write a standard apology feigning a random injury and promise free website upgrades and shit to sweet talk the bastards into still letting me handle their business and not go off to some of the very competitively priced big firms….

“Hello there!”

Fuck. That's him.

"Ughhhiik"

Yes. That’s me. Almost wetting myself on my living room floor and doing a very ungraceful pirouette trying to get my feet to cooperate with my body. Because yeah. There he is, in all his naked glory, nursing a cup of something warm and reading… a book. Who the hell reads books these days?

---