Page 21 of The Naked Cleaner

Please stay.

Fuck my life. Just fucking fuck it.

Chapter Eight

Louis

It’s almost one in the morning when I check my watch. Which is like. What the heck happened to time?

Pontus is slumped on the sofa like some lazy-arse teen who can’t be bothered to use furniture the way the good lord surely intended. I’m sitting bolt upright staring at the damn TV screen half wanting Pontus to press next, so I can get my bolting heart under control, and half wanting to be sensible and say, enough for the evening, time for bed.

I do neither.

“I’ll need to be at my granddads at nine tomorrow, to sort out his meds and give him his injections.“ My stupid mouth says instead.

It’s not stupid. It’s my job. Jonas and I alternate days to swing by and sort him out and tomorrow is my turn. I’m going to need to be there, come hell or high water. But this TV series is gut punching me in the feels, and I kind of need to know what’s going on with the two dudes with the fluorescent paint on their faces, and that Emma girl who I want to pick up and shake, and who the heck does that Sonja think she is? Honestly? I was so into it I could barely breathe at one point, and now Pontus is twirling the remote control between his fingers and giving me a shit-eating grin.

“You can have one more episode if you make me another of those toastie sandwiches you made earlier.”

Well, that makes us both laugh. They make toasties on that damn addictive show. So, I pause the TV, threatening Pontus that I will sit on his face if he touches the remote-control until I am back.

He doesn’t. He knows when I’m serious and…

I make another round of toasties. Because. I like him.

Which is a bit of a messy situation in my head, because he’s rude and obnoxious and… cute and he laughs and my head spins.

Not good, Louis. Not good.

Well who the hell am I kidding. I knew I was gone for the bloke when his head hit the floor that first day I saw him. It wasn’t hard to figure out where my head was at when I kneeled on the floor trying to get some life into his listless body, and the pale ribs sticking out and his knobbly knees.Fuck, he was a mess.

He’s a little less of a mess today as he sits…well more like his body is arranged weirdly across the sofa. Feet up on the coffee table and his arm slung casually over the armrest with the damn remote dangling in his fingers, and he is still wearing the damn bathrobe.

“You need a good night’s sleep.” Sensible-Nurse Louis says, sounding confident, and all the time my head is chanting,‘ONE MORE EPISODE, ONE MORE EPISODE…’

“You staying?” He says casually and my head goes into a full-on stadium cheer.

“Of course. Would I leave you alone? You would totally sit here and watch the rest of the season without me, just to fuck with me.”

He would as well. I have zero trust in him right now, especially as he laughs, and the air fills with bloody unicorn sprinkles and glitter as my mouth just smiles at him.

Then I pull myself together and shake my head.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. Then if you are good, I will wake you at eight and we can have one more episode over breakfast, and then I am taking the remote with me to work so I can make sure you don’t watch a single minute without me.”

“It’s just a TV show, Louis.” He’s smiling so hard that I can’t help but chuck an empty crisp bag at him. Yeah, because apparently having a three-season marathon of some teen show does silly things to your morals and ideas. I gobbled down a bag of crisps, and didn’t even bother to read the ingredients, and now my stomach is churning with e-numbers and carbs and weirdness.

Nerves.

I shouldn’t lie to myself. I am rattling with nerves as I hobble out to the bathroom and brush my teeth with the nice new toothbrush I bought myself earlier. Like I am moving in. I’m going to ask if I can get a drawer for my clothes in the wardrobe next, and then Jonas will turn up and have me committed. He’s already threatened to, quite a few times today, when he texted me to check up on Pontus.

Instead, I catch Pontus brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink and wiping his mouth with the tea towel. My tea towel. I bought one down at the 7-Eleven since Pontus doesn’t seem to own normal stuff. Like kitchen towels. And I am just about to launch into a disgusted rant about him being a bellend and that normal people don’t go around bloody wiping toothpaste and spit on the freaking tea towel when he turns around and smiles shyly at me and my heart melts.

I kind of shudder at myself and turn the light off just to annoy him, and he cackles and swears at me as I fumble my way down the hallway in the pitch dark.

He’s right behind me, and obviously knows his own home better than I do as I stub my toe on the doorframe and swear, several longwinded not-very-civilised words of anger, and jump up and down in childbirth comparable pain and agony. The fucking doorframe is getting it tomorrow. Fuck, fuck,fuck, that hurt.

“You okay?” He says softly and gets under the covers. I can’t see fuck, but my hearing is perfect, and he shuffles around a little, obviously getting himself comfortable.

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