Page 151 of The Temptation
I remember feeling like I was covered in grime I couldn’t wash off, forcing myself to clean up in the sink of a public restroom—or sometimes at school—because the place I was living in had a bathroom that was practically uninhabitable.
I noticeeverythingnow. That’s why a single piece of food lying on the ground makes my skin crawl. It’s why I scrub the sink until the porcelain shines like glass. Why I fold my clothes perfectly, and have floors so clean you could eat off them.
People may call it obsessive, but I call it survival because I swore a long time ago that I’d never live like that again. Cleanliness isn’t a preference; it’s control.
It’s safety.
It’s mine.
It’s everything I swore I’d never live in again.
I move through the formal dining area and pause at the archway that leads to the main room. All the brand-new furniture I bought her is gone, probably sold off to fund her habit.
There’s a ratty old couch sitting where the Italian leather lounge used to be. Stained, torn, sagging in the middle like it’s given up trying to hold anything up. It’s disgusting. I wouldn’t let my dog lie on it.
My eyes sweep the room, and I spot her handbag tossed on a side table like an afterthought. I move towards it, careful where I step, until something shifts underfoot.
I glance down and see an empty pill bottle rolling lazily across the floor, and my stomach drops.
Are they the pills she used to take her own life?
I don’t touch it, I don’t want to. I snatch up the bag, turn and head back the way I came.
I’ve seen enough.
I don’t stop walking until I’m standing on the sidewalk,like distance alone might scrub that house off me. My mother’s bag hangs haphazardly off my wrist, the cheap leather sticking to my skin.
I take a deep breath and feel it burn all the way down to my lungs as I dig into my pocket for my phone.
I scroll through my contacts until I find the number I’m after.
Lorenzo. OrLight ‘em up Lorenzo, as the guys call him.
Our resident arsonist. Reliable as hell, and a little unhinged, but that’s what makes him good at what he does.
Me: I’ve got a job for you.
Lorenzo: Sure. Where?
I type in the address of my mother’s house and press send.
Lorenzo: Isn’t that the new estate?
Me: Yeah.
Lorenzo: Whose house is it?
Me: Mine.
Lorenzo: Insurance job?
Me: No.
Lorenzo: When do you want it torched?
Me: Tonight.
Lorenzo: Anyone living there?
