Page 3 of Kept

Brushing the dampness from my cheeks, I slap my hand down on my leg and push to my feet.

“Today is not the day for a pity party, Zella.”

Placing my hands on my hips, I survey the room. The statues stare back at me, unblinking.

“Today,” I announce, “will be abusyday.”

Digging around under the sink, I pull out my supplies, laying them out across the marble counter like soldiers marching off to war. I start at the very end of the room, close to the elevator.

Every surface gets cleaned.

I carefully wipe over the pale metallic doors of the elevator, spraying them down to remove any sneaky non-existent finger marks, and do the same with the small keypad next to it. My hand pauses over the keys.

Cautiously, I lean forward, my finger gently pressing against a button as I hold my breath.

I wait. My breath quickens in short huffs, eyes flicking to the dark strip above the elevator that shows the lift rising.

But there’s nothing. No lights ding. There’s no sign of any life at all.

Safe.

I rip my hand away from the keypad. What is wrong with me today?

Turning my back on it, I work through my routine. Surface cleaning, vacuuming, mopping. Today I get down on my knees and carefully work my way down the room, cleaning each skirting board to make sure not a speck of dust exists.

When the main room is done, I turn to the statues.

Dante is first. Taking the fine, soft cloth in my hand, I gently press it over his hair, moving down in sweeping strokes. He stares straight ahead as I reach his stomach, my hands tracing over the hard edges and pausing.

“Talk to me, Dante,” I whisper. It’s almost a plea as I stare up at him, cold and unmoving.

But only silence responds.

Sometimes, I think I’m losing my mind.

And sometimes I think I’ve already lost it.

Getting to my feet, I turn my face away and move on, taking the liberty of approaching my favorites first. There’s Maria, the archangel with the kind face whose wings take up more than their fair share of space. And then there’s Psyche and Cupid, both of them curled around each other. They don’t spare a look for anyone else.

“You’re very lucky, you know that?” I tell Psyche softly as I run the cloth over her arms. “To have him.”

Cupid ignores me, staring down at her. His arm curves around her protectively.

“Don’t worry,” I murmur. “I’m only cleaning her, Cupid.”

I’m a little tempted to flick her nipple and see if his face changes, but Ethan would freak if I scratched her.

By the time lunch rolls around, the room is as spotless as it was this morning.

Sighing, I pull out the ingredients for my salad. Chicken, cherry tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber, bell pepper, a little ranch. Taking my time, I cut the vegetables carefully, laying them out on the plate and admiring the little burst of color before I take it over to the window to eat.

The skyline looks much the same as it always does. Rooftop after rooftop, bricks and cement and birds. Setting my plate down, I press my nose against the window and do my best to look down, but I’m too high up to see the people on the street below.

Giving up, I turn back to survey the room. It almost glints in the light.

I tilt my head.

I suppose my bathroom could do with a clean. And I could change my bed.

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