Building 30 “The Cleaner”

“I am very tired as I write this, but if I don't write this now, I never will. I won't have the chance.

Tomorrow I am going to be forgetting this. Tomorrow I am going to probably call my friend crying, and not be able to explain why. Because I can share this with you, but I cannot share this with them.

It told me that you are someone I could talk to, that you would understand and be willing to listen.

It said it would take care of the body, and it kept its word. It did such a good job that even only a half hour out I am starting to wonder if I am losing my mind.

It says that it does this a lot, that there are a lot of bodies that need getting rid of. Things that you can't just bury. Things that sometimes come back or change form.

It says you would understand.

This is what I saw tonight.

Before tonight, I really thought I loved her even after all this time. But when she showed up at my door I felt much less than I thought I would. It had been months without a word from her, and here she was at my door, telling me that she was needing a place to hide.

She said she had gone to the police, but they wouldn't get involved.

She tried to asking more people than she thought she would have to, but gave up after she realized that she would just keep sounding crazier and crazier as she got more and more desperate.

As she lost more and more.

I was the last person on her list.

So I let her in.

She was bleeding. At least I think she was bleeding. Maybe it wasn't blood.

I told her she could use the bathroom to clean up, but she insisted on standing in the kitchen. She didn't want to...she couldn't be alone. And as she wrapped her arm in paper towel, she told me what was going on. The whole damn thing.

I wish I hadn't opened the door.

I was going to open the door.

She said that she had left a party. She thankfully saved me the details of the who's and the whys. But she left the party and walked home.

No.

She started walking home.

It wasn't normally a far walk for her, but it seemed to be taking longer than it should have. She had a few drinks she admitted. She probably could have just been remembering it wrong. But she claimed the street seemed longer than normal.

She heard it before she saw it, the sound of something clicking against concrete.

She saw the thing as it came around the corner.

The lurking, crawling thing stared at her, its limbs against the ground. A thing with teeth. Like a story a friend told me.

Strange friend. Strange story.

She saw it when it came around the corner.

I am repeating myself.

I am just tying to remember.

Please believe me.

It had eyes that smouldered like blue embers.

She was finished bandaging herself up by the time she had reached this point in her story. She was leaning against the sink, looking sickly. She lost a lot of the something. Maybe it was blood.

Maybe it was something else.

She started shivering, but kept going.

The thing was screaming as it charged at her. She said it sounded like a child. She ran as quickly as she could, but her legs weren't working yet. She stumbled, and it bit deep into her arm. But it didn't feel like a bite. It felt like she was stung a thousand times over.

She punched at it with her free arm.

It let go.

Maybe it was what she did. Maybe it was what it wanted. She looked at it, staring down at her, and she scuttled back and started to run away.

She looked back at the thing.

It was waiting. It had given her a head start.

She started babbling then. Babbling about things that were impossible, about things in the stars.

She started falling.

Something moved outside the screen door.

It was waiting there.

I saw its eyes through the screen...

I'm too tired to write.

I'm remembering it wrong.

She wasn't in the kitchen. She was in the bathtub.

It moved her to the bathtub. Easier to clean in there.

But no.

There was no party.

Why can't I remember?

It is all falling away from me, and I am having trouble putting my words together. As I write this I am squeezing my eyes shut in the hope it will let me focus. So I won't miss details.

This all sounds like a mess. I know it does. But that it how things have to be.

It acts like a wound that you cannot recall where you got it. The pain is real, but the memory is fussy and indistinct. Maybe the creature had eyes that smouldered like blue embers. Maybe her eyes smouldered like blue embers. Maybe both their eyes smouldered.

But I am remembering it wrong.

Because I am tired.

And I need to send this, because if I wait, it will be too late.

My mind feels so distant.

Like a drop of something running off your finger.

Every moment that passes, it gets further and further away. Until all you have is the stain on your skin.

The wound you can't explain.”

I feel worse. I feel so so much worse.

I feel an overwhelming feeling of loss, and I am struggling to eat anything at all. I want to write this with my eyes open, but if I do that, I have to live in my skin instead of tricking myself into feeling like I am simply functioning in my mind.

There is a disconnect between me and what I see in the mirror, and the more I interact with my dad the worse it gets.

And I don't think I could get him to care.

He said that this was for the best. He hasn't apologized. He hasn't admitted that he was wrong, that he has taken away something very special from me. I want to scream, to cry and weep, but the best I can do are tears at the base of my eyelids that refuse to spill over no matter how hard I press the lids together.

I feel alone, and part of me almost wishes that those nightmarish visions I had on Halloween would visit me again. It almost makes me want to not take my sleeping pills.

Almost.

No matter how stupid he acts, I at least have a good head on my shoulders, and for that I am thankful. These feelsings will pass. So I will help them along. I will take a shower even though I don't want to. And when I am done with that I will try to eat something. And then I will dress myself how I want to, and I will wait for the morning to come.

Every morning is an opportiunity to feel alive again.

Whether or not he will be happy with what I will have to do to make that happen is unknown.

But I don't care.

It doens't matter if he understands why he hurt me. I don't care if he ever apologizes/begs. Because I will not let him hurt me like that again.

Not a chance in hell.