Bleach
By: Nick Lynn
Tags: Fiction, Crime, Writing, Fiction Writing, Short Story

Photo by Big Dodzy on Unsplash

I strongly prefer the smell of bleach to a cloud of Febreze so strong it’s almost as bad as the musty stink of rot it’s trying to hide. I prefer the smell of bleach to most things, actually. I suppose this is strange because most people would just prefer for their apartments to smell clean.

I think no matter what I do, mine will smell of Febreze and rot.

I open the windows to air it out, and I set up my plants on the sills to get some sunlight, not that there’s much to go around from this side of the building anyways. I wipe down the counters and sweep the floors, but that doesn’t get rid of the smell.

I think I’ll just have to get used to it.

My neighbor comes to visit me the next day around noon. He looks like my apartment smells, like he has no family to take care of him. I offer him to come inside and he does, but he doesn’t seem to notice the smell.

I wonder if his apartment smells the same.

We sit down with glasses of water as he tells me about the area and asks how I’m moving in. He seems to like asking me questions, but I like asking him questions, too. I ask him when he moved here and why. His answers seem vague enough to be lies but I choose to believe him.

He comes back the next day to help me unpack some boxes I’ve left in my living room. I’m happy for the help, and even more happy my neighbor doesn’t hate me.

He asks what I do for work, I tell him I haven’t found a job yet and moved here in blind faith. I ask him the same in return, and he tells me he works from home. I don’t really care enough to ask what exactly he does, nor does he seem to find it an interesting topic of conversation.

The smell does not fade from my apartment after two weeks. I think it will never come out unless the place is burned down, but I’m becoming used to it. My neighbor still hasn’t brought it up, so I assume he must be used to it as well.

After three weeks he invites me over to dinner at his apartment. I’m very excited to find out if his apartment really does smell as bad as mine.

Surprisingly, it smells like bleach. I think he must not have a good sense of smell after living in that every day, but then again I am the same way.

I like the way his apartment smells.

We eat dinner and he offers me wine, but I don’t drink it. He keeps looking down at the cup. I pretend I don’t notice.

After dinner he says I should stay and keep him company. I have nothing to do tonight anyways, so I agree to stay. We talk for a while, as we usually do. He keeps staring at the glass of wine I still have by my side.

I offer it to him, since he seems to want it so badly.

He declines, says it’s for me. I put the glass back on the table without taking a sip, and he seems disappointed.

I offer to wash the dishes while he cleans the table, but while I have my back turned to him he comes up behind me. I don’t see the knife in his hands until I’ve already spun around and stabbed him with my own.

The difference between us was that I expected it, he did not.

I watch him drop to the ground clutching his side and I wonder how many times he’s had to clean his apartment. I want to know where he puts their bodies, but I think I already know the answer.

I think of how much more his apartment will smell like bleach after I’m done with him tonight. I do like the smell of bleach.