Housekeeping

The spray of chemicals hits my nostrils as I clean.
The bathroom is filthy today, it just won't do.
Mould, mildew, dust and dew.
That's what my cleaning is designed to break through.
I dance with my bleach around the toilet bowl, the crimson blotches coating the rim soon a distant memory. Oh, how the head clears with bleach.
The floors need mopping, slick with that red menace. Such an unruly little blight it is! And so, I dip my mop into the soapy mixture, swiping at the stains on the cold floor. It's a nice rhythmic motion, calming and reassuring. Yes, everything's going to be fine.
I've never done something so...'defiling'...at all. I'm just a local business owner, offering general housekeeping. Clients pay me to dust and polish, vacuum and wash dishes, not... this.
And yet I didn't stop.
I think she saw it in me. I think she could sense it. I feel it already, that neat little feeling as I move my rag from side to side, cleaning that pesky red from the towel rack.
Oh, I want her.
I've never seen a dead body before, really. I had only seen them on the news, in distant countries. Seeing his slumped figure curled in that tub right in front of me should have shocked me to the core, but it didn't. Quite the opposite, actually. I felt a sensation, a curiously intense sensation, unlike any I'd felt before. I felt excited, I felt exhilarated; I felt alive.
And the fact that she had shown me, that was the crown jewel of this discovery. There I was, asking where I needed to start first, and her with those sultry green eyes, ushering me upstairs to the bathroom. You wouldn't know that she's in her forties, such a stunning woman. Absolutely beautiful, blonde and alluring like one wouldn't believe. I was entranced, and I still am now.
He'd been nothing but a drunk.
Unfortunately, I have to touch his disgusting body while I clean, hands moving his putrid form so as to have an easier angle.
It's not all bad though; at least now I can truly inspect just how she did it.
I relish in reliving what I imagine to be unbelievably amazing for her as I inspect the deep red rings around his wrists and feet. That way he couldn't struggle, smart woman. The next parts are subtle, but to a trained cleaner like myself, oh, it's obvious.
The pinpricks in his skin show something most interesting, but it's the vomit on his rancid corpse that really shows what happened.
I wonder what it was? An overdose, perhaps? Hemlock? I'll have to ask her later.
I turn the shower on, the torrent beginning to wash away that awful vomit from his chest and face, along with the crimson accumulated around him.
I watch as the swirl of red circles the drain, transfixed as his lifeblood slips away, gone forever.
And now, I come to the source of it.
A deep gash, drawn across the throat. It looks like a second mouth; a great red maw filled with crimson fury. I suppose she must've grown impatient and finished it herself.
He's mostly clean now, but it'll take more than a hose down to get rid of him.
With the torrent still pouring, I decide it's time to cut. She was kind enough to let me use her tools, such a lovely woman. She really does know me better than anyone. And to think all that could be found through just cleaning someone's house a few times?
I hate to envision what other people might observe, if they were just a little more astute.
The sawing takes some time, and though I'm wearing disposable clothes, it's still rather annoying to get that red menace on them. It's much easier now that the air smells of sweet bleach rather than his innards, though.
I manage to cut him into neat partitions; it's really quite perfect actually. Just like every other piece of housekeeping I've done. Neat and tidy.
Two legs in one black trash bag, torso in another, head and arms wrapped in the last two. He's much nicer in death.
Now, for the deep clean. The bath is first, now free from his ugly presence; I can work my magic.
Scrubbing feels therapeutic, the pressure of the rag on porcelain; the satisfaction of a tough stain fading, the squeaky sound of a clean tub. I give the rest of the room the same love and care, bleaching and surface cleansing, dealing with mold colonies, eradicating all those nasty red spots. No one will ever know I'm there.
The bags lie on a tarp where they'll be safe from tarnishing my work, and it's only now, as I glance at them, that I realize I'm aroused.
And then I see her in the doorframe, my peripheral vision finding her soft straight locks oh-so appealing.
She tells me that it looks like I did well, and asks me if it's spotless.
I say it is. Because of course it is. I take pride in my housekeeping.
She beckons me once again, moving those sensual hips as she advances towards the bedroom.
I follow, that feeling inside of me reaching a crescendo. It's intense, wild and enamoring, and I'm so glad she's unlocked this for me; helped me fully understand what I really am. No one has seen who I am; no one has truly understood on a deep level, who I am meant to be. Because who could understand? All so quick to judge, so quick to insult. But not her. She's neat, tidy, and so efficient. No one but her could hope to complete me.
She pulls me in onto the bed, holding me tight in those slender but deadly arms...
...I think I'll call her bleach.
Category:Dismemberment
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Weird
Category:ZugZuwang