Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Berlyn
“It happened again,” I say in lieu of a greeting as I shove an iced coffee in Summer’s direction.
She takes a long, overdramatic slurp, studying me as we begin our walk to class. “You’re gonna have to be more specific,” she finally responds.
I huff as dramatically as I can. What else would I possibly be talking about? “I woke up to my house cleaner than when I fell asleep again.”
Summer slows her steps, glancing over at me with a pinch between her brows. “Again?”
“Yes,” I respond quickly, the word far too simple to encapsulate the rising panic I feel at the thought. Maybe at first I thought I was doing this in my sleep. I mean sleep cleaning? Who wouldn’t sign up for that?
I always woke up well rested and with my to do list already done. With no memories of the tedious labor it takes to maintain a household. Even when that household is only you.
But when something seems to be too good to be true, it probably is. Because now?
Now I know there’s simply no way I could be doing all this in my sleep. Not unless I’ve also managed to learn new skills I definitely don’t have while also unconscious.
“Are you on a new medication or something?” Summer asks, but I’m already shaking my head.
I’m scared to say the words aloud and make them a reality.
Somehow, once it’s said, once it’s real, it feels like I won’t ever be able to take it back.
Like something in me just knows that my life is at a crossroads and once I deviate from the path I always thought I was on, nothing will ever be the same.
And let me say, a helpful—I don’t even have a word for this. What do you call someone who breaks into your house not to steal or hurt you, but to do your dishes and fix broken drawers and creaky cabinets? Because a helpful whatever that is is not something I ever expected to be on my path.
“It can’t be me,” I explain to Summer in damn near a whine as I grab her hand and squeeze. I hope my face is really expressing how crazy I feel inside because I feel like I’m one missing spider web away from an insane asylum.
She studies me warily. Okay, maybe I should cool it with the crazy eyes or I might actually end up in a padded white room by the end of the day. They’ll drag me into the room as I’m screaming that the dust bunnies from under my bed were missing when I woke up this morning.
Yeah, definitely need to find my inner peace because once that happens, I’ll never be free again. I force myself to take a deep breath.
“What do you think is happening then?” Summer prompts. “Someone else is cleaning your house?”
I nod, but remain calm as I explain everything to her.
All of the little things that I knew needed to be done, but just never really found the time to get around to.
The leaky faucet in the bathroom, the window screen replaced, nail holes patched and painted.
All stuff I could probably figure out how to do with enough time and videos on YouTube.
And also probably half a million questions to whatever worker from the local home improvement store that ended up stuck helping me.
Definitely not stuff I could have done while sleepwalking.
I didn’t even have the supplies in the house when I went to bed, only to wake up to new things done each day.
Okay, well maybe not each day. I’m not exactly sure because there are times I don’t realize anything is different and then I notice one thing and the more I look, the more I find.
Summer’s eyes grow wider with each new repair I tell her about until I finally finish. “Even Harold is gone,” I lament and she gasps.
“Not Harold!”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I agree. “Even sleeping me would never clean up Harold.”
The spider web hanging from the living room ceiling has been a long standing joke between Summer and I. I’m pretty sure the abandoned web had been there since the day I moved in but it was always just a little too high for me to easily clean.
While Summer nods emphatically, she also points out. “True, but I was more convinced since I can’t imagine you being that productive in a single week.”
Okay, ouch. I smack her arm as we make our way into the classroom. “I can be productive, but that’s not the point.”
We take our seats and pull out our laptops as she tosses out other potential possibilities, Ezra and his brothers fixing more than just the AC while they were over and us not noticing.
A valid option, and one I also thought likely until the sheer amount of chores being done made it not only unlikely, but impossible.
“Plus, I’ve had at least two loads of laundry washed, folded, and put away since they came over,” I add as an afterthought. I haven’t had to do my own laundry in weeks now.
“That’s nice,” she comments.
I nod my agreement. “An unexpected boon for sure.”
“I mean all of it kind of is,” she points out and I can’t argue against that. It is nice to have things cleaned and organized without ever having to lift a finger.
“But the question of who and how keeps me from truly enjoying it,” I sigh sadly.
She laughs before offering, “Ghosts?”
I arch a brow in disbelief. “That clean and paint?”
“House elf?”
I scoff, “What is this? A YA fantasy?”
She hums in thought. “I mean, if it’s going to be a book it definitely should be a dark reverse harem.” Her eyes widen, blue eyes sparkling with her delight. “Oo stalkers?”
The snort that escapes me is so loud and obnoxious it almost doesn’t even sound human and more than a couple people turn to look at us, bewildered as Summer and I dissolve into a fit of laughter.
We only manage to quell the burst of giggles when Professor Richards walks into the room, his eyes immediately landing on us.
He arches one gray brow until we both fall completely silent and I mouth an apology to him.
He isn’t one known for tolerating any type of disruption in his class.
He gives me a slight nod. “Are you ready for your meeting next week Ms. Matthews?”
I grimace at not only the call out, but also the reminder that I still have to finish preparing my revisions.
Eyes from all around the room are drawn to me as I clear my throat.
This paper is the single biggest project of the semester for Richards’ class and can make or break your grade.
It’s the project that everyone warns you about when you take this class and one he’s known to take incredibly seriously.
It’s only fair when the best paper is submitted for a scholarship and internship for the following semester.
Something a lot of students would kill for.
“Of course,” I answer, my voice only shaking slightly. “I have my notes to finish my revisions this week,” I add when he doesn’t immediately respond.
He holds my gaze for a moment longer before finally nodding and turning his attention to the rest of the class. I exhale and slump in my chair. Summer bumps her shoulder against mine and I let out a near silent chuckle before pulling out my notes and focusing on the lecture.
Once class is over, Summer links her arm with mine. “So what are you going to do about your harem of Bob the Builders?”
I snort again, this time slightly less obnoxiously. “Why is it a harem? Seems greedy.”
Professor Richards watches us as we exit the classroom and I rush our steps before he has another chance to call us out.
“Because we already know who the members are,” she answers without missing a beat. “Duh.”
I fan my face as I hip check her, making both of us wobble as she pulls me with her. “Knock it off,” I laugh. “I’m trying to actually figure out what the hell is going on.”
Summer shrugs. “I don’t see why it’s not a possibility.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Let yourself dream a little, B.”
I sigh, I dream a lot. My dreams got me here. Kept me alive and sane enough. They maybe didn’t carry me completely away as I would have hoped, but they got me far enough. Far enough to dream of even greater distances from my past. And dreams about them? More than I would ever admit.
“Maybe it’s my landlord?” I ask.
She groans. “Why can’t it be a stalker?”
At least Summer never fails to make me laugh. “Because I’m pretty sure most stalkers don’t clean. They take things, and they leave gifts or notes and stuff and also show up in other places. Right?”
She scoffs, “Oh, the harem was greedy but your stalkers aren’t good enough because they only clean and don’t leave presents?”
I stare at her in disbelief. “I’m not even dignifying that with a response.” Shaking my head, I continue, “It has to be my landlord, right?”
She huffs but drops the topic and puts on a serious expression. “There has to be like rules about that though, right?”
I shrug. “You’d think, but I don’t know what they are.” It’s something you’d usually call your parents to ask, but that isn’t exactly an option for me. I’d rather have an entire harem of deranged stalkers than call my father to ask for help.
I’ve worked hard to not be bitter. To move on and hopefully up. And even more hopefully, further away. Far, far, far away.
“Could you call them and ask them?”
Another reasonable option, except…
“They never answer my calls.” Before she can offer another suggestion I add, “Or emails.” I think about it for a moment. “I guess I haven’t tried in a while. It could be worth a shot.”
We reach my car and stop as she leans against the hood.
“It can’t hurt.” She chews on her lip and I can tell there’s something more she wants to say.
I cross my arms and wait for her to be ready.
It only takes a few more weighted moments as she studies me before she sighs.
“I know I was making light of it,” she acknowledges.
It’s what we do. We laugh because it’s better than crying. We make light because otherwise we wouldn’t be able to get out of bed each morning with all the heaviness weighing us down.
“That’s why you’re my best friend.”