Chapter Nineteen
I’m starting to think Zarmenus’s snores have a magical ability.
I mean, everything else about him is magic. He can change his form and control shadows. Is it really a huge stretch of logic that his snores are magically loud? I open my eyes as the weight of a bad night’s sleep presses on my temples.
He doesn’t just snore, he makes a weird gnashing sound with his teeth.
Also, they never follow a steady rhythm.
As I’ve spent so long listening to his snores, I find myself wishing they would just pick a tempo.
That would be much easier to drown out. But no, his snores follow no predictable pattern. Sometimes he’ll even snort.
My arm feels like it’s made of lead as I reach out and stop the alarm buzzing on my phone.
Wait, what’s that smell? Something smells like fish.
I spot the culprit on Zarmenus’s desk. It’s a can of tuna, half-eaten. Some of the contents have spilled out onto the pine surface. And Zarmenus isn’t here, out on one of his early morning runs or gym sessions.
Enough is enough.
If he’s not going to clean up, I’m going to do it for him.
I have to, there’s no other choice. I pick up the tuna can, rinse it in the sink, and put it in the recycling bin.
Then I get to work with all the other discarded food.
I’ve never seen him use it, but he does have a laundry basket in his closet.
I gather up his clothes from the floor, left after he took them off.
Zarmenus himself might always smell nice, but his sweaty gym shorts do not.
I use a dirty tank top to pick up his underwear, tossing them into the basket as if touching them might give me an infectious disease.
I keep going, clearing his empty pizza boxes and putting them into the bin.
It fills quickly, so I take it out of the room into the kitchen down the hall, where the larger bins are.
I keep going until our room is spotlessly clean. I vacuum for good measure. The last thing I do is open the window to let some breeze in, and I spray everything with a can of disinfectant.
I feel like I’ve pulled off a work of art.
I wipe my sweaty brow. A shower might be nice. Then I remember the ghoul and reconsider my plans. I know Zarmenus says it can’t hurt me, but it’s pretty much killed relaxing showers for me.
I spot a stain on Zarmenus’s desk and attack it with a cleaning wipe.
As it starts to come off, my phone rings.
It’s a call from Dad. I’ve called them most afternoons since I got here, just to catch up.
What I haven’t told them is how things are truly going with Zarmenus, especially after the dive that’s happened over the past few days.
I take a moment to compose myself, then swipe and answer.
“Hey,” I say.
“Mac!” he says. I can hear he’s in the car. “Mom’s here.”
“Hello!” she calls.
“What are you two up to?”
“Going to the movies,” says Mom. “I sold a painting yesterday!”
“Oh, no way!” I say. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, so we’re going out to celebrate. What are you doing?”
In front of me is our room, the cleanest it’s been since I moved in. A part of me wants to keep quiet, but the other wants to vent.
“I’m cleaning up after Zarmenus.”
I hear them both pause on the other end of the line.
“You’re doing what now?” asks Dad.
“I’m cleaning,” I say. I know my parents, and I know they aren’t going to be pleased. I know they would want me to confront Zarmenus about his hygiene and get him to carry his weight. They wouldn’t want me to clean up after someone else just to keep the peace. I know that.
But they aren’t the ones who have to live with him.
“You said you were cleaning up after your roommate,” says Dad, each word heavy with disappointment.
“Yeah, he doesn’t clean, so I figured I would just do it.”
“Owen,” says Mom. “Have you tried asking him?”
“Yes,” I say.
I maybe haven’t talked to him about the cleaning, but I have asked him about the hookups, and he missed the entire point of that. Why would asking him to clean up after himself go any differently?
“You should make a chore chart,” says Mom. “That worked for me when I first moved in with your father.”
“Hey, I wasn’t the messy one,” says Dad.
I know Mom isn’t going to dignify that with a response, because we all know who is the messier of the two.
“Yeah, but you two love each other. He has no reason to listen to me or to care what I think.”
“I thought you two were getting along,” says Dad.
“We were,” I say. “Or we are. The issue is, like.” I stop myself from answering.
“Go on,” says Mom. “You can tell us.”
“I think he’s just been so pampered his whole life he doesn’t know how to do things.”
“Aren’t you the one that called me for help with laundry?” asks Mom.
“Yeah, but I know, like, it’s not fair to make a mess and not clean it up when you’re sharing a room. I know it’s not fair to leave tuna cans out. I just wish he would be considerate! It’s like, how hard is it to clean up after yourself, really?”
The door unlocks and then swings open. It’s Zarmenus.
And I am about 99 percent sure he heard what I said. He surveys our room and his eyebrows furrow.
He’s holding two coffees, as well as two cinnamon scrolls. My heart splinters. He got me a matcha latte and a pastry again. It’s sweet, it really is.
He’s giving his wounded puppy expression, and it takes away any annoyance I felt at the mess and replaces it with guilt. I didn’t want him to hear that, and now I feel like I should’ve been more careful. This is his room, too, after all, and he could reappear at any time.
“Sorry, got to go,” I say to Mom and Dad. “I’ll call you back. Love you.”
Both Mom and Dad tell me they love me, and then the call ends. Leaving just me and Zarmenus.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks as he kicks at the ground with his foot.
The wounded look on his face is only matched by the hurt tone of his voice. Seriously, I have never felt emotional whiplash like this. I hurt his feelings, I can tell, and I don’t want that. Yes, he might be annoying as a roommate, but I don’t want him to feel bad.
Am I the asshole here? Maybe. If I had the ability to let this slide, we wouldn’t have a problem. If I had a way, somehow, to bury everything I’m feeling, then things would be great. I could ride out the semester, get that internship, and my life will be sweet.
But it’s barely been a week, and I am already at my wit’s end.
“My parents,” I say.
Bell appears on Zarmenus’s desk. She drops to the floor and starts doing circles around Zarmenus’s legs, her big black eyes glaring at me.
Zarmenus gives her a scratch on the top of her head between her pointed ears.
“I got you that weird green drink you like,” says Zarmenus, putting both drinks down on the table.
“Thanks,” I say.
“And a cinnamon scroll,” he adds. “I think that’s fairly considerate.”
So he did hear me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“I’m glad I did,” he says, folding his arms while leaning back against the desk. “If it’s how you feel, you should say it.”
“I know, but I don’t want to be an asshole,” I say. “I like living with you.”
He arches an eyebrow. “But…”
The internship. This could risk that.
I already know I won’t make it through an entire semester the way things are going.
And who says that conflict is always a bad thing?
If he could just be a touch more considerate, then I wouldn’t have to repress my emotions.
I might not be a psychologist, but I’m fairly sure repressing to keep the peace isn’t healthy.
“But the mess, I don’t know, it feels a little excessive,” I say. “Like, I don’t mind clothes on the floor sometimes, or whatever. But if you keep leaving food out we’re going to get bugs, and I don’t want that.”
“Ah,” he says. “Right. Listen, I get you. I never had to clean up for myself at the palace. Imps did it for me.”
Now I’m picturing monstrous flying minions doing all his tasks for him, like a princess’s animals in a fairy tale, only horrific.
“And I get that,” I say. “I do. What if we tried, like, a chore chart?”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“It’s something I did growing up to remind me to do chores. It might help you get used to doing it, I don’t know.”
“Would me doing this chore chart make you happy?”
I mull it over. I don’t exactly love being this type of person, but the truth is that yes, it would in fact make me happy.
“It would,” I say.
“Okay, great,” he says. “You whip that up and I’ll do it. Now drink your weird green drink before it gets cold. I—”
A knock sounds on our door, interrupting him.
“Were you expecting someone?” asks Zarmenus.
“Nope.”
I pull the door open and am confused for a moment, as there’s nobody out in the hall. But then I look down. A small cotton doll is lying on the floor. It’s black and white, with a pair of shiny black button eyes.
“I think it’s for you,” I say, leaving the door open to go back to my bed.
Whatever this is, he can deal with it.
I don’t care anymore.