Clean Up

They left the light on downstairs. Someone had to clean it later. Ned.

He guided her up the stairs. Meerka was walking, but she wasn't really there. Her hands were still sticky.

-The bathroom, Ned said.

He turned on the shower. He made it hot. Steam filled the small room, masking the smell of bleach.

-Wash, he said. Scrub until it’s gone.

Meerka stood there. She looked at her shirt. It had small, dark specks on it.

-I killed him, she whispered.

-You got rid of him, Ned said. He died.

He stepped out and closed the bathroom door.

Meerka stripped. She stood under the water and waited for it to get hot. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw.

When she came out, wrapped in a towel, Ned was waiting in the hall. He had a glass of water.

-Drink.

She drank. Her teeth chattered against the glass.

-I feel cold, she said.

-Shock, Ned said. It’ll pass.

He walked her to the guest room. The bed was turned down. It looked soft. Innocent.

Meerka sat on the edge of the mattress. She looked up at Ned. He seemed very tall. Very solid.

-Stay? she asked.

Her voice was small.

-Please. I don't want to be alone with it.

Ned looked at her. He saw the tremble in her shoulders.

-Sure, he said, taking a seat in the chair by the window.

-No, Meerka said. Here.

She patted the space beside her on the bed.

-I need to feel something. Besides the cold.

Ned stood up. He walked over. He pulled the duvet up to her chin, tucking it in tight.

-You need sleep, he said.

-But—

He brushed a strand of wet hair from her forehead. His hand was warm, she was shaking.

-Sleep, Meerka. Everything’s better after sleep.

Meerka closed her eyes. The cold warmth of the blanket seeped in.

He went back to the chair. He picked up his book and pretended to read.