The Naked Cleaner Read online

  “Stay?” His hand grabs mine and my stupid heart melts again. “I hate it. I hate when I get like this, and I get really scared. I don’t handle stress well, and when things overwhelm me, I get all wound up and then I get migraines. It feels like I am about to die and my heart races and I just. I’m a mess. I just need…” He stutters a bit, trying to get the words out as his eyes are squinting into the soft hallway light.

  “Just relax. Do you want a cold towel on your forehead? That sometimes helps?” Nurse Louis is in full swing. Right down to the hand holding and the reassuring soft voice.

  “Don’t want to be alone.” He whispers. Almost like he is ashamed.

  “Look. “ I sigh. “We both know that there is nothing going on between us. We both know that we don’t need to impress each other or try to put on a façade. And finally, you are just as much of a mess as I am. And as I said earlier, before you chucked me out…”

  Yeah. I have to get that one in, because I am not a nice nurse. “We are friends. Okay? And right now, I am here to look after you, and I will stay and make sure you are okay. So just chill. I don’t judge. Just like you don’t judge me. So, cold towel? You want one? For your forehead?”

  “Weirdo.” He huffs out, and fuck me sideways. There is a little smirk on his lips. I can see it, right there below a stray tear that is making a slow descent down his cheek.

  I swipe it off with my thumb.

  “Emotionally stunted asswipe.” I say back. Because, believe me. I am the ultimate weirdo.

  “Twatface.” He retaliates, snorting softly as the back of his hand tries to wipe his nose.

  “Muppet.” Yes, yours truly is running out of slurs. In my defence it’s about six in the morning and I am exhausted already. Even though I am clean and smell slightly of pineapple shower gel. I make a mental note to buy some decent shower gel and place it strategically in his shower. He’s never going to get laid smelling of chemical fruit.

  “No cold towel then, I assume. Look, I’m going to go clean up your bathroom, and dump your towel in the bins outside. I’ll be on the sofa. Just shout if you need me. Okay?”

  “Stay, just stay here for a little while. Please.” His voice is so sad, that I just nod, and my whole body recoils at myself. Because, yeah. I’m an idiot.

  But for some strange reason, I know what it’s like to be sick and small. I know that my mum used to wrap a blanket around me and hold me. Just keeping me warm and safe until I felt better. She used to hum little songs in Spanish, making up silly translations with Danish words to make me laugh.

  And I am an idiot. Fuck that. I’m me. Take it or leave it. So, I curl my naked body around his. Then I get up and get under the duvet, because it’s bloody cold, and I’m all prickles and goose bumps.

  “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here for comfort and warmth, and to make you feel better.” I huff out as I get comfortable and wrap my arms around him, pressing his back into my chest.

  He fits. He fits like a fucking glove, and my nose rubs against his neck and my mouth fills with wet hair and there is bloody pineapple everywhere and his fingers curl up in my grip.

  Fucking hell.

  I’m a little shocked at myself. That I did this. I’ll regret it later when he wakes up and beats the shit out of me, but for now? Fuck cleaning up his bathroom. Fuck going home. I’m kind of fine, right here. Warm. Nice.

  His breathing is a bit hitched, but it calms down. Deep breaths as I find a little space on his back where my chin rests against his skin.

  I try to think of a song to hum to him, but all that comes to mind is some rap tune. I’m not doing that. I may think I can rap in the shower, but I am not going to go there.

  “There once was this dude called Pontus.” I start.

  “Shut up.” He whispers. Which of course spurs me on.

  “Who was some kind of computer doofus.”

  “That doesn’t rhyme, Louis.”

  He’s obviously feeling better, speaking to me.

  “He faked a big migraine.”

  Pontus just snorts.

  “So he could get me lain.”

  “I hate you so much right now.”

  “You love me. Really.”

  “If that was an attempt at a limerick that was the worst one ever. Truly. Go the fuck to sleep Louis, my head hurts.”

  “My head hurts from you hurting me.” I am giggling again. Fuck I am a mess.

  We go quiet and I can’t help it. I hold him a little tighter, and my lips press a little kiss to his shoulder blade as I feel myself drifting off.

  I haven’t held someone like this for a long time, and it’s amazing what it can do for you. Skin against skin, warmth. Human contact. His fingers in my hand. His heartbeat slow and strong against my wrist. I’m almost asleep when he speaks again.

  “There once was a dude called Louis. Who was kind of weird but ambig…ouis.”

  “That’s not even a real word.”

  “Fuck off, Louis”

  "He never wore clothing, but was full of loathing."

  That's me. Fuck my life.

  "And he was definitely a heathen."

  I’m still smiling when I fall asleep. I don’t even question it.

  Chapter Seven

  Pontus

  Stretching out in my own bed feels kind of… weird, since it takes more than a few seconds for things to become clear functioning memories in my head. And I cringe, just a little. Because, yup. That was me. Probably crying and hurling the contents of my stomach all over the shop in front of Louis. Louis, of all people. Someone I definitely don’t want to impress, in any shape or form. Well, thank god he has left, and that my little sanctuary of an apartment is nice and quiet and still, and… I’m alone again.

  That’s the way I like it. Isn’t it?

  At least my brain feels like it’s swimming in cool jelly, as my temples are screaming. I need another dose of pills and a couple of cups of strong coffee and I should be back into some kind of functionable state. I think. I usually am.

  There is a little bit of nausea curling into my stomach as I stumble down the hallway and take a long satisfying piss in the loo. Smiling a little then cringing again when I realise the bathroom is clean and smells sweetly of some cleaning product that I don’t recognise. He cleaned up then. Damn him. I don’t like feeling that I owe him, but I kind of do. I think my tab is filling up to the point where I have to do something nice back, and that is so out of my comfort zone that it’s not even funny.

  I mean Jonas is easy. I buy him stocks and shares for his birthday every year and manage his portfolio. When I feel my tab of things I owe him for gets out of control, I just buy him another portfolio and send him a screenshot. Which makes him laugh and reply something along the lines of not understanding shite of what I have just sent, but I’m sure he knows. I’m investing in his future and his retirement and hoping that he will one day be able to just enjoy a nice holiday on me. That would kind of make me happy.

  Well, bullshit. I know nothing about being happy. And Jonas for all I know doesn’t give a shit about money, as long as he gets to drive around in that high-tech wank-wagon of an ambulance. That makes him happy. Even spending twelve-hour shifts with that surly grumpy Clara makes him happy.

  It’s obviously sometime in the afternoon, with the dull light making big showy shapes on my living-room floor, and the slow creeping panic descends on me again as I look over at my workstation, with it’s dull blinking modem lights and what I know is an overflowing inbox of messages that I should have dealt with two days ago. I should not be this careless, ignoring my customers’ needs and getting behind on assignments and jobs. I should just bite the bullet and write a standard apology feigning a random injury and promise free website upgrades and shit to sweet talk the bastards into still letting me handle their business and not go off to some of the very competitively priced big firms….

  “Hello there!”

  Fuck. That's him.

  "Ughhhiik"

  Yes
. That’s me. Almost wetting myself on my living room floor and doing a very ungraceful pirouette trying to get my feet to cooperate with my body. Because yeah. There he is, in all his naked glory, nursing a cup of something warm and reading… a book. Who the hell reads books these days?

  “Fuck, Louis!” I shout. Yes. Charming, I know.

  “Hey, hey, HEY!” He shouts back. Standing up and holding his hand out, like he is trying to protect himself. Thinking I might just launch into him. Which I wouldn’t because, hey. Naked. Not cool.

  “Why the fuck…?” I start, but he holds his finger up to his mouth and bloody shushes me like a baby.

  “We are going to try something new, dickhead.” He says calmly. Like calling me a dickhead first thing in the morning... afternoon isn’t the rudest thing I have ever heard.

  “What?” I snarl.

  “From now on, you and I are going to be nice and civil to one another. No more name-calling. No more stupid shit. Be nice to me, and I will be nice to you back.”

  “I am being perfectly nice, Louis. If you don’t mind, I have to work and I would very much appreciate if you could just fuck off.”

  He just tuts at that. Shakes his head and waggles his bloody finger.

  “I am going to make you something to eat, and then we are going to sit down and just chill.”

  “We are doing nothing of the sort.” That’s me. Look? I am totally chilled and civilised.

  “Yes, we are, because we are going to get to the bottom of all this childish attention-seeking you have going on with Jonas. He can’t always come to your rescue.”

  I feel like punching him, and there is something venomous brewing on the tip of my tongue. But somehow, I just sink into the floor. Not actually falling over, but I kind of shrink until I am the size of an ant. All in my head of course, because this shithead of a human in front of me, a naked, very naked human right in front of me, just called me out on one of the truths I don’t like to admit to.

  He’s totally right. I attention seek. I call Jonas for the tiniest of reasons. I treat him like shit. Sometimes.

  “I don’t.“ I lie, but it’s hopeless. I have already given myself away.

  “It’s okay to admit that you need someone. It’s okay to call on your friends when you need them, but it’s a bit shit when there are things you can do to help yourself, and you could occasionally give Jonas a breather. And before you completely start to hurl abuse at me again, can I just, in your defence, say that I know you look after Jonas in return, and I’m grateful, because he can attention-seek and be a drama queen when he wants to. I am fully aware of that.”

  “He sleeps on my sofa when he’s drunk. And he makes me talk to his girlfriend when he’s being an arse. I do my bit too.”

  I sound like a child. I am a child.

  “Come on, let’s hug it out.” He says, opening his arms, taking a bold step towards me.

  “Ehhw, dude. Naked!” I squeal.

  “Yeah,” he laughs. “So are you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Now I cringe, because what the fuck is wrong with me? Have I become so bloody jaded that I don’t even realise that I am bloody stark naked myself?

  “No bloody naked hugging!” I retaliate, waving one hand in front of me for safety and the other is holding my junk. Which is ridiculous, because we have been standing here having some kind of naked standoff for several minutes.

  “Told you, we are not shagging, nor will we, so just get over yourself. I don’t fancy you, you don’t fancy me, so let’s just hug it out and be done with it. Then I will make you a cup of tea and…”

  “No!” I squeal. “No, no, no Louis. No bloody hugging.”

  “It’s too late if you think you are getting away from my Weird-Louis bacteria. Let me just remind you that I had a lovely nap earlier, all naked plastered to your back. And you didn’t seem to mind that too much?”

  Yeah, now I am blushing and cringing even worse. “I was sick!” Oh. Good excuse Pontus. “I don’t like all this… contact.” I lie.

  I loved that he held me. I did. I can kind of reluctantly admit that to myself. Not that I will tell him. I wouldn’t, anyway it’s embarrassing.

  “You don’t like cuddling? Okay. No more cuddling.” He winks. Then laughs.

  “Look, just go with it. I’ve seen your junk, and obviously you usually walk around naked here at home, and it doesn’t bother you, and it definitely doesn’t bother me, no sexual innuendo implied.”

  “Ditto.” I say. Nodding like a puppet. I have no idea what I am talking about.

  “So… you don’t mind me being naked anymore?” He smiles in mock surprise.

  “Look, dude, seeing you in clothes was awkward. You look weird with clothes. I can cope with the nudity, just no bloody man hugs or cuddling. Okay?”

  I am talking too fast. Breathing too loud. Being stupid. And my bloody traitorous dick is jumping in my grip. Filling out as I silently scream at it, shouting for it to behave and go the hell down. I am not attracted to the stunning smiling sexy naked man in front of me, the one who is leaning casually against the doorframe and just smirking at me as I squirm in the hallway and retreat, backwards, into the bathroom, letting the door slam a little too loud behind me. I just sink down on the toilet seat and breathe. Deep long breaths. Just breathe, Pontus. Breathe, goddamnit!

  I have no idea how I have managed to get myself into this mess. And he is absolutely right that I use Jonas when I am lonely, and when I panic on the inside and can’t cope with my fucking mess of a life. I hate being alone. Hate it. I am lonely, and pathetic and useless and hopeless, and stuck in my bloody gleamingly clean bathroom that smells of grass and lavender and crap.

  “When you come out, I have made you a nice cup of tea. I bought biscuits.”

  That’s him. The naked weirdo that has attached himself to my flat and won't leave. Then my stupid self has gone and made some sort of deal with him and then he cuddled me to sleep. And he doesn’t even like me. At all.

  “Hate tea.” I shout back. A little more forceful then I perhaps should.

  “No, you don’t, and we made a deal about being nice, so what you should have said was ‘Well, thank you lovely Louis, and I will be right out and I will drink your delightful cup of Earl Grey.”

  “Earl what?” I shout back. Because despite me thinking I am calm, I have no chill. Zero.

  “Just come out and drink tea you fucking wanker. “ He shouts from the kitchen. I think.

  I do, eventually, hobble down the hallway and plonk myself on the sofa like a loser, as Louis smiles as though I have just bought him a fucking puppy. And I am now wearing a dressing gown and clean underpants. I’m like, fully dressed, so fuck him.

  He still sticks a cup of brown gloop in my hand and I sniff it suspiciously.

  “When are you leaving?” I snarl. Because I am a wanker. He’s right about that too. I am starting to believe he is right about most things. Weirdo.

  “Never. I am kind of hoping to stay. I mean we did sleep together, so I assume we are getting married? I mean my Father will have words if you don’t make an honourable man out of me.”

  He can’t pull that shit off, stifling giggles under his breath and spluttering tea when I reluctantly laugh.

  “You are so fucking weird.” My mouth says, and he laughs, “Ditto.” right back at me.

  “I like you, Pontus. I mean all this treat people with kindness, alt er love modernistic hipster shite? You have bite. And you don’t give a fuck and I can respect that. But, let’s just agree that we like each other and get on. Okay?”

  “You said, no attraction. You said you didn’t like me and now you do? Alt er love? Did you watch that damn show?”

  “No?” He suddenly looks a little embarrassed.

  “You should have. It was good, full of uptight wankers, but it was all right.”

  I say. Freely admitting to a naked bloke that I watched some romantic teen series and cried over a couple of dudes in love, and Louis looks a little f
lushed.

  “My mum was obsessed with it, which meant I refused to watch it.”

  That makes me laugh, which is strange.

  “Teenage rebel, you.” I giggle. Then I take a gulp of my tea and want to spit it right out, but I am a grown up and swallow it down like a good boy. Then my mind goes straight in the gutter, thinking about swallowing that damn fine cock down my throat. It’s hard not to when it’s right there, staring at me with it’s little eye.

  “Would you watch it with me?” He says, looking bloody sincere and now I am blushing. Because. Ehhrm.

  “I have the latest Fast and Furious?” I counter, a little too fast as I sit up and adjust my dressing gown belt. I must not get a boner. I must not get a boner. He has a very nice dick and I want to suck it. I must NOT get a boner.

  “Cars and chicks and idiots being all hyper manly? Nah. I’m good thanks. “

  And now I have insulted him.

  “Okay, we can watch the damn Alt er Love thingy. Do we need to start from the beginning?” Why the hell am I letting him get his way? What is wrong with me?

  “Haven’t seen any of it. Although mum says Season 3 is the gay one, isn’t it?”

  “Wouldn’t know.” I lie. Again. I lie a lot these days. And I really should check my emails.

  “Louis?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I please check my emails first?” Now I am treating him like he’s my dad and I kind of want to die.

  “Let’s make a deal.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yeah, you get an hour to check your emails and stuff, and I’ll make us dinner. Then in an hour, you’re all mine. No phones, or work allowed. For the rest of the evening I need you to relax, and then you are going to have a good night’s sleep, so tomorrow you’ll be in good shape, ready for a proper working day. Don’t neglect your health, it’s important to listen to your body. We need to get food and nutrition into you.”

  “And water.” I rabbit on.

  “Water. I went down to the 7-Eleven on Nansensgade, and you know Astrid who works the tills there?”

  “No?”