One day,one day,she would lock me out, and I’d be grateful that she did. But not today. I got my fingers underneath the window and pushed it open.
I swung my legs around and dropped into Ophelia’s apartment. Spud’s little nails clicked against the floor as he came up to greet me. I lowered my jump bag from my shoulder and knelt to give him a scratch. “Hey, pal.”
He panted, that curled tug lolling.
I had Spud-treats in the front pocket of my jump bag…just in case. I dug one out and gave him a bone-shaped biscuit. He took his prize and did a couple happy circles before walking it over to his bed, where he flopped down and snapped it into pieces.
Strange creature. But he was alright in my book.
I surveyed the apartment. Both Ophelia and Dove were gone. No signs of human life. A pile of laundry had swallowed one of her chairs. Empty plates and cups were scattered on every surface. It wasn’t dirty, exactly, it was just…overwhelmed.
Time to get to work.
There were two stashes of cleaning supplies—the day-to-day cleaner, sponges, and towels in the compartment underneath the sink. And then there were the more heavy-duty items that I kept in the coat closet: a handheld vacuum, a mop bucket, a duster, and blue disposable cleaning gloves that I restocked the last time I was here. Extra-large, so they could fit my hands. I pulled two out and snapped the gloves on.
If you’re wondering how many times I break into Ophelia’s apartment to clean it, it’s…not many. Maybe ten times. Or twenty. Thirty, tops.
I liked cleaning. I cleaned the ambulance after every shift. And, on Saturdays, I sanitized every inch of the club. Most doms made their submissives clean their toys after playing as anact of service. Not me. I preferred to take care of those things myself. That was how it started, actually. After an aftercare session, I’d gone into cleaning-mode, wiping down the leather bench. Ophelia, watching me, had made an off-handed comment—something like, “My apartment could use some of your TLC,” and I’d said, “alright, when?” And that was that. Taking care of Ophelia calmed me in a way nothing else did. It was as though all the things inside of me that were constantly moving, constantly on edge, constantly waiting for some shoe to drop finally…went quiet. I could lose myself in the repetitive, satisfying motion of wiping grime and grease stains from her countertops. Removing the thin layer of city dust from her appliances. Folding her clothes in a way that wouldn’t leave creases when she reached for them in the morning.
I was taking care of Ophelia, yes. But this was equal parts self-care, too.
I put her dirty laundry in her stacked washing machine and got it running. Then I started cleaning in sections. Living room. Kitchen. Spud followed me from room to room, watching curiously, that tongue lolling, when?—
I heard rustling from Ophelia’s bedroom.
I glanced at Spud. He looked at me.Couldn’t have warned me, could you?
He grinned, tail wagging.
Ophelia’s bedroom door creaked. Quickly, I forced myself into the coat closet and quietly closed the door behind me. This was a ridiculous, stupid thing I’d done to myself, and I chastised myself as I listened to the sound of my own breathing in the cramped closet. Brody, meanwhile, walked around Ophelia’s freshly cleaned apartment, completely clueless to the other man in the apartment.
“Yeah,” he said. “Uh-huh.”
He was on the phone. I could hear him walk into the kitchen and help himself to the contents of Ophelia’s fridge.
Something was wheezing. I glanced down. Spud’s nose was pressed against the crack in the closet door and he sniffled at it, loudly.
Bad boy. Go away.
A beer cracked open. “Brooklyn,” Brody said. “I’m at my girlfriend’s spot.”
Then he laughed and corrected himself. “My other girlfriend. You know what I mean.”
My blood went cold.
No, Brody. I don’t know what you mean. Do tell.
Unfortunately, hedidtell. In graphic detail, he told the woman on the phone all about the various ways he wanted to use her—fingers and tongues and holes. I knew I shouldn’t be hearing this, but more importantly, he shouldn’t besayingthese things. He and Ophelia had agreed to be monogamous. At least, that was how Ophelia had presented it, and she wouldn’t lie.
Which left only one option.
He was cheating on her, and she had no idea.
Cold, mute fury welled up inside of me.
“You drive me nuts,” Brody said. His voice had that swoony, soft haze to it. “I’ll see you at the Carousel tonight, yeah? Okay. Love you, too.”
Then everything went quiet. I waited in the piercing silence. His bottle clinked around a couple more times. Finally, his feet shuffled back to the bedroom. Spud tried to engage with him, but I heard him shoo the dog off and close the bedroom door.
