It’s three thirty in the afternoon and Lana Del Rey’s Summertime is the only thing dragging me through a workday that never ends. On paper, being the cleaner for the Sunrise Motel is fairly simple. Keep the rooms clean and tidy, don’t disturb the guests, and make sure each room sweep takes no longer than fifteen minutes.
Reality is much different. There’s a constant under-the-counter policy here that has empty rooms becoming occupied at the drop of a hat, guests who think the cleaner is also the one in charge of the booze and snacks, and the occasional argument over the cleaning cart when someone high on God knows what decides that my bleach is going to give them a better fix.
Paint peels from the walls, creating an array of crisscross cracks between each rust-covered drainpipe. When the sun is high enough, baking the Sunrise Motel like an overturned cake, a distinct scent of stale piss, old vomit, and something painfully acidic fills the parking lot. The Sunrise Motel shouldn’t be anyone’s choice to live or work. If I had any other choice, I definitely wouldn’t be here.
As unattractive as this place is, it’s rarely empty. My boss has a revolving door policy, and I try to keep my nose out of it. If I don’t know what’s going on in those rooms, I won’t be liable if anyone ever gets caught doing something shady. I think that’s why Gerald hired me.
“Pretty to look at and silent to boot!” he’d snorted when signing my employment papers. I keep my distance as much as I can.
Squeezing the last drop of moisture from my mop with the revolving bucket, I brush back a few loose strands of my dark hair and puff out my cheeks. Fourteen rooms done, eight to go. Then I can go home and hope my next paycheck is enough to tide me over for the rest of the month.
Humming softly, I push the cart in front of me toward the elevator. My next rooms are on the top floor and they should all be empty, provided that my manager hasn’t invited any sudden guests.
“Think I’ll miss you forever,” I sing softly, lost in a world of nostalgic musical notes drifting from my earphones. “Like the stars miss the sun—”
“Surprise!” With a stomp of his boots and a loud clap of his hands, Dillon Stewart leaps out of the side corridor and lands in front of my cart.
I scream in fright, narrowly avoiding ramming into his shins with the cart, and immediately leap back. My heart pounds painfully while a rush of static heat floods up my arms and legs.
“Dillon!” I yell, tearing my earphones out by the cable. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dillon places both hands on the end of my cart and leans forward, using his body weight to prevent it from rolling any further.
“Surprising you, obviously.” He rolls his eyes and grins, displaying all his teeth like some kind of feral animal.
“You scared me half to death!” My voice trembles faintly from how hard my heart beats in my chest, so hard, in fact, that I swear my tongue pulses in time to the rhythm.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Dillon remarks, scrunching his nose upward. “What else was I supposed to do?”
Shit.
A few weeks ago, I weakened under Dillon’s unrelenting pressure and agreed to one date. A date that was a few drinks at a local bar where he got so incredibly drunk that he started a fight with the barman. He ended up being thrown out by security, which was much deserved, but rather than stumbling home, he decided to start a fight with security until I was kicked out too. It was humiliating and painful since they wouldn’t let me leave until I paid Dillon’s tab. As if I wasn’t in enough debt. As dates go, it was terrible and he was not deserving of a second.
“I don’t know how much clearer I can be.” Suddenly, I’m glad the cleaning cart is between us. “I didn’t have fun and I don’t want to see you again. I can’t believe you’re even here. You don’t even work here.”
“Wasn’t hard to track you down.” Dillon snorts, and the amused look on his face quickly fades. “Let me take you out again.”
“No.”
“A proper date this time. Last time only felt bad because you didn’t drink enough, and if that bastard at the bar had listened to me then, we wouldn’t have had a problem.”
My brow raises at the memory of Dillon demanding shots of absinthe after four Vodka limes. The barman refused due to the high proofing of absinthe and Dillon decided he knew better. Trying to climb over the bar to prove his point was the spark that started it all.
“No,” I repeat with slightly less confidence. I’m suddenly acutely aware of how it’s only the two of us in this corridor. The six rooms along this walkway are all empty—and very clean, if I do say so myself. It was one thing to dodge Dillon at the laundromat, the gas station, and my grocery store, but now he’s here at my work.
Not ideal.
“Come on,” Dillon whines, and he moves around the cart, swaying toward me like a palm tree caught in a light wind. “This playing hard-to-get schtick is getting old, Evelyn.
“Dillon, we’re not compatible, okay?”
“I heard you singing, you miss me…”
“No, I—”
“The fuck is going on here?” With a bundle of papers in hand and a chewed toothpick hanging from his fat lips, my boss rounds the corner with a dark scowl on his face.
Never have I been gladder to see my horrible boss than at this moment.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, stepping around Dillon. “I was just—”
“Who the fuck are you?” Gerald tilts his head back, creating the illusion that his fat neck is only swollen due to his hunched form. “You’re not a guest.”
“No.” Dillon sighs and shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. “A friend.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Either buy a room or get the fuck out,” Gerald barks.
I can feel Dillon staring at me, perhaps hoping I will speak up and save him from my boss’s wrath, but I won’t help. I’m more than happy for Gerald to send him packing.
“Well?” Gerald barks when Dillon doesn’t reply. “You forget how to speak, boy? Buy a room or get the fuck off my property.”
“Alright, Gramps,” Dillon grumbles. “Don’t have a heart attack.” He slouches away, leaving Gerald to grumble darkly about insolent young men and how if he were twenty years younger, he would teach that fucker a lesson. His face reddens with each passing second, and then he fixes his beady eyes on me, and my heart sinks.
Looks like it’s me who will get that lesson.
“I don’t pay you to stand around flirting on my time,” Gerald barks. “I pay you to clean. It’s not fucking hard, Evelyn. In fact, the only thing easier than this would be if I paid you to fuck each guest. Should I be doing that instead? Would I make more money off you then? I wouldn’t have to put up with complaints about your shoddy work or how you disturb guests who want to be left alone, would I? The dirtiest thing about that job would be your cunt, but no one would complain, would they? Should I add self-service to your duties, Evelyn?”
My stomach churns hotly and disgust worms its way up my throat as we stare at one another. As he talks, little flecks of spittle fly past his fat lips, raining through the air toward me. It takes all my restraint not to flinch, and I’m amazed that his toothpick hasn’t dislodged from his lip. Maybe it’s been there so long that it’s become part of him.
I’ve never seen him without it.
“No, sir,” I say when Gerald finally pauses for breath. “I didn’t know he was here so I—”
“I don’t care,” Gerald yells, making me jump. “There are a thousand girls who would kill for this job, understand? You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
“No!” The word bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Please, sir. You know how much I need this job. Please, I promise this won’t happen again!”
A shitty job in a seedy motel that’s more like a reputable drug den is the only thing I have. I made some bad decisions when I was a teenager, seeking love and comfort in material things I could only afford with credit cards. A lot of credit cards. With my financial history in ruins, getting a job to pay off the debt had been almost impossible until I found this place. I can’t afford to lose it.
Gerald steps forward, and while the anger lingers in his eyes, there’s something else there too. A glint of something dark, like he knows exactly how to wear me down and get what he really wants from me. The skimpy maid outfit was hint enough that it’s not just my stellar cleaning skills he wants from me.
“No more boyfriends in my motel, you hear me?” Gerald snaps.
“He’s not my boyfriend, trust me,” I say, fighting to keep the shake out of my voice when Gerald’s meaty hand lands on my upper arm. For a man so rotund, his grip is alarmingly powerful. It feels like he could snap my arm in two with just a flex of his fingers.
“Good,” Gerald replies breathily, and when he breathes in through his mouth, there’s a gurgling sound at the back of his throat. “You can apologize to me later. Back to work, there’s a good girl.”
My skin crawls fiercely with disgust as I force a smile, grab my cleaning cart, and run toward the elevator. His gaze remains on me, heavy and unrelenting as I wait for the doors to slide open and whisk me away to the next floor.
I need this job, I tell myself as I force myself to wave at him when I step into the elevator. I need this job, I need this job, I need this job.
The mantra continues until the doors close, sealing me away from the disgusting, hungry look in my boss’s eyes. I sag back against the wall with a groan and close my eyes. What I would give for the elevator to just keep going up, carrying me away to a life better than this one.
My debt is my own fault, although deep down, I blame my mother’s neglect for pushing me toward seeking validation in material items. I just need to keep my head down, away from any kind of drama and just work until my credit is back to a place where I can get a better job.
And a better apartment. My shitty home is the only apartment in the whole of New York City that makes this motel look like a five-star. Burned credit gets you a waterlogged shoebox.
I take several deep breaths of acidic, smoke-tainted air to calm myself and slide my earphones back in place. Eight more rooms, then I can go home.
Eight more.
‘relate to desperation. My give-a-fucks are on vacation.’ Espresso filters into my mind, chasing away the lingering negativity from my boss and Dillon.
Focusing on the lyrics, I find my rhythm once more and hum softly while changing my gloves. Cleaning has always been therapeutic for me in a way I don’t fully understand. It might be because my own life is such a mess, so there’s something satisfying about wiping stains away, cleaning up a mess, and tidying up a place like it’s my own mind. Leaving a freshly cleaned room is like the first burst of crisp, cold air in your lungs when you open a window on a wintry morning.
I love it.
My next two rooms are swift cleans. Nothing more than ashtrays to empty, bins to unload, and a restock of the bathrooms. By the time I reach the third, I’m calm once more and fully engrossed in the music pouring through my brain. There’s nothing but me, my summer playlist, and the sharp scents of bleach, drain cleaner, and the peach scent bombs I leave as I exit each room. It’s hardly a deserving scent for a place like this, but I’ve seen the people who stay here. Many look like they’re in need of an escape, so I like to think they are the ones who appreciate the fruity or floral scents I leave behind.
The third room shows evidence of a party, and it takes me longer to clean up the empty beer cans and chip bags. I make the bed, timing myself and cheering softly when I beat my record of three minutes and eighteen seconds.
“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evening,” I sing to myself, nudging open the bathroom door with my hip. “And it sounds just—”
My singing halts abruptly and my breath catches in my throat as my chest seizes up tightly. The cleaning basket in my hand clatters to the floor, landing in a large pool of blood and sending a spray of crimson droplets up the walls already covered in the thick, dark gore.
My heart freezes, turning my blood to ice as the carnage of the bathroom registers in my mind.
I scream.
Loud and sharp.
Splayed out like a twisted piece of art is the blood-soaked body of a man with his throat slit so wide I can see the white bone of his neck.
There’s a corpse in the tub.
Holy shit.
