Whirlwind | W.M.

13

I'm almost a hundred percent sure that in the past seven years, I've held more guns than cleaning rags. I haven't done a chore since I was fifteen, and even then I wasn't sure I was doing it right but I woke up this morning with a strangely incessant need to clean. Yes, like- rags to surfaces and sweeping the floor kind of clean. I wasn't entirely sure why, for most of the morning I was floating through the apartment trying to ignore that weird urge in me to set things in order, not that I ever cared about it much before.

I wasn't the trash a hotel room kind of person, but I definitely didn't care enough to do all I was doing right this afternoon. It almost felt misplaced, such a mundane activity- so domesticated and... boring. It felt foreign, and yet I still did it. Martina barged in about a half hour ago, catching me with a mop in my hand and a bucket of cleaning supplies I found under Nat's sink and I don't think she'd ever looked at me so strangely, not even when I showed up at her door covered in blood. Even that felt more normal to her.

"I'm starting to think you're bipolar or something." Is the first thing Martina says to me, plastered on the couch with her feet upon the coffee table after nearly an hour of strange, observant looks.

"What do you want now?" I hum as I dust the shelves, making sure to take each book and wipe it down before setting it back in place.

I don't make an effort to even really look her way, I just let my tasks unfold with the unavoidable, inescapable commentary that Martina so generously provided mainly because I had no answer to her burning questions. As usual, music was playing and I was trying desperately to play off the fact that I was actually, with all sincerity, cleaning the apartment.

"Just yesterday you were all... sulky and disgusting." Martina states, her voice muffled by the chips stuffed into her mouth.

"And now you're all happy and... still disgusting. Are you fucked in the head or what?" She hums, tossing a piece of her snack my way as I snap in her direction.

"I'm the disgusting one? Really?" I deadpan, begrudgingly picking up her litter and tossing it into the bin.

"It's just weird." She shrugs.

It definitely wasn't weird. People clean, right? They do normal things like take out the trash and... pay taxes? I was entirely lost. I could talk about why knives were more practical than guns without missing a beat and yet, if somebody asked me about taxes, I'm pretty sure I'd blank out. Martina definitely wasn't helping with the confusion, throwing little sly remarks that only remind me how out of character it was of me to actually care about my surroundings.

"Did something happen last night?" She asks after a few moments of thoughtful silence. I was only thanking the universe I was turned away, because the way I choked on my own spit probably would have said enough.

"What? No. Why would you think that?" I clear my throat, subtly bolting to the kitchen with the excruciatingly mocking sound of the mop bucket rolling right with me.

"Because I feel like I missed a chapter or something." Martina, relentless as usual, follows me into the room, situated right by the doorway with a hand on her bag of snacks while I go to wash my hands in the kitchen sink.

"You're being crazy." I call out; hoping the sound of the running water drowns the way my heart was thumping to break through my chest.

"Am I? Am I really?" She drags out her little hum; I could practically hear the smirk on her lips as her footsteps fade into the distance.

I nearly drop my head into the sink; releasing a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding at the confirmation that I was alone. I absolutely despised the nerves that little girl gave me, her inquisitive stare and suspicious hums strike a certain fear in me that couldn't be matched by all the times I was actually interrogated.