Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

Even Corey had to admit this felt wrong on so many levels.
Standing in Miss Miles' house, the woman asleep in her bedroom, Corey was left with a dilemma- He could sit on the couch in silence, not touching anything, as any good guest should do when left unattended, or he could make due on Miss Miles' word, and make himself at home.
And Gods, her home was... Well, it was better than Corey's, that was for sure.
On the third floor of her apartment building, the curtains open to reveal the sprawling farmland views of Mid-City, the sun arced in across expensive, treated pine-wood flooring and smooth, dark grey walls. This part of the apartment was all one room; the kitchen, dining and living rooms all connected.
A table just large enough for two was pushed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, with two matching chairs, and a vase of fresh flowers on it. Currently, there was an open laptop on the table, plugged in and charging in a wall socket. The screensaver was a photo of Miss Birchson and Miss Miles pressing their cheeks together and grinning from ear-to-ear, shopping bags hanging off their arms. A scattering of what appeared to be university papers, shopping receipts, a copy of the hospital bill from yesterday's crash, and various other pages from magazine, news clippings and photocopies of textbook pages coated the surface like snow on the fields in winter. He could see the edge of a balcony that connected to her bedroom through the window, a lime banana lounge and a potted palm tree sitting outside.
In the living room, there was a light grey couch with green cushions, and a matching, fluffy, lime rug on the floor underneath it all, leading up to an expensive flatscreen TV.
Miss Miles clothes were thrown over everything- over the backs of the couch and chairs, piled beside the couch cushions, and there were empty or half-empty shopping bags equally littering the apartment.
Her kitchen was in an even worse state. The sink was full of dishes begging for a wash, her rubbish bin was full, and perhaps worse, full of recycling too, and her counters needed a good scrubbing.
Corey would have hated to see the state of her bathroom. He had gotten a glimpse into a messy, equally-clothing-coated bedroom earlier, when Miss Miles had emerged in nothing but her undergarments.
If Corey had to guess, he would say that the bathroom was the closed door beside the TV stand.
If there was a guest bedroom in the place, it had to be the door close to the front door, which was also closed.
Speaking of the front door, the table next to her door, which was little more than a display shelf, was covered in mail both open and unopened, and there was a bowl next to the door that indeed had a pair of keys in it, as well as several crystal-like rocks, three rings, a necklace pendant on a chain, and a pile of loose change that any dragon would have been envious to own.
This place needed a decent clean if he was going to be staying here.
Since Miss Miles had told him to make himself at home, he was going to do just that.
It took him plenty of time to find a wash bucket in the cabinet under her kitchen sink, or cleaning supplies, but after twenty minutes of searching, Corey had filled the bucket with hot water and soap, dipped a sponge and a rag into it, and began his work...
It took him two-hours-and-fifteen minutes, but in the end, Miss Miles' apartment was clean enough that even the best Officers would be hard-pressed to find fingerprints in here. Her clothes had been gathered and put in the washing machine, separated by colours and whites, since Corey was no monster, the rubbish had been cleared away and dumped in the apartment building's communal bin, the recycling had been sorted out and placed in the appropriate section, and her dishes were clean.
He'd even organised the paperwork on her table for her, although he left the mail where it was on the display table, since it was a felony, even for Corey, to read anyone else's private mail.
The bowl of coins, rocks, and jewellery had been emptied and sorted. There was a coin purse full of the coins resting next to the bowl, the rocks were decoratively placed around the base of it, and the jewellery had been placed on her bathroom counter, since Corey could hardly waltz into her bedroom in search of a jewellery box.
Her bathroom had been mostly clean, thank goodness, but he had wiped over everything with the proper cleaning chemicals, just to make it sparkle.
Now, it was time to make some lunch for Miss Miles and himself.
Padding over to her fridge, he opened it and gaped at the sheer amount of food within. What was Miss Miles doing, to be earning enough to buy plenty of not only meat, but expensive cheeses, vegetables, and fruit? It was a stupid question- and one he knew the answer to.
Corey only ever made sandwiches.
Feeling overwhelmed with choice, he closed the fridge and opted for the pantry instead, since surely it would have less within it?
Corey was wrong.
Shutting the pantry as well, he anxiously reached for a cookbook on the counter, flipping through recipes that were organised, her favourite ones marked out with a smiley face in the corner of each page. When he found one the both of them would like, a simple roasted meat and egg dish, Corey Strickland got to work...