My Love (Bwwm)

Cleaning Up My Own Mess

The echo of raindrops against the windows had long faded, leaving behind the lingering scent of outside as I entered my home, soaked from last night's relentless downpour. The mud on my shoes left an unintended trail, a grim reminder of last night's chaos.

Concern for Dorothy crept in as I noticed her slumbering peacefully. It was an anomaly; she was usually up and about by now. Guilt prickled at me as I considered the mess I'd unwittingly created and the fact that she would have to be the one cleaning it up.

With a sigh, I grabbed a mop, intent on cleaning my own mess for once. The rhythmic swish of the mop seemed to drown out any thoughts of Robbie, Bunny or Charlotte. Despite the mundane nature of the task, a sense of purpose embraced me.

"I smell like a Dog's ass" I told myself. I needed to shower.

In the solitary confinement of the shower, the steam-wreathed tiles became a canvas for the vivid hues of imagination. As the water cascaded, I couldn't shake the ethereal image of Dorothy. Her silhouette danced in the mist, a mirage of purity and allure that defied the confines of my rational mind.

The droplets clung to the imaginary curve of her neck, tracing an illusionary path down her shoulders, creating an otherworldly symphony of grace. The cascade of water played a duet with the contours of her form, a tantalizing ballet that blurred the lines between reality and the fantastical realm of hallucination.

My mind, unruly and insistent, conjured visions of her innocent eyes glistening in the imagined moisture, inviting yet guarded. I was an intruder in my own fantasies, caught between the yearning for an unattainable connection and the cruel reality that dictated the chasm between us.

As the steam thickened, her image became more palpable, more tantalizing. The tendrils of her dampened hair, in my hallucination, clung delicately to her skin, an intricate web of desire woven in the recesses of my subconscious. "I have to get out of the shower" I whispered with my head fully submerged under the shower head. The realization of my own intrusive thoughts, especially while Dorothy slept soundly in the next room, weighed heavily on my conscience. I couldn't deny the pang of guilt that accompanied my thoughts.

As I stepped out, drops of water clung to my form, an inadequate attempt to wash away more than just physical dirt. I cast a glance towards the room where Dorothy slept, a silent acknowledgment of the boundaries I dared not cross.

Muttering to myself, I acknowledged the neglected state of my own well-being. "Should eat something... didn't have anything last night." I found myself drawn to the kitchen.

The aroma of sizzling bacon and brewing coffee enveloped the kitchen,the clock reminded me that breakfast had seamlessly transitioned into lunch. It didn't matter; time, like everything else, was a malleable construct in my life.

Dorothy stirred from her slumber, panic etching across her features as she realized she had abandoned her responsibilities. I waved off her concerns with a casual dismissal.

In a less threatening tone then usual, I said "Relax, Dorothy. I took care of breakfast. It's nothing to fret about.I'm not even that hungry. I just made it because I knew I had to eat something. You can have it if you want, Dorothy."

Her eyes searched mine, a mix of gratitude and bewilderment.

Dorothy, hesitating replied "But, Mr. Artie, why would you... if you weren't hungry?"

With a casual smile I stated "Consider it a gesture to ease a troubled mind, Dorothy. Besides, I'm not one to let good food go to waste."

She accepted my offering with a mix of appreciation and curiosity, our unspoken understanding hanging in the air. In that shared meal, a peculiar camaraderie unfolded.