Lights (2019)

Morning After

It is always the "morning after" that gets to him. He likes the night before and everything, but he hates cleaning up the mess. And that is where I come in, now I know what you are thinking. What kind of person is willing to clean a house that you probably need to wear a hazmat suit in? Well, the answer is me...because if I don't do it who will? Frankly, I am just impressed he hasn't been evicted yet, considering the landlord is not a guy who likes "fun".

His house is trashed; red cups litter the lawn; his hungover friends are asleep everywhere. His walls are so discolored that I have forgotten the original color...I think it was sea foam green, but who knows? Sometimes I think they may be dead so I poke them with the toe of my shoe, but then they swat at me and I know they are just drunk. As unsanitary as it is, vomit coats the carpet along with spilled drinks. I wrinkle my nose; God knows what is growing in here. This whole house is a biohazard.

His friends groan as I trip over them. I walk through his house towards the kitchen. I reach under the sink finding the cleaners and a plastic bin. I do this almost every Saturday morning. I go to his house, clean up his mess, and then nurse his hangover. I warn him over and over that this isn't a good life to live, but he never listens. But hey, I'm not the one throwing up with a pounding headache or acting stupid and ending up on the internet the next day (don't ask, just know that it has happened).

I pull dishwashing gloves over my hands so I can clean without touching something I really don't want to touch. I grab a trash bag, sliding the contents of the cluttered counter into the bag. I go around picking up underwear, cups, and anything else imaginable into the bag. It is amazing to me; what sort of things are left after parties. I'm not one to complain considering there have been many times that I have been able to pocket some cash that had been left.

This is that time of the week where I have to enter the depths of his cave and pull him out kicking and screaming. All right, you got me, that was an exaggeration...kind of. I purse my lips as I walk into his room. As per usual his room is the cleanest place in the house--which isn't saying much. He had old take-out containers on his bedside table, his clothes (dirty and clean) are all over his floor, his desk is covered in old cups and papers that are crumbled into balls. Also per usual there is a snoring blonde that is draped over top of him. I pry off my gloves, dropping the bag to the side. I pop my knuckles and get ready to put on a show. I slam the door loudly and allow it to look as if I had just entered. The blonde jumps awake, and so does he. She looks at me in utter confusion and I almost break character...almost.

"Oh my God!" I gasp into my hand. I conjure up some fake tears, making it look like I'm really heartbroken. "I can't believe you! You cheated on me?"

The blonde looks surprised at him, her voice reminds me of the stereotypic valley girl who usually chomps on some gum. "Terry, you said you were single."

"Harry!" I whine loudly, correcting her. I hit a note that I didn't even know I could hit--Harry winced at the sound before playing his very pre-scripted part.

"No, I didn't say that...exactly." He said to the blonde before getting out of bed, I thanked God silently that he had boxers on. "Blair, baby, can we talk about this?"

"Talk about what, Harry? How you cheated on me with this--this whore?" I yell, most likely waking up the neighbors. Harry continues to rub sleep out of his eyes--most likely trying to track down his next line in that think skull of his.

"Hey!" She whines in offense. "Terry!"

"Harry!" I whine in her same tone. Oh how fun it was to be annoying this early in the day. "You know what? Engagement off Harry!"

"You're--you're engaged?" The blonde gasps, she then proceeds to scramble out of bed and grab her black dress off the floor.

"Ashley, no it's not like that," Harry says. Oh no, he has gone off script. Abort! I need to improvise and fast!