Who's going to clean the carpet?

So, there was a party.

Okay, I threw a party.

What was supposed to be the best party of the century, was everything but that. For me, at least.

I rub my forehead; a giant man chewed and spat out the house. There is no other explanation to the mess in front of me. One deep breath and I step further. How much did these people drink that the smell of vomit is the most prominent?

I shudder, swim through the ocean of red, plastic cups and kick the last balloon alive.

The door swings when I slide the drawer open. Instead of grabbing rubber gloves, I look left. He enters, earphones in, head down. My hand freezes in the air and I clench my fingers. My chest is heavy.

“And I thought it can’t get any better than cleaning vomit off of the carpet,” I sigh. Justin pauses, pulls out the earphones and hides them in separate pockets.

“I can hear you,” he says, avoiding eye contact.

“Now you can hear me. What an achievement,” I mumble to myself, loud enough for him to hear.

Am I too unforgiving?

No, I can’t get too unforgiving around him.

He scoffs. A bowl with warm water and soap is waiting for me, but he picks it up instead. Good. I toss the rubber gloves at him. It’s my nicest act so far and I won’t go beyond that.

The air wouldn’t feel so dense and I wouldn’t be trembling if he had more respect for me. We wouldn’t be cleaning my house if he had more respect for me. Everything would be different if…

“Who’s gonna wash the carpet?” he asks as if we’re two buddies. We’re nothing, Justin. Not anymore.

“Not me for sure. I shouldn’t be cleaning it in the first place,” I say. I pick up one red cup, then another. I pile them up and throw into a black trash bag that hangs on my forearm. I throw them in aggressively. Maybe he will get the hint. I’m pissed off, Justin. Really, really angry.

“It’s your house,” he says, knowing exactly what’s going to add fuel to my fire. He knows me more than I know myself. And I hate it.

I loved it, why do I have to hate it now?

Justin stomps on the remaining balloon, it explodes and my heart almost copies. He laughs and I want to see this stupid smile, but I keep my back to him. Instead, I huff.

“It’s your fault that it looks like that.”

He knows it’s true which keeps him from answering. But it doesn’t keep me from getting too honest. I didn’t have the chance to properly get mad at him last night. Even my stepmother did, after she came home earlier than expected and found the house in shackles. But I didn’t.

“You weren’t even invited. What made you come?”

The party would have been better without you.

I don’t say it. It’s not true and I can’t pull a lie out of my chest.

Nothing is better without you.

I don’t say this, either, even though it’s true. It’s too much to say to your ex, isn’t it? I would come out as desperate. I am, but he doesn’t have to know it.

“You.”

He is blunt, as always, and it aches me. He reminds me of the past. He is my past. I don’t remember anything before him; or anything else that was a part of my life when he was also a part of it.

“Suddenly?”

“Suddenly what?”

My trash bag is full. I throw it onto the floor and go to grab another. I glance around the room, but can’t get a hold of what I’m doing. He’s here, I don’t know how to act around him.

“You suddenly thought of me and came to my party? The one you weren’t invited to,” I say.

It reminds me of all the parties he was invited to. He was always first on the list. I didn’t care who would be at the party if he said ‘yes, I’ll be there’. It could just be me and him, and I was happy.

“I didn’t suddenly think about you,” his voice is quiet and low. He’s dropping the playfulness. He’s about to get serious. How am I going to stand my ground now? I’m not. We’re going to argue and I’ll crumble again.

“So-“

“I never stopped thinking about you.”

I am holding an empty bottle and I want to throw it at him. It’s glass so I keep myself from doing so. My fingers clench around it. I throw it into the trash instead and it shatters against the ground.

“Shut up,” I say, eyes closed. I need to quickly regain my sense of self. I’m either going to cry or hurt him, and I don’t want either.

“You’re the one asking questions.”

“Yes, but now shut up.”

He scoffs, doesn’t smile anymore. The sponge lands on the surface of the dirty water, soaks it in and Justin looks at me. I’m still throwing dirt into the bag, I don’t want to look at him.

“See? That’s exactly why we broke up.”

His words freeze me on the outside and boil my blood on the inside. Blame me again, come on, Justin. I can take more, can’t I?

“What?”

“If you’d talk to me instead of telling me to shut up every time I say something you don’t like, we wouldn’t break up.”

“Why are you so sure about it?” I let out a breathy chuckle. Tears pool in my eyes and my only excuse is this goddamn smell. I shouldn’t be crying because of my ex, right?

He’s about to lure me in. He’s about to convince me to forgive him. He knows I’m stupid when it comes to him. Maybe he doesn’t actually know, but he has a way of saying and doing things that make me irrational.

Was he always so bad or do I just portray him like that now, because we broke up? I don’t know if I should believe myself when I reminisce Justin. I don’t know what lenses I’m looking through – a boy in love or a heartbroken guy.

We stop speaking for a while. I never spare a glance at him. It hurts me enough to know he’s behind me and I can’t even touch him.

 I’ve never hated my stepmother so much. My fault - I was a fool to come to her crying after our break-up. She knows everything about it, yet, it was her idea for Justin to come over and clean the house with me. He is the reason why it is a garbage dump, but I’d rather clean it myself.

He came uninvited, brought his stupid friends with him. None of them handle alcohol well, besides Justin, yet he was the only one who didn’t get drunk. He left them unsupervised while we went upstairs. I was intoxicated enough to let him close the door of the bedroom. I cried, thinking he was drunk and wouldn’t remember a thing. We kissed, thinking he was drunk and wouldn’t remember a thing. He knew how to act. I was sure he was drunk and wouldn’t remember a thing.

More would happen later if I didn’t hear my stepmother’s shriek downstairs. Justin’s friend was throwing up on our carpet when she walked in. Too early. I was sure she was supposed to be out of the city for the next week. Maybe I miscalculated something. The rest of his friends turned a normal party into a wild zoo, with all animals running around like crazy. So I naturally decided that everything was Justin’s fault.

I know she asked him to come over as a part of my punishment for the party I wasn’t supposed to throw.

But it hurts more than I thought it would.

“I know you hate me, but maybe you’d help,” he says, washing the vomit on the carpet. Your friend did that. You clean that.

I stay quiet. Last night’s pizza greases my fingers, leaving stains on the sofa as I pick it up. I don’t even have the energy to complain about the mess, the party, the punishment. All I can think of is Justin and my miserable need to touch him, hold him, look at him again. One more time. At least one.

He’s bad for me. He’s a liar. Manipulative. He’s self-centered, needy and thoughtless. He’s everything I hate in a human. Then why do I love him so much?

Is he really like that or am I just coming up with reasons not to love him? I don’t know anymore. And I don’t know who can answer me.

“Right. I deserve it. I shouldn’t have come,” he sighs. I don’t move at all, but I can’t help glancing at him from the side. My eyes catch a glimpse of his right palm. His rubber glove is torn on the ring finger and a silver piece sticks out. I gasp, can’t control this one, and look at his palm. “Yes, I admitted it. I shouldn’t have-“ he pauses after jerking his head towards me. He knows what I’m looking at, his eyes follow.

“Why didn’t you take it off?” I ask. He smiles gently, a promise ring shines through a hole in the glove. Mine lays under my pillow every night.

“It reminds me of you. It makes me feel good when I look at it. What? Do you want me to take it off?”

Should I lie or should I finally break down to show him that I’m in pain? Does he know I’m hurt even if I act like that?

First love is stupid. Everyone tells me I’ll get over it. First love never lasts, don’t worry, Theo. It’s first, but not last. I don’t want to get over him. And I don’t understand why he is not getting over me. He can have everyone, literally. He has a lurking charm. Why is he clinging onto me? And why is this making me feel so satisfied?

“Should I take it off?” he repeats louder when I keep staring at the ring. I breath in, my body shakes. He takes off the gloves and leaves the carpet half-washed, walking to the couch.

We’re not drunk anymore. We know what’s happening.

So why am I letting it happen? Why am I letting him touch me? Why am I looking into his eyes now?

“Should I take it off? Once and for good?” he asks again. I keep my head up and I hate how shy I feel. I used to stare at him for hours and I don’t like what’s between us now.

“No,” I say. I will regret it later. Or not. Only time can tell, right? I had my heart broken once, it doesn’t matter if he’ll break it again. Maybe he won’t. Maybe my foolish hope isn’t so foolish, after all.

I gulp, it barely makes it down my tight throat. It’d be better if I suffocated. His touch stings, his gaze folds me in half. The silence enhances both feelings and I don’t know how much time I have before I break.

“Theo, for fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, gripping my arms tighter. “Stop, just stop.”

“Stop what?” I whisper, because I can’t make it any louder.

“Making it so hard to forget you.”

“You don’t even want to forget me,” we both know it.

Just kiss me, Justin. We don’t have anything to lose, anyways.

He does. The kiss is a warm memory of the goodness we had. Have. I don’t know.

I push everything away, because if he’s kissing me, everything else is secondary. My muscles tighten when his chest touches mine. We haven’t been that close in three months, yet now it feels like they didn’t exist. A mere blink, maximum two.

I threw this stupid party to forget you, but you wouldn’t even let me do it.

No matter how many times I try, what I do, who I meet. It’s impossible to forget him.

I should’ve known it before I had to clean vomit off of my carpet…