Shuddering at that thought, she rose to her feet, feeling compelled to do something productive. There was no way she could leave him. Not like this. What if…? Well, she just didn’t feel right about leaving him now.
Starting in the kitchen, Kayla began washing the dishes and throwing away the old food and containers and half eaten snacks. She cleaned out his refrigerator and discarded most of the contents. She took several filled garbage bags out to the dumpster behind the building. She scrubbed the counters with clean towels and the only bottle of disinfectant he (thankfully) had. Kayla scrubbed Jim’s apartment until her hands were red. She didn’t throw out any of his books or paraphernalia but placed them neatly on the lone, empty bookshelf. She arranged them alphabetically by author and topic. They filled that in no time, so she stacked the rest of them along the wall nearby. All the miscellaneous papers, newspapers, magazines and journals were neatly stacked as well. Clearing the floor of all the debris allowed her to finally sweep it. Then she scrubbed it with a brush on her hands and knees using the cleaning solution and hot water. It was a pretty small area so it didn’t take too long.
She drew the blinds open and blinked rapidly. The view was from several stories high and included most of the neighboring strip mall and some houses, with a few evergreens sprinkled in for color. Some cars were parked and others were passing the building. It was pretty to look at the city from so high up. The bright light did wonders for the place. His apartment looked so much better after the few hours she spent doing chores that she was almost surprised it was the same place.
Trudging into his bedroom, she opened the blinds and let the light illuminate the room and him. She winced as she glared at him in unmasked disgust. Leaning down, she started picking up the empty bottles. Upon opening his dresser, she found a new stash of them. These were not empty, of course. Whiskey. Vodka. Gin. Brandy. Tequila.
“Fuck,” she whispered out loud. She stared at the magnitude of self-administered poison that simply seemed to glare right back at her. Glancing over her shoulder at the wreck Jim was, a usually decent, upstanding man, she grabbed all of it. It took two trips to get every bottle. She emptied each one down the sink and carried the bottles in garbage bags out to the recycle bins of the complex.
Relieved to have them fully removed, she was far from feeling satisfied or okay. Kayla was so unsettled that her stomach acid was rising up into her throat. Something was definitely wrong with Jim, something she completely missed.
Blinking back the helpless tears, she continued her cleanup, finding comfort in that. She grabbed all the dirty clothes into a load from his hamper and another basket. Then she entered the bathroom and winced.
More empty bottles. It was a bigger mess than the kitchen and he must’ve thrown up at some point because the dried remnants caused her stomach to churn and threaten to spew. Turning quickly away, she scrambled into the kitchen. And cried her eyes out.
Putting a hand to her face, she shook her head in disbelief that this could be the Jim she knew with Kathy. At church. With her family. With Eric. With her.
How could this stranger be Jim?
Something induced her to continue cleaning up the place despite her disgust at what he’d allowed himself and his place to become. She filled a bucket with her cleaning stuff and entered the smelly bathroom. She started with the sink and cried as she glared at his prone, dead-to-the world body. Several times, she used that image to validate her rage-fueled cleaning. She scrubbed the mirror hard, getting the stubborn spots of nasty she didn’t want to identify as she swore at him under her breath.
Finally, all the trash was out, the floor was scrubbed and only the toilet was left to scour. He owed her forever after this.
She swore in every combination of vulgar she could think of until she finally found some thing she was willing to use on the toilet. She gathered her cleaning stuff and hauled his laundry basket out. He needed to do a load of wash ASAP.
Sighing, she finally flopped on the couch. She found herself hating him. Confused. Upset. But mostly, she felt worried. Her antsy mood left her dying to freaking call someone. She needed to call Kathy and pour out her confusion and upset and fears to her. But of course, she could not do that. Karlee? Karlee could keep a secret, but she was too young. This was too complicated for her. No.
Her mom? Rob? Dad? She wanted to tell any and all of them. But no. Sarah? Kennedy? Georgia? They were her best friends since she was a young kid. No.
No. She couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. She had to talk to Jim first.
All she wanted to do was talk to Jim. He had to explain himself and make it go away and not be so terrible as she feared.
Bender. Binge. Jim was a freaking alcoholic.
Her stepfather was a recovered alcoholic who made no compunctions about admitting it. He often used his own experiences to illustrate the lessons he imparted to her and her sisters.
Words he’d told them one lecture, years ago, filtered through her brain just then. “You can’t change them. Or fix them. Or save them. No one could for me. Not until I was ready. Lots of people were in my corner and they all tried. But I only got worse and worse until my behavior went beyond the bounds of decency, and still I persisted. So you have to understand, try to avoid
