The Reluctant Millie Bright

Chapter Ten
Why?

Ouch! What the fuck?!  Liam clutched his head as it throbbed, this wasn't a hangover, this was life.  He couldn't recall what day it was but he didn't care, each day that came, ran into the other and as far as he was concerned he didn't give two shits.  He leaned forward to grab the near empty bottle of Jack Daniels and took a swig, the putrid amber liquid shearing it's way down his throat.  He thought he heard the door bell go but it was probably his imagination.  He imagined a lot of things lately, like talking to unicorns and imagining that his house was made of candy.  His stomach grumbled.  He was hungry, he was more then hungry, he was bloody famished.  No wonder, he was thinking about his house being made of candy, he had began chipping at the door handles and the chair legs, thinking they were wrapped in silvery foil to reveal chocolate but he had been dreaming.  Fuck! His head hurt.  He heard the door bell go off again, who the fuck was it?  Didn't they understand, whoever the fuck they were, that he didn't want to talk.  He didn't want any company.  Couldn't they take his no reply as a fuck-off-leave-me-the-hell-alone hint? The door bell went off again.  He damn well was going to rip that door bell off the door before the hour was through.  He winced, now he had a headache, or a hungover or both.  Fuck!  Managing to stagger to the door, he opened it up, letting the light from the street lamp flood his front door step.  He spoke before he saw her and wished he'd never come to the door in the first place.

She just stood there looking at him, her eyes searching his face.  He suddenly felt self conscious, he'd been wearing his sweat pants for however long, he couldn't remember and he could smell body odour, probably his because she damn well didn't look like she would be emitting any such thing.  God, he must be dreaming this.  If he was dreaming that his house was made of candy, then by God she was probably a Ginger Bread Man or something.  Except, she wasn't.  She was dressed up to the nines, clutching a gold shiny bag and her dress looked like she'd waded through the pot pourri department of Marks and Spencer.  She was a vision.  God almighty, she smelt good too.

"Surprise." she said, trying to crack a joke but her eyes were full of concern.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" his mouth screamed out. 

She jumped away, taken by his abrupt response. 

"You said you wanted me to leave you alone, so I did.  So why can't you people leave me the fuck alone?"  he swore again, his anger rising.

"Stop swearing at me," she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry I must have mislaid my manners... no no, I left them back in St. Lucia," he ground out, "So why don't you fuck off where you came from!"  He didn't see the slap coming until it hit him smack bang on the jaw, the force knocking him sideways.  Grabbing the door frame for support, his head vibrating from side to side like a pendulum.

Millie grabbed him suddenly, afraid he was going to hit the floor.  Throwing his arm around her shoulder, she kicked his front door open and steered him inside.  He leaned into her for support, exhaustion finally hitting him.  Millie noticed immediately the state of his house, it was a tip, a complete mess.  She could handle organised chaos but this was a bomb site.   Finding his bedroom wasn't easy, it was up two flights of stairs.  The bed was untouched, immaculate, God where was he sleeping?  She pushed him back on the bed, he had passed out.   There would be no talking tonight but the sight of him and the state of his house spoke more volumes now then their confrontation a few minutes ago, she was concerned.   The look on his face when he'd seen her, had said it all.  Her heart hurt, more for him then anything else. She walked towards the en suite bathroom and found what she had been looking for, stowed away in the linen closet.  Filling up a small tub of warm water and a handful of towels, she returned by his side.  She began cleaning him.  She raided the closet for clean clothes, it wasn't as if she hadn't seen him in the buff before.  She was surprised to learn that her hands were shaking, that her heart was beating wildly in her chest, as she removed his sweat pants to see his manhood hanging free.  She put a fresh pair of cotton pyjama bottoms and buttoned the matching top.  She was in two minds about trimming his beard, she had to admit, it did give him character but he'd done such a bad job of maintaining his appearance, she had no choice.  She found his electric shaver in the bathroom cabinet and went to work.  He was still conked out by the time she finished with him and decided, she would have to do something about the state of his house.

She got to work on the kitchen foremost, there were a few dirty dishes, which she soaked in the sink for an hour then loaded up the dish washer.  She disposed of the cartons of Chinese food, pizza delivery boxes and other countless take away boxes and began scrubbing the surfaces of the kitchen counter tops, the kitchen stove, the oven and even cleared out the fridge.  The fridge was filthy, full of left overs and mouldy food.  It had taken her three hours to clean the kitchen alone.  She wasn't tired, she was used to hard work and this was a walk in the park.  Looking at her watch, she noticed it was close to ten o'clock, if she made it in time, she could go to the Tesco Express around the corner, the one she noticed when she passed in the chauffeur driven car, grabbing her clutch bag, she legged it outside.

Returning from Tesco Express, she unloaded her bags and began filling the cupboards with express coffee, breads, biscuits and filled the fridge with actual cooking ingredients.  She would make dinner later, if she had any energy left.  She went to work on the bathroom, removing the limescale and noticing that her once beautiful Gucci chiffon dress was turning the colour of a grey, what was even worse was she's gotten bleach on it, never mind, it was just a dress I guess.  She scrubbed the inside of the bath until she could see her reflection in it.  Millie put bleach down the toilet and got the mop and cleaned the floors.  The bathroom smelt wonderful.  Washing her hands, she headed to the living room, retrieved the Dyson and hoovered under every cover, under all the furniture.  She chucked the pillow cases and the throws into the washing machine and with a cloth started cleaning the sofa.  She was panting with exhaustion as she finished up, becoming light headed from the fumes from the polish.  Looking around her, the house looked clean, livable and she was satisfied. 

Looking at her watch, she realised in her efforts to get things cleaned and disinfected, it was a stellar four in the morning, had she been cleaning that long? She gravitated towards the sofa in the living area and sat down, her head hitting the head rest, she would allow herself ten minutes to close her eyes and then she would start on dinner.  Her eyes closed and her head sunk down further into the cushion.

Liam stretched, his hands touching the head board as his eyes flew open.  He looked at the ceiling and then noticed he was wearing his green tartan pyjamas, the pyjamas given to him by Frieda, Hartley's wife.  God, he hadn't seen Hartley in a long time and something yearned inside of him.  God, he missed his best mate.  Now that Liam had made London his base, he ought to be hanging out with his mate more often, but he was here in tartan pyjamas.  Tartan pyjamas he absolutely hated.   His mind back tracked, how the hell had he gotten here and then the image of her appeared in his mind and he sat up bolt straight and cursed.  He got to his feet steadily and onto the landing where he noticed immediately, that his house was spotless.  Sparkling like crystal.  Noticed the kitchen pristine, every area of the counter was gleaming.  He walked in and opened the fridge door and noticed it well stocked, even the cupboards were full of snacks; snack that he loved.  He headed straight for the living room and that's when he saw her.  She was curled up in a ball, the skirts of her dress a heap on the floor.  She looked enchanting, beautiful, like Tinkerbell.  What the fuck? Tinkerbell.  He never thought of things like that.  

He noticed her hair was much longer; waves of chestnut brown surrounding an angelic face.  Her cheeks were flushed and she had an age of innocence about her.  Millie.  Millie, what the hell were you doing here?  As he raked his hands through his hair, in that moment, he noticed his beard had miraculously disappeared too.  And he got angry.  She had no right coming here and messing with his house, messing with him again.  Why is she dressed up like she is?  Why now?  The questions wouldn't stop. There was just no way of dispelling her from his mind.  Boy, he had tried but no matter how much he drank, no matter how hard he partied, she always remained there.  And now... now she was fast asleep on his couch, a world away.  But God, he missed her, he missed her so much.  His eyes were locked on a face he just couldn't erase. 

Standing he moved away from her, afraid, angry and confused.  He could do with a brandy but even that couldn't quench his thirst.  His thirst for her?  No, it couldn't be possible, could it?  He raked his hands through his hair again.  Heading to the kitchen for solace, far away from her.  He leaned against the counter, sipping a glass of water, forcing his heart to slow down, but the more he looked at her the more he became imprisoned in her presence.  It had been almost three years and she still had that hold on him.  It was overwhelming and frustrating,  he slammed the glass onto the granite surface of the kitchen island and felt a shearing pain course through his arm... the blood seeped out and suddenly, he felt very very sick.