The Cleaner

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I dream of death and wish I was there. I dream of pain and this is where I live.

My teeth bite down on the end of the wine bottle and I start swallowing what I can. I’m lucky I even own wine. I bought it six months ago when it was my mother’s birthday. I thought we might celebrate. She accused me of trying to poison her, and I ended up bringing it back home. Normally the smell of wine is enough to make me gag. Now I cling to the feeling it’s giving me, a feeling of hope that I might just slip away from all of this. I try to hold my tongue aside so I don’t have to taste it, but it doesn’t work. I feel like vomiting after a few seconds, but the more I get through, the less concerned I become about the taste, and the more I begin to enjoy the sensation it’s giving me. I let my head rest against the pillow, and look at the person crouching in front of my crotch. The person is wearing a surgeon’s mask, but I can tell it’s a woman. I pray it isn’t Melissa. I don’t know why she’s here. I can’t remember calling for help, and I realize I must be hallucinating. Or just lucky. My face is growing numb, and my vision becomes slow. When I turn my head it takes my eyes a second to catch up.

The pain starts to flare up again. I look around the room, but the surroundings are familiar, not like they ought to be if I were in a hospital. I try to bite down on the bottle, but find I am already biting down on something else. It’s my belt. Not the sort of thing a doctor would use.

My hands are shaking, and my entire body feels warm. I don’t know how the doctor does it, but she moves so quickly that one moment she’ll be holding something sharp in the air, and the next she’ll be dabbing something on me. I blink once, she changes position; I blink again, she’s somewhere else-I’m slipping in and out of consciousness. Mostly her words are disjointed, but she’s trying to reassure me. I watch as she removes pieces of skin and flesh, then I can watch no more.

I stare up at the ceiling. It is sagging slightly in the middle. I try talking to my doctor, but I’m not really sure what I’m saying. Is this all a dream? Am I operating on myself?

I don’t know how much time passes, but when I look up again, the doctor is gone. I am all alone, just as my testicle is now all alone. I start to reach down my body, but then think better of it. I’m too scared to see what the damage could be. I close my eyes. Open them again. The doctor is in. I close them. The doctor is out.

What is happening to me?

Am I dying?

I stare at the ceiling and hope that I am.