Seventy Times Seven

I cringed at the sight of the sink, the stupid latex gloves beginning to gnaw at my fingers from prolonged exposure.

Grabbing the Scrubbing Bubbles reluctantly, I reminded myself that I got paid ten dollars an hour, and that this would definately be a forty dollar week again.

"Yea, mom won't be home until five thirtyish, so you can crash here for a while," I barely heard Frank from a distance after the front door opened.

"Oh, so that wasn't her car out there?" someone else said, as I scrubbed at the toothpaste spots in the sink.

"Nah, thats just the stupid house cleaning chick. Chelsea Manson, you know her? She goes to school with us..." he said walking closer to the bathroom I was in, seeing as the door to his room was right across the hall. He stopped at the doorway, "Oh hey, here she is now. Hi bitch," he replied with a sarcastic smile.

"Shove it, Frank."

"Yea, well you get back to cleaning that sink." His friend laughed, and Frank smiled again in approval, then went to his room.

I started swearing and silently threatening him with all the chemicals I currently had in my possession while I finished the sink. Frank had hated me ever since grade school. Probably because of the whole 'ew girls' thing. Back then you weren't friends with guys. They had cooties, and cooties was like an STD. It's just sick. And well, you grow older and you realize the whole cooties and girls/guys are gross thing was just a myth and you expand and accept people. Well you see, Frank never really..'accepted' me.

No, he doesnt think I have cooties. He's had his share of girlfriends. Frank just..hates me..for no reason.

And here I am, cleaning his house every wednesday after school. Why you ask? Because he lives down the street from me and its the perfect job. Just enough money for gas and little things, really easy, and I don't have to drive there. Yea sure Frank can be a pain in the ass, but normally its nothing my mp3 player cant fix.

Too bad, at the moment, my mp3 player was dead. I sighed and sprayed the mirror with Windex.

I quickly wiped it down perfectly, no streaks. Mirrors are so cool when they're perfectly clean. I took a second to look in the mirror at myself. My brown roots were starting to grow back in from my black lowlights in my shoulder-length hair. My grey eyes seemed to pierce the glass, and I looked like I was in middle school with my black Invader Zim jacket tied around my waist. And I was unusually short. God I hate that. I stood on my toes for a second, imagining that I was taller.

"If I closed this door, would you die from the mixture of all the bad stuff like that one kid in A Child Called 'It'?" Frank said suddenly from the door. His friend started laughing again behind him.

"No..Frank..that takes bleach and ammonia and I use neither. Sorry, better luck next time," I lied with a sarcastic smile. I had been cleaning peoples houses since I was twelve. It wasnt hard at all to mix two chemicals and make it deadly. I could so put some lethal mixture in his room to make him die in his sleep and he wouldn't even know it. He has no idea.

"Damn," he replied leaving for the living room as his friend said something about me being a bitch.

I finished the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. I made a list to myself. Make sure the dishwashers cleaned out and fill it again, wipe out the sink, wipe off the counter, then dust and clean the floors for the whole house. That takes about an hour and a half, and right now its four thirty.

I had always loved cleaning. Not sure why, but it was something I loved to do. When my mum would cook, I would beg to clean the kitchen afterward and wash the pans. When I was seven I would vaccuum every week, just because I liked the thought of cleanliness. I think I might have a touch of OCD or something.

You may be thinking 'omg what a freak', but after a while its easy. The way I think of it, its just something to do while I think about stuff.

I opened the cup cabinet and the dishwasher and began pulling out glasses and setting them neatly upside down in the cabinet. Frank came in and grabbed two cans of pop out of the fridge. Then grabbed a glass that I had just put in the cabinet and put ice in it. He poured his Mountain Dew, then rudely grabbed the second-to-last clean glass from my hand and spit in it.

"Oops, this ones got something in it," he said with an evil smile, putting it back upside down in the dishwasher. I quickly grabbed it before his sick saliva could hit the clean plates on the bottom rack. Why do I take so much shit from him? I could easily get a different job. Why don't I just quit?

I put the glass in the sink as he went to grab the last glass, and he dropped it. It shattered against the tile floor into a tiny glass shards.

"Shit.." he mumbled.

"You fucking fag," I hissed. Why does he do shit like this?! What the hell did I ever do to him! He's purposely making this harder for me.

He glared at me, "Shut the fuck up Chelsea I didn't mean to!"

"Yea. Ok. Just like you didnt mean to spit in that glass right?" I said putting my hands on my hips.

"Dude, yea, I did that on purpose. You're a bitch. But I didn't mean to drop the glass!" he said defensively, with the can of pop in his hand.

I finally gave. "You know what? Leave. Fucking leave and I'll clean up your shit for you. Go pour your drink all over the floor in the living room or something," I said back, kicking the dishwasher closed and shoving past him so I could go get the broom.

But, putting his pop down, he stopped me and threw me against the wall. "You think you can tell me what to do in my own house? I didn't do shit on purpose that you didn't deserve. And I sure as hell didnt drop the glass on purpose," he hissed.

I cringed from his strength as he pinned my shoulders to the wall painfully. But I'm really stubborn, so I didn't give in. "Why the hell do you care anyway?! It's not like if you had thought of it you wouldn't of done it anyway!"

Then he punched me. Hard. Not like a side punch either. Like, straight on, under my left eye. My head slammed into the wall, and immediately the left side of my face started throbbing in pain.

I winced. "You fucking bitch!" he yelled.

"Fuuuuck," I whined, grabbing my face and sliding down the wall. My hands quickly shot back once I realized it hurt worse to touch it. My black and brown hair fell over my eyes, and my cheek as throbbing.

His friend ran in. "What the hell?"

Frank just looked down at me on the floor, as his friend looked from him, to me, then back to him again.

"Nothin..Chels was just being stupid again.." Frank said slowly. He had never hit me before. He'd said shit, but he'd never hit me. His friend was still in shock. As if before, just saying shit about me was ok, but him hitting me was going a little too far. "Come on Gee, lets go to Toro's house or somethin."

I glared at him, though my face was in serious pain, as he went to the living room to grab his keys, then walked toward the door, avoiding the glass. His friend stilled stared at me in shock. I could feel my face bruising.

He gestured toward the glass, "She's got work to do."