Chapter 4

Ben woke up on Monday morning, the first day in his new house, and decided to be productive. 

Maybe he has been a little too productive. 

Ben decided that much while leaning against the kitchen island, chugging water straight from the bottle. His shoulders burned, his hands were raw, and his legs trembled faintly every time he shifted his weight, but progress was progress.

After a quick run for food and coffee, he threw himself into cleaning with the kind of determination that only came from finally owning something. He plastered holes in the walls of his bedroom and kitchen, filling cracks and smoothing them down until the surfaces were ready for sanding.

The kitchen, unfortunately, was in worse shape than he’d expected.

The cabinets themselves were intact. The cabinet doors were not.

Half of them were missing entirely. A few hung sadly on warped hinges like loose teeth. Ben spent the morning removing what remained, stacking the doors against the wall before turning his attention to the interiors.

He scraped.

And scraped.

And scraped.

Grime clung stubbornly to every surface, thick and layered, like it had fused with the wood over decades. He nearly lost the will to finish when he found decomposing mice beneath the sink.

“That’s… horrific,” he muttered, gagging as he cleaned it up.

By the afternoon, the kitchen almost looked worse than when he’d started. The counters were coated in dust and cleaning residue. The floor was littered with debris. The only upside was that the cabinets were finally ready to be sanded and refinished.

Ben leaned against the island again and fired off a few texts in his group chat, mostly complaining and fishing for sympathy. He plugged his phone into the outlet on the island, stretched his aching shoulders, and headed toward the bedroom.

He was determined to get that room clean before nightfall.

Four hours later, Ben regretted every decision he had ever made.

He lay face down on his mattress in complete agony. He had no idea that deep cleaning could destroy him like this. He had scrubbed the hell out of his bathroom and bedroom, climbed ladders to wipe down walls, and worn knee pads while cleaning the floors until the hardwood gleamed.

Every joint and muscle in his body ached deeply.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

Ben jerked awake to the sound of his phone ringing.

His head was turned to the side. His phone was right there. Ringing inches from his face.

He stared at it until it stopped.

Slowly, carefully, Ben pushed himself upright.

His arms felt heavy. Wrong. As if they hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of him yet.

On the bed beside him sat a water bottle and an individual packet of pain reliever.

That was odd.

He frowned, staring at the pills, then shook his head and took them dry before chasing them down with water. He must have grabbed them before collapsing. 

"You're just tired," he muttered to the empty room. 

The room said nothing back. 

He checked his missed calls and called his mom back.