The Cleaner

Chapter 1-2

Kat

That guy was an asshole. A hot asshole, but still. Why am I always drawn to the jerks?

Oh yeah: daddy issues.

That’s what Delaney, my psychotherapist, seems to think anyway. She said I will continue to act out, rebel, and seek attention from the wrong kind of men until I’m willing to work on healing the wounds my father inflicted.

But working on anything related to my father will happen when Hell freezes over.

Also, maybe I want to act out, rebel, and seek attention from the wrong kind of men. I secretly desire being taken in hand and punished. I sort of feel like she was kink-shaming me.

Hating the way that guy made me feel off-kilter, I picture myself as a lump of clay on the wheel and find my exact center as I head to the bathrooms at the back of the warehouse. There’s a long queue, so I take my place with the crowd of other girls.

“Hey, girl,” Shellee, a frequent party-goer says as she comes out of the stall, grabbing my arm. She’s already rolling on ecstasy; her pupils are almost as big as her irises. She’s fully in love with me in this moment because she’s fully in love with everything right now. “Do you have a tampon?”

“I sure do.” I whirl my backpack purse off one shoulder to dig in and grab the tampon, which I hand to her.

She closes her fingers around it and my hand and strokes my cheek with her free hand. “Thank you so much,” she gushes. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re here. You’re amazing, do you know that?”

We’re not actually friends. Just acquaintances. I honestly don’t have real friends. I’m too extra for most of them. Too popular with the boys. Too s****l. Too rich, even for the girls at the prep school. Plus, I’m different. I’m not English. My father’s businesses aren’t legit. I learned the day I arrived in Liverpool that I didn’t fit in and should stop trying.

Delaney says that’s why I seek out intense s****l experiences–I’m filing a void created by my lack of meaningful friendships.

I think I’m just kinky. Is that so wrong?

“So are you,” I tell Shellee. “Here, cut in line with me, so you can get back in there.” I tug her in front of me.

She turns around and starts petting me again, fingering a braid as she smiles dreamily in my direction.

“You’re having a good time?”

“So much fun.” She squints her gaze at me. “Are you rolling?”

“Nope. I can’t. I have a history test tomorrow.”

“Oh my God!” Her eyes widen in exaggerated surprise. “Why are you here?” She tugs my braid. “Just kidding.” Her playful shove makes me stumble in my platform heels. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m always glad when I see you. You’re the best.”

I’m not even sure if she knows my name, but it’s okay. I have no illusions about what this scene is. It’s not where you go to make lasting meaningful relationships. Which is why I happen to love it.

I came to reward myself for studying all day for my exam. My father’s stipulation for me staying in England for college was that I maintain 7s–the UK equivalent of straight A’s. Considering I got 4’s and a few 3’s in high school, it’s a bit of an up-level. But there’s no freaking way I’m going home.

Especially not when I finally found something I like.

I mean, beyond rave parties and kinky s*x, which Delaney says are extensions of my Daddy issues.

My last term in secondary school, we got a new art teacher, Ms. Banff. She got the school to buy a wheel and taught us pottery. I suppose it was another way to flip my dad the bird–show him I’m the useless, brainless, waste of space he apparently thinks I am–but I decided to become a potter. I totally fell in love with it.

I like the feel of the clay in my hands. The spin of the wheel. The way a bowl takes shape and collapses with the touch of a finger. So now I would do anything to stay in England and keep studying art. I crave the pottery wheel as much as I crave these dance parties. Or a big, muscled guy who scowls and never shows you that he likes you.

It’s finally my turn to use the toilet, and when I get out, Shellee has already disappeared. Which is fine, since I didn’t come here to see her anyway.

I’m not sure why I came, actually. It’s more of an addiction than anything else. I crave the sensuality of the place. I like to dress up and feel sexy and maybe hook up with a hot guy. Preferably one who’s into a little kink. I love a big rough guy who will hold me down and choke me. Or s***k me. Or tie me up. I’m a little maso at heart, and the endorphin release and thrill I get from acting out my fantasies is what I need to get through the week.

Let’s be honest, though. That big, rough guy doesn’t actually exist. Or when he does, he comes with a slice of danger I really shouldn’t tempt.

Yet tempt it I do.

I make my way out of the bathroom. The warehouse is packed with people now. Probably more than a legit club would allow for fire code. I soak up the energy like a d**g. Looking for trouble, I climb on top of a platform to dance again. I bounce and swirl to the music, scanning the crowd. I spot the Russian up against a wall watching me. He has dark hair, brown eyes and wears what looks like a permanent scowl.

Why would he be such a d**k if he’s interested? I could’ve sworn he was interested before, which was why I went over to him. He has the right vibe. Definitely my type. Surly. Rough. Tattoos that probably mean he’s done bad things. His shoulders are broad. It’s hard to tell under his leather jacket, but they look well-muscled. I bet he could dish out a s******g that would make me cream my panties. I totally pegged him as a sadist.

Guess I was wrong.

It’s not like I’m really good at picking the right ones. I’ve had a half-dozen fails in the last three months alone.

I keep my gaze on my Russian while I dance, but he looks away with a scowl. I know he feels my gaze. I swear he’s looking away on purpose. What is it about hard to get that just makes a girl want to try more? I check my t**s–the double D’s I had by age twelve. They are perfectly displayed by my blouse. I definitely look hot. No reason for him not to respond. Unless he’s here for someone else. But why does he keep looking at me?

There. He looked again.

I turn to give him a view of my a*s as I take a slow swivel to the floor and back up again.

“Kat!” A guy calls me from the floor below.

Oh great. David, one of my past mistakes. I blow him a kiss but keep dancing.

He grabs my ankle, forcing me to stop dancing or lose my balance. Yeah, this was why he was a mistake. I mistook his disrespectful vibe for dominance. Truth is, he’s more of a bully.

“Come here!” He reaches for me.

“No, I’m good,” I say. Just because we hooked up once doesn’t mean I’m your go-to, buddy.

He flashes a tiny Ziploc baggie at me. “Wanna roll?”

I shake my head again. “No thanks. I have a test tomorrow.” He wins no points with me for offering free drugs. I’m not fooling around again with him even if I’m not sober. He was sloppy and only in it for himself. Yech.

He shrugs and moves on, and I continue to dance. I’m joined on the platform by a few other guys who dance closer and closer until one settles a hand on my waist and connects his hips to my a*s to grind against me. I let him because it feels good. I came here for male attention, and I’m getting it. Another guy moves in from the front, so I’m sandwiched between them.

The guy from behind palms my left breast. He’s not completely unskilled. He finds my n****e and pinches it through my blouse and push-up b*a. I shove my a*s back and let my head rest against his shoulder.

“I like your outfit,” the first guy shouts over the music.

It’s not a particularly stupid thing to say, but I sort of wish he’d just keep his mouth shut. I’m trying to have a fantasy moment here, and the inane comments pull me out. The guy behind me slides a hand down the front of my thigh and squeezes my leg muscles.

I’ve never had two guys at once, but the group-grope thing happens at these raves. Everyone’s feeling the love, and they just want to pass it along. The problem is, it’s usually a lot of groping and no finish. The ecstasy makes people too blissed out to have any motivation to get to c****x. Another reason I skip the drugs, other than a CBD gummy now and then when I can’t sleep. I’m looking for a different endorphin hit.

“How old are you?” the guy in front of me asks. He probably wants to make sure he won’t end up in jail or something.

“Twenty.” I don’t feel twenty. I feel thirty because I’ve been away from home for so long. And also thirteen, the age I was when my dad shipped me off. He caught me making out with a boy and decided I needed to be sent off to an all-girls boarding school.

As if that would keep me out of trouble. It only cemented my desire to be bad.

Do you want to be bad, Kat, or are you actually craving someone to tell you you’re good? That’s what Delaney asked me last time we discussed me going to raves.

“I wouldn’t mind being called good girl when I obey,” I’d sassed back.

“Nice.” The guy nods, his leer appreciative.

We dance for a while, but things don’t escalate much. People lose focus when they’re rolling.

“I’m going to take a break,” I tell the guys after a while because I’m getting hot, bored, and thirsty.

They immediately jump down off the box and follow me to the makeshift bar where three kids in knit caps and earrings are selling energy drinks and water. I buy water, c***k the bottle and turn to find my two admirers are still standing there like eager beavers.

Meh. I was kind of done with them, hoping for something a little more interesting. My gaze wanders, looking for the Russian again. I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with him. I guess because he turned me down. Why do I always go for the one who will reject me?

The guys each take me by a hand, dragging me to a dark corner. I’m not on board, but I’m not totally ready to jump-ship either. I mean, I guess I’ll see what they have to offer.

“What’s this?” David cuts off our path with a giant smile in place. “This looks very fun.”

Now I'm done.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” I try to shake loose from the two guys holding my hands.

“You need a little mood enhancer,” David says, pulling out the baggie of pills again.

“Can I have one?” the guy to my right says.

“No. It’s for her.” David extracts the pill, and before I know it’s coming, he pops it between my teeth.

“Hey!” I try to spit it out, but David laughs, clapping a hand over my mouth.

“Wait, wait, wait. Just swallow it, Kat. It will be fun.”

I struggle, but the other guys don’t help me out even though they’re crowding into me from the sides, holding me in place for David to keep his hand over my mouth.

I’m pissed now, and–dammit–I already swallowed the stupid pill! These fuckers.

“Here, drink your water, Kat.” David wraps his hand over mine on the water bottle and brings it to my mouth.

I’m still struggling just to get everyone’s hands off me. As I flail, I hear a loud c***k of bone on bone and then David falls. I stare at him sprawled out on the dirty concrete floor. Did I do that?

And then I understand. Because there are six feet of pissed-off Russian standing in front of us.

His lips peel back from his teeth in a snarl, and he glares at the two guys standing next to me. “Go.”

They go. They disappear so fast you’d think there was a fire in the place.

I open my mouth, about to protest that I didn’t really need the help when the Russian tosses me over his shoulder and clomps out of the warehouse.