CLEANER II: Chapter Six - Part Fourteen

MELISSA

I’d fantasised about this – Lord how I had fantasised about it: eight inches of rubbery, quivering ramrod pulsing in my minge as the magical prongs of my vibrator’s perfect little hand worked their wiles with my shuddering clit – but to hear the words come out of my mouth like that and feel my own eyes widen in surprise at the gall of it, even as Dahlia’s did in response to the shock... It was more than I could have imagined; more than I ever thought I would have the courage to do.

She gaped at me and I think that was what I was doing to her too. I couldn’t believe I had said that. I definitely couldn’t believe I was really willing to go through with it. But it was suddenly out there like a bet on a spinning roulette wheel; the number chosen; the ball flicking into the air, already too late to stop; bouncing; bouncing; finding its place between impossible, lucrative success and terrible ruin, but certainly already, with no way to go back.

And I didn’t want to go back. It was ludicrous. But now the words were out there, how could I retract them? All hope of reasoning and friendship was surely gone now. My outburst and insults had seen to that and if they hadn’t then this was a line that could never be recrossed because that threat couldn’t ever be rescinded, however preposterous it was.

“Melissa... You can’t be serious,” stammered Dahlia.

“I’m serious,” I said firmly.

“Melissa...”

I shut her down. “I’m serious. Look at you. You aren’t Dahlia anymore. You’re a grossly obese cleaning lady living in Greece. Nobody would ever believe you were or ever had been a super model. You could tell anyone you like. Nobody would take you seriously. And I look enough like you to use your passport now. I can go to Thailand and get the procedure done whether you’re there or not. After that I’ll be untouchable, especially with all your money.”

She put her hands to her cheeks then half lowered them. “You can’t mean this.”

“Of course I can and I do. Why should you have all the power to decide what happens to us? Why should you have any? You gave up that power to me when we first came here to Greece. You submitted everything. Without the money you used to have you wouldn’t even be able to pay your way home. It would take you weeks and months to even get back there. And then what? How could you prove anything with me way ahead of you, laying the groundwork, telling people all about how crazy you got while we were abroad; how your obsession with me had made you think you used to be me. I bet you might even get locked up in an institution, raving for the rest of your days about being somebody else; about being the beautiful lady you used to work for. And why not? People would nod. Why wouldn’t you fantasise about that? Who would want to be a fat, ignorant cleaner if they could be beautiful like me?”

Tears were welling in her eyes but I sneered and walked away from her. “I can't believe I’m hearing this. From you, I trusted you. Is this... Is this what you’ve been planning all along?”

I didn’t turn to face her. I said nothing.

“Is it? It is, isn’t it? You’ve never been my friend.”

My anger spiked. For some reason I didn’t understand my cheeks flushed and I turned on her. “Of course I have! I...” I glared at her. “You know, fuck you! Don’t fucking look at me like that! Fuck you! Because you can make me feel as bad as you want. We both know that you’re the one whose let me down. You’re the one who made the promises – by implication maybe as much as anything, but still you made them! You led me on; giving me more and more. We both knew where this was going. From almost the start. Certainly from that night in the rain. We both knew. And we both knew you were batshit crazy enough to go through with it if the fucking whim took you.”

Tears were streaming down my own cheeks now and I wiped my nose with the back of my wrist. Dahlia gave a shake of her head but she knew the lie of that as well as I did.

“And ever since then,” I went on, “we’ve been walking a frigging tightrope, or I have, knowing where it went and desperate for it to get there, but knowing that at any time, you could shake the rope, just because you felt like it, and send us both tumbling down. Desperate, I’ve been; and more than desperate. Every day I’ve woken up thinking we were inching closer to it really happening; really going all the way; and now, today, you stand there and start talking this crap about going back and bringing it to an end. So yeah. Why the fuck not? Why not take back control? Why let you have everything? And really; think about it... Who would believe you? There would be ways to prove who you really were, but who would ever take you seriously enough to even go down that route? Especially with the army of lawyers I could hire and the total lack of cash you would have.

“I’ve worked for you for a long time now. I’ve watched you. You never leave that house of yours. You never meet anyone who matters. You've been out of the public eye for years. You don’t have anything like any real friends.”

I paused, seeing the pain that was inflicting on her, and I almost faltered. But I didn’t. I went on.

“Who would ever begin to believe that you weren’t really me?”

She looked down, her face crumpling up, tears running freely round her pathetically distended cheeks. Then in a little whimper I heard a sound that actually chilled me, raising an instinctive reaction of anger and even hatred.

“Katherine.”

“What?” I spat.

“Katherine would believe me. If I told her.”

I glared at Dahlia. I knew that she was right. But another part of me knew that her own shame would never let her tell.

If I pursued this; really saw it through like I was claiming I could; then Dahlia would simply cease to exist. She would crumple up and die inside. She’d stay here, unable to mount any defence. There would be now intercontinental chase; no grand battle of wills or courtroom drama; no scandal or denouncements through the media. She would simply disappear, never to be seen again as I took on and assumed her identity for the rest of my life. Her psyche was that fragile. Her will was that weak.

“You would never tell her,” I said. “You’d be too ashamed. Just look at you.”

She did and her quiet tears became louder, muffled sobs that shook her round shoulders and quivered her broad chest.

My own tears stopped flowing but I hated myself that I could say these things. I did. I hated myself.

“It’s over,” I said, crossing to the door. “I’m leaving. And I’m going to Thailand with or without you. You can please yourself. Come with me and do this together; live out the fantasy you wanted and take on my old life, or get dumped here with nothing and no real lasting identity.”

Her shoulders went on shaking but Dahlia slumped down onto the corner of the bed. She laced her fingers behind her neck.

I opened the door. Outside the corridor was empty. I stepped into it, looking back at her one last time.

“Call me if you change your mind,” I said, "but know this. I’m not going to change mine. This is happening. There’s nothing you can say or do to stop it now. The only power you have is in how you capitulate.”