ONE: Vanilla on My Hands

26: Who Owns That Many Scarves, Anyway?

Frank couldn't help it. He honestly didn't know why it had bothered him so much, two weeks down the line, and two weeks of living with Jamia had settled him to a degree. But, this had gotten to him like an itch on his back that he couldn't reach, which was never usually how Frank saw things. This had really bothered him to the point that, for once in his life, he took charge of the situation. All it was, was that Jamia had spilled some sugar on the kitchen counter after she had made herself some tea before she went out to do shopping, but Frank had come into the kitchen and spotted it. Such a simple accident that could easily be wiped up and from which he could move on, but no. The small spill had triggered something inside of Frank's head, after so many years of living with a clean-freak, and after the short amount of time he had been apart from said person, it did something to him. Ryan's need to clean suddenly became Frank's need to clean.

At first, it started off simple. Frank found all of the necessary products under the sink and had used them to mop up the spill, but that hadn't felt like enough. All of a sudden Frank found an urge in him that was so unlike his usual relaxed demeanor. He never found himself being so anal about cleaning as Ryan had, but being without him and getting over their break-up this way, Frank had hidden certain parts of his feelings towards it. Two weeks of not being with said person suddenly hit Frank and the urge took over him faster than he could understand why he was doing what he was doing.

The counter ended up sparkling because Frank went out of his way to move everything on it, cleaning underneath everything, even choosing to open up the toaster and empty out all the crumbs that had probably been there for God knows how long. Frank then moved on swiftly, tidying and disinfecting as he had never done before. He could cope with some mess, not that Jamia's house was messy, it was clean, but Frank found himself almost getting into the 'Ryan' zone. Finding a mess anywhere and everywhere, like the time Ryan moaned at him for leaving a ring of coffee on the counter one time. Frank found himself internally grumbling about how Jamia's kettle needed to be immaculate, the stove-top too, but the way it had been wiped down left it smeared with watermarks. Frank couldn't bring himself to leave it alone, wiping it down furiously, buffing it up to the point that he swore he would be able to see his face in it. It had to be clean. Everything had to be apple-pie order because if it wasn't, it would tear him apart more than his break up with Ryan.

And that was the whole reason why Frank had taken to cleaning Jamia's house even though she hadn't asked him to do it. It felt like something was missing from him; a whole part of his life suddenly torn out, leaving a gaping hole deep in his chest which he refused to question. Frank refused to believe that the reason he was being like this was that there was a piece of his heart that really did miss the man that had been his high school sweetheart. Frank didn't want to believe that he actually missed the fucktard who had broken him down so much. But clearly there was a part of him that was calling out and letting itself be known because Frank was cleaning more than he had ever done. The tiles in the kitchen, the tabletop, the chairs. He even took to scouring the inside of the microwave even though it was already spotless. Not clean enough, he thought, this needs to be 'clean' clean. 'Ryan' clean.

Like a Duracell bunny on speed, Frank powered his way around the house, cleaning from top to bottom, dusting, and bleaching whatever he could in the process. He was vacuuming to the point that he actually moved furniture, making sure that he didn't miss anything because missing something would leave him irritated to the point that he would consider starting the whole process all over again. If it meant that everything would be immaculate then he would do it if he had to.

A part of him felt like everything was still messy, even though it wasn't. The 'Ryan' niggle in him reared its head so incessantly that when Frank moved everything back into place in Jamia's sitting room, he made sure that the coffee table was in line with the rug. He went full 'Monica Geller' on the situation, Frank made sure that the sofa lined up with the coffee table perfectly, also central to the whole room, and the TV in front of both things. He wandered over to the bookcase and rearranged them all after dusting and wiping down everything. There really was no need for it, even as Frank sorted out all of Jamia's pregnancy and baby books, putting them all together in one neat section, but he couldn't stop himself. Something in him was keeping him going as he moved around the house like a man possessed.

Upstairs wasn't too bad, he didn't feel like his skin was crawling at the idea of everything being a complete mess. He knew that away from where he had initially gotten triggered had probably helped, but Frank still found himself cleaning, having to go downstairs to retrieve the vacuum-plug adapter when the cord wouldn't reach anymore. He plugged it in when he got back upstairs, only to carry on with his furious need to pick up every speck of dust and dirt that might have been lurking in amongst the weave of the carpet. He couldn't stop, despite the raging pulse in his chest and the soft whimper that would leave his throat when he thought about stopping. Frank was sure that if he stopped then whatever was really bothering him was going to consume him. He couldn't let that happen, he pushed his bedroom door open with the vacuum, continuing to clean as he went around the house.

Frank switched off the vacuum for the time being when he finished in his bedroom, pushing it to one side, he groaned at himself when he looked at his bed. It was a mess and clearly he hadn't bothered to make it like he would have to, thanks to Ryan drilling his need for tidiness into his head. For once, he hadn't had to control his actions in fear of being yelled at. For once his bed was a complete and utter mess, the comforter was thrown back from when he had gotten out of bed, the bottom sheet half off the bed because for the past few nights, Frank had slept quite restlessly. The sight of the unmade bed had his blood boil under the surface and he bit on his thumbnail, chewing on it as his hands itched to fix it.

Frank threw the comforter away from the bed, tossing the pillows so he could straighten up. He remembered how Ryan had thrown a fit and had dragged him into the bedroom to physically show him how to make a bed. Fran had stood and watched every hand swipe and every throw of a sheet, scowling at Ryan's need for neatness. Every single instruction that had been drilled into his head for all those years now felt like a lifeline to him. Frank began to tug at the bottom sheet, trying to fold it properly so he could tuck it back under the mattress, but something caught him completely off guard. The memory of Ryan teaching him how to make a bed came screaming back quicker than he thought it would. He looked down at the tiny wet-spot on the sheet that he was trying to sort out and thought it was a stain, but he had been fooled. He had caused the stain when he blinked, letting the first tears fall from his eyes while he sniffed back hard, standing up to push the back of his hands against his eyes.

How could something as simple as making a bed make him burst into tears? Frank didn't want to understand it because if he did, then it would be like opening up Pandora's box. Everything would come out and Frank knew that he wasn't quite strong enough to deal with everything he had been avoiding since the day that he left Ryan. He wasn't missing him, Frank wanted to believe that the empty feeling in his chest resembled something very similar, or the tears that gave away how he wasn't coping at all. He kept telling himself that he was okay as he wiped his eyes, cleared his nose before continuing with the task of making the bed. Once he was done with that, placing the duvet back over the pillows he put back down, he realized that he had been crying the entire time. His emotions were unraveling and there was very little he could do to stop them.