Chapter 4: Cleaning Up the Past

Levi finally turned away from the railing and made his way back toward the cabin of the Sea Monster. The waves lapped gently against the hull, the salty breeze ruffling his hair, but the moment of peace didn't last. He had work to do—whether he liked it or not.

The moment he opened the door, the stench hit him like a physical force.

"Jesus Christ." He staggered back, covering his nose with his forearm. It was like walking into a decomposing carcass marinated in stale alcohol and sweat. The air inside was thick, humid with filth, and the sharp bite of vomit twisted his stomach. He cursed under his breath, exhaling through his mouth in a weak attempt to avoid taking in the full brunt of it.

The remnants of the original owner's last bender were still there—empty bottles strewn across the floor, their labels peeling from condensation and neglect. A half-eaten sandwich sat on the small, dented table, its bread now a breeding ground for fuzzy green mold. Rotting food—what might have once been fruit or maybe meat—sat abandoned in a corner, attracting flies that buzzed lazily around the wreckage. Then there was the puddle of something dark and suspiciously sticky near the foot of the narrow bunk. Levi really didn't want to know what it was.

"Fantastic," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Absolutely fantastic."

With a resigned sigh, he kicked aside a beer can and stepped inside. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his boots, groaning under the weight of his task. He grabbed a mop and bucket from the storage area, his fingers brushing against a crumpled t-shirt that smelled just as bad as the rest of the room. He tossed it into a pile with a grimace.

He wasn't above manual labor—hell, he'd done worse before—but cleaning up someone else's mess, especially a mess made in a downward spiral of self-destruction, wasn't exactly his idea of a productive evening. Still, it had to be done. If he was going to turn this rust bucket into something worth calling home, step one was making it livable.

He started with the bottles, tossing them into a garbage bag one by one. Glass clinked loudly against glass, echoing through the cabin. Some of them still had liquor in them, the acrid scent wafting up as he dumped them out. He hesitated for a split second, watching amber liquid swirl down the drain. Once upon a time, he might've taken a sip. Just to take the edge off. Just to drown out the weight pressing down on his chest.

Not anymore.

He shook his head and kept working.

The food was worse. He gagged more than once as he scraped unidentifiable sludge off the table, swatting away flies that seemed determined to defend their territory. The sandwich was so far gone that the bread crumbled into dust when he picked it up. He shoved everything into a second garbage bag, tying it tightly before dragging it outside. It landed on the dock with a satisfying thud, and he made a mental note to get rid of it first thing in the morning before the smell attracted something worse than flies.

Scrubbing the floor took the longest. Whatever had spilled—or been spilled—had soaked deep into the wood, leaving a sticky residue that refused to come up without a fight. He attacked it with soapy water and sheer determination, his shoulders burning from the effort. By the time he finished, his shirt was damp with sweat, and his arms felt like lead.

An hour later, the cabin was somewhat livable again. The smell still lingered—clinging stubbornly to the fabric of the couch, the mattress, even the walls—but at least it didn't make his eyes water anymore. It would take more than a single cleaning session to fully erase the past, but it was a start.

Levi leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from his brow. His gaze swept over the small space, taking in the now-cleared floor, the freshly scrubbed surfaces, the empty table. It still wasn't much. But it was better than before.

The past owner—his past self—had really been a mess. Booze, reckless spending, aimless living. It was no wonder he hadn't left behind much of a financial strategy. His priorities had been all wrong, drowning in indulgence and carelessness instead of planning for a future that he never thought he'd want.

But Levi wasn't that person. Not anymore.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. There was still so much work to do—fixing up the boat, figuring out his next steps, making sure he didn't slip back into old habits. But for the first time in a long time, he had a plan.