'Thanks again"

IndieInk challenge once again! This is my fourth post, and I was challenged by Karla V.  My buddy, Alyssa, answered my specific challenge on her blog. 

***

Being in her house is a sad and punishing affair. I knew it would be hard, to get on without her, but I wasn't prepared for the struggle that was before me.

I walked through the door and into the hallway, carefully closing the door behind me. I made sure to double check all the locks, knowing that she’d remind me to do so if she were here. She’s always had confidence in me, but treated me with kid gloves anyway. I laughed as I glanced at the alarm pad, remembering the time I brought her home drunk and was petrified that I’d set the alarm off in the middle of the night and alert her father to our reckless abandon. I asked her for the code, but she gave me the pin to her Debit Card instead.

I stopped in the kitchen to fill the bowls of food for the kids, the three felines that she rescued from homelessness during a thunderstorm years ago. They were good kids, rarely getting into fights, but they made messes with their food. She was always cleaning up after one of their spills. I can still hear her yelling, “Mario!” as he’d step in his food bowl and knock the yellow pellets onto the carpet. She’d pretend to be mad, but then just laugh as he gave her a look, one that meant he knew what he was doing, but was too cute to get in trouble. It’s true, though; he was too cute to ever get in trouble.

I did the dishes in the sink, the one chore that she really hated. I couldn’t leave them, knowing how much it irked her to see them pile up, so I took the five minutes necessary and made sure everything was neat and tidy. I knew she would have appreciated it, had she known I’d done it.

I walked up the stairs, holding onto the banister and looking at the pictures of her family, the same ones that I’ve been looking at for six months. I feel like they are a part of my family, and yet, I stare at them again, like I’ve never seen them before. I take a minute to memorize the pictures of her grandparents, on their wedding day, in the ugly brass frame that comes from another time. The picture of her mom’s favorite dog. The people that I feel like I know, but don’t.

I opened the door to her room, like I’ve done a hundred times, and it hits me again that she’s gone. I miss her more than words can say. I’ve cried everyday for a week. I don’t want to be in here without her.

Something on the bed catches my eye; I’ve got the room memorized, I know when something is amiss.
I sit on the bed, knowing that what I find here will not be very pleasant. There is a letter addressed to me:

Hey Val,
Thanks for coming to feed the kids while I’m away. Don’t forget to water the plants, too, okay?
Also, do you think you can pick up and deposit my paycheck on Thursday? I’m going to need the money in my account while I’m in California. Stay at the house as much as you want, but make sure you lock the door when you leave. I’ve left you a key so you don’t have to go searching for the spare.
Also, don’t set off the alarm, or my dad will have a fit.  I’ll be home on the 18th.
Thanks again,
Lisa


I shake my head as I re-read the letter, already knowing that I've got to get to the bank before it closes.  She owes me, I think to myself as I close the door and head down the stairs.


***
Prompt:  Being the tool of somebody else's bidding can be a sad and punishing affair. For your challenge, write a piece (fiction or not) about a situation in which you are the one doing someone else's bidding. What are the circumstances? Why are you doing this? How do you feel? What is next?