Clean Criminal // l.s.

xxiii.

[Please don't hate me... -M]

Louis sat in a very clean room that was dusted to perfection and had natural lighting that reflected off of nearly every surface. He liked that the couch was obviously vacuumed and the magazines, books and pamphlets all had their designated spots.

He smiled at the woman who sat across from him, his posture perfect and his hands folded neatly in his lap. The woman stared back at him and noted his odd behavior.

"What seems to have you in such a mood?" she had asked.

"Well, doc, if you must ask, I have met someone."

Now, to Louis this was nothing. It was just a minor detail to his life. He had fallen in love with Harry and Harry had fallen crazily in love with him. Louis never thought about how others may have seen their relationship. Five weeks is hardly anything at all if you were to make a time-line of your life. It was very minuscule in comparison. Although these five weeks were short, very short compared to the rest of his life, Louis couldn't help but think that they have been the best weeks of his life.

Well, except the fact that his friend had been killed...

Nonetheless, his therapist, Doctor Brenan, seemed to be very shocked. She was most likely thinking, how can he get someone but I can't?

"His name is Harry," Louis had said, blushing when he mentioned Harry's name, "he's a detective and he has green eyes and curly hair and, and, and he really likes me. I really like him," Louis admitted. 

"That's great, Louis. I'm glad to see that you've opened up to the possibility of being in a relationship again," Brenan had commented, "have you done anything else out of the ordinary."

Louis thought about it, taking his time in doing so, "I've been experimenting with--"

"Please tell me you're not going to say drugs," Brenan had interrupted, speaking quietly to herself.

"--different foods," Louis finished, giving his doctor a strange look.

The young woman simply smiled, assured that her patient wasn't a drug addict, "that's good. Way to get out of your comfort zone and try new things. I'm proud of you. We've made lots of progress over the last few years, yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis agreed with a nod, "we've made lots of improvements, I'd say."

"It's good, the improvements, it shows your growth. And this relationship is an indicator of how far you've come, Louis. However, this doesn't mean we should stop moving forward--"

"Oh, of course not," Louis interrupted, "I want to get better. I want to be more...human. I don't want to feel like some Frankenstein that everyone is cautious of. I want to feel alive, free. I don't like the ticking of my internal clock. I don't like doing things in specific orders. I don't like any of this, but if I don't do it then I panic and worry and then everything comes crashing down."

"I understand, which is why we need to continue this progress. We need to continue taking one step forward, not two steps back. We're already meeting once a week. I think that it would be best if we met every other week. You seem to be doing great, wonderful really. And you're already heading down that right track, let's keep it that way," Dr. Brenan said with a grin.

Louis couldn't help but smile back because, yes, he had finally done it. He was finally beginning to work with his OCD rather than having it push him around like your stereotypical high school bully. He was done with it. Or at least he wanted to be, but, like all clocks, his was constantly going and it really never changed. Well, until he met Harry. 

Harry was able to do things out of order and that made Louis envious. He wished that he could do what Harry can. He wished he could just wake up in the morning and decide that, you know, today seems like a really good day to do absolutely nothing. He wished that he had the power to stay up past ten telling jokes and laughing and just living. 

Harry had it easy, Louis thought most of the time. Harry could do anything he wanted. He was a free soul with absolutely nothing standing in his way. He was carefree, rebellious (at least according to him and his numerous stories of 'the good ole days') and had one of the coolest jobs in the world.

Louis, on the other hand, couldn't get a job because he was a bad communicator. He wouldn't make eye contact, he often times mumbled and he hardly expressed any emotion. Louis was a student, not an employee.

He figured that if he studied hard enough, he could get a major and a minor and then he could enter the workforce in a career that he liked and fitted him.He could only hope that his few scholarships continued to cover all of his learning. Although he hates to admit it, he relies a lot on his family for paying for the apartment at which he had moved to a few years before. They had said, "even though you're leaving, we want you to be okay," which was how Louis ended up in the flat he is currently living in.

However, what his father had offered could roughly be translated to say, "I will do anything to get you out of my goddamn house." But that was a detail Louis avoided thinking about. 

 He was never really welcomed into his own family after he had told them that he likes boys. He likes looking at them. He likes smelling them. He likes holding them and telling them that everything will be okay when they tell their own families. He likes kissing them, touching them, loving them. He likes everything about them and that just wasn't something his family understood.

You could say that Louis' life was stereotypical, with the homophobic father and the mother who wouldn't speak her mind. Then there were the siblings that watched, never speaking a word because they still wanted a roof over their heads.

The only thing that set Louis apart from all of this was the fact that he had a mental disorder that caused him to have certain obsessions and compulsions. (Not every family has a member that is crazy enough to take out all of the China, clean and then organize it neatly just in time for Thanksgiving.)

Louis had always tried to view his disorder as a super power. Some day he was going to rid the Earth of all germs, or that was what he thought at thirteen, the time he thought absolutely anything was possible.

As time dragged on, however, he slowly began to see that his disorder was just something that held him back from doing the things he wanted, from living life the way he wanted.

"I think that every other week works out perfectly fine," Louis responded, agreeing with his therapist who nodded and scribbled his next appointment on a small business card.

"I'll see you the week after, then, Louis. Make sure to keep taking steps forward. I don't want to see you fall behind," Dr. Brenan admitted. (She had always had a soft spot for Louis and constantly wished him the best.)

With that, Louis stood and shook hands with Dr. Brenan, a habit he had gotten into. Then he left, just as he had done every Thursday of every week of every month and year for the past three or more years (he had honestly lost count).

Then he was off, ready to get home and make dinner because Harry would surely be stopping by and he still needed to get ingredients from the market. As he walked toward the bus stop, he couldn't help but feel as though someone where watching him as if he were prey being stalked by the most aggresive predator.

Suddenly, hands had covered his mouth and he was dragged toward an ally as he struggled to be released. The predator had shoved Louis up against one of the building walls, his grip tight on Louis' shoulders, "fucking fag is what you are," they spat in Louis' face.

Louis spat in their face, trying to form a distraction so he could run away, however, his plan had failed and he was most definitely out of luck. 

"You're not going anywhere, pretty boy."

It was in that moment that Louis had realized he knew this person. He knew that voice. He knew that person from the bar, the same one who had offered to take Louis to his truck and put him in a dress.

"How would you like to see my truck now?"

And with that, Louis was dragged toward a white, rusted Chevy where a pill was shoved down his throat to make him sleep peacefully. The only thing on his mind at the time: Harry.