Forlot: My Little Worry Worm - Book Eighty-Six

Chapter One

I woke up on my stomach in bed and groaned. My eyes were aching to the point that I could not open them. So were my muscles. I rubbed my eyes with one hand and opened them wide. Flakes on my fingers. I knew why I was in pain now. I recalled what happened last night. I felt something in my other hand and swung my arm on the bed. I raised the item to my face. It was my phone.

I rolled onto my back and groaned again. I yawned and stretched. I said, "Cannot believe that I drifted to sleep with my dumb phone." I sat up and surveyed my room. "Thank the Lord from above that I did not start a fire." I ruffled my bird's nest and ran my hand through it. "If Mom saw me sleeping with my phone...she would have murdered me." I turned it on and rubbed the bridge of my nose when I read the notifications from the news. I put it in sleep mode and slammed it on my nightstand. "But somebody is bound to with the way that the world is going."

Someone was out to get me. I did not know who. And I had a long list of suspects with no evidence. I might be dead by the time that I discover who. My murderer will walk because deranged folks like him or her will justify it. The killer was defending themselves or something. I could not live like this anymore. I could not live in fear for the rest of my life. But I could not help it. I was just another slave to worry. Worry and fear. One day, I will find myself being stabbed or gunned down with no one to assist me. All this because I have Russian blood.

My large family arrived to Forlot when I was a toddler. I do not remember much, but I remember asking them questions. Loads. Why are we leaving Russia? Why can our friends not come? What is Forlot? I was not afraid. More confused. Why would anybody leave their home?

My parents explained the whole story when we were in our new house. Just the three of us inside a three-story house that resembled a mansion. Maybe it reminds me of a mansion because I was little. Smaller than average toddlers. I used to think that this marvelous house was alive and spoke to it. It never bothered me that it never talked back. It wanted to hear me only. Hear my voice. Telling it my problems and opinions calmed my nerves - and my worries.

The reason that we left Russia is because the grownups wanted their children to have the greatest life possible. And somewhere that we can safely worship. This world will grow worse. They were fully aware - and worried. I wonder if worry is genetic, but I am sure that they have not worried as much as I did. I still suffer from worries from time to time, but not as bad. I cannot just awaken and expect my worries to flee. I cannot promise myself to stop worrying. That is not how it works.

I have been a worry worm since that we stepped foot in Forlot. I am sure part of it is from our move. You are in the country where you were born and grew up in. Now, you are in a different country. A town that is not in any history books. A town with a purple sky and no money. A town where characters break the fourth wall.

How did my family find this place?

My parents took notice of my worrying behavior before worrying themselves. How quaint. They tried whatever they could to get rid of the worry worm within me. God bless them. They brought me to three different doctors and one therapist. Nothing. It was not until we met Dr. O'Fallon that we started noticing an improvement. Not much. But an improvement nonetheless. But the worry worm still lingered. It felt as if I had a tapeworm.

I have no idea which is worst. A tapeworm - or a worry worm.

"You do not have a worry worm," Dr. O'Fallon stated.

A small smile spread across my face.

"You have tons and tons of worry worms."

My smile faded.

It was his turn to smile. He held out an open hand. "Do the worry worms sort of go away when somebody hugs you or holds your hand?"

I slowly nodded. "But the relief does not last long."

"Hold my hand. Squeeze it as hard as you can. Then let go when I count to ten."

I glanced at my parents, wondering if they were alright with a stranger touching me. He was a doctor, but still. They nodded. Dad put an arm around Mom and pulled her close to him. I looked back at Dr. O'Fallon. Then at his hand. I reached out with a quivering hand and took it. I squeezed until my hand ached. I pulled away when he said nine. I tucked my hands in my lap.

Dr. O'Fallon adjusted his glasses. "This is serious. Your worry worms are in so deep that we cannot hold hands for merely ten seconds."

"I made it to nine," I said softly. "That should count for something, right?"

He nodded and put his hands on his knees. "Daria. Did you notice how fast you pulled away?"

I played with my fingers. "Yes."

"Pretty fast, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you pull away? Do you not trust me?"

"It is not that I do not trust you. At least, I do not think so."

"Did it feel weird squeezing my hand?"

"A-a bit."

"Why?"

"I...I do not know you well. I...I am scared that you will pull me forward and put me in a chokehold."

"Well, you are not my first patient who said that."

The door suddenly opened. I screamed.