Ten | newtmas

ten

    Thomas stands by the door, looking at me with troubled eyes. I surprise myself and pat my hand on the bed in front of me, looking up at him. The two pats turn into ten, but neither of them pay attention to it.

    He follows suit and sits down next to me, putting his legs in a crisscross position. Taking the time, I look at his face. Really look. His eyes seem to be sunken in, with dark circles around them. The light plays on his features and reveals his frown lines and droopy cheeks and tired looking eyes. Even when he smiles at me as he looks up, it looks surreal. Like a ghost. No wonder he's given up, he looks gone.

    "I could probably take a guess at who might've been," Thomas starts. "Chuck would've been a kid with a ton of video games with tons of friends who everyone loved. Instead, he's here and alone. Well, besides me. I probably would've been the teachers pet, on the school's baseball team, not too bright grades wise but otherwise the one you could always trust. But theres no point in dreaming if you're already a shell of what might've been, right?" Thomas finishes, blankly staring out of the window.

    "Thomas-," I start but something about his concentrated stare on the window made me stop.

    "Why are you here?" Thomas says. I would ask him to leave or not to ask, but I feel like he should know. It's not something I'm proud of but why not at this point? I'm here already obviously there's a reason.

    "I'm here for several reasons. I'm too numb to feel feelings anymore, I have no motivation to do anything but I have to and I know I have to because the essence of my being is constantly doing things. I panic at everything but can't stop making those things happen.

    "I don't want to drag myself out of bed in the morning but I have to do my routine, or it feels like I'm suffocating. Everything I do, I have to do it ten times. And I constantly want to give up, but I can't because I need to do this for my parents. I'm sick of being a disappointment," I say, causing Thomas to finally look at me.

    After a long period of silence and shuffling, Thomas clears his throat. "Ten times?" he asks.

    "Ten," I say.

    "So what about talking? Why don't you say everything ten times?"

    "Who knows, I might start doing that next," I say. He nods.

    "Why can't you just...not?" Thomas asks.

    "Well why can't you just stop blinking?" I ask him, the answer coming to me like an automated response after having to answer this a thousand times.

    "Oh. So what do you do ten times?" Thomas asks me, and for some reason this strikes me as funny.

    "Um. I have a walking routine, ten steps and then I have to snap my fingers ten times," I say. Thomas smirks at me before making some hardcore eye contact.

    "I like your accent," he says. I feel my face get hot as I laugh a bit. I've had people tell me this before so its not unusual to me.

    "Its British. My father's side, actually. My mother is from here, and we moved when I was five," I say, starting to relax a little. Its been a long time since I've had this kind of banter with someone.

    "I figured. Its pretty cute," Thomas says. This is the second time he's said something like that. Is Thomas gay? Why else would he say that. I mean there could be other reasons.

    "Thanks," I say, immediately inwardly cringing at myself. Thanks? That's a terrible response.

    I've never actually thought about anyone in any way. Growing up I only liked a couple of girls but that was mainly when I was a kid. I've never felt the need for a label, it seems senseless. I've never been quite comfortable around girls, but I figured it was just normal, my awkwardness.

    Suddenly Alby pops into my head, giving me anxiety. I don't need this right now, I need to get myself better. I can't...

    "Any time. So...what else do you have to do ten times?" he asks. The look on his face is devious, which makes me question myself.

    "Well, like, everything I guess," I say back, refusing to make eye contact.

    "So do you wash your hands ten times?" he asks.

    "Well no, I wash them for ten minutes."

    "Do you have a timer? Or just-,"

    "I count, actually," I say, finally looking up at Thomas to see him still looking directly at my face.

    "If someone kissed you would you kiss them once, ten times, or for ten minutes?" Thomas asks. I feel my heart audibly miss a beat as I cross my arms, trying to shrink into myself.

    "I'm, uh, not sure I guess. It's never happened so I wouldn't know. Not that I'm waiting for it to. I'd just have to find out. Again not that I want to or anything-," I cut myself off when I hear Thomas laughing at me, not helping the tomato color of my face.

    "Relax, Newt," he says, pushing back his hair. "Anyway, OCD isn't the worst thing in the world. I'm sorry about what I said before. I think you can get better, even if I'm a lost cause." Theres a small silence before I finally have the courage to speak up again.

    "I think we got off on the wrong foot," I say, earning a chuckle from Thomas.

    "Yeah, okay. I see what you mean," he answers. I stick my hand out in his direction, ignoring my nerves.

    "Hi, my name is Newt," I say. Thomas doesn't hesitate, grabbing my hand and shaking it ten times before looking at me and speaking.

    "Tommy."