OCD | A Short Story

I.

i'm trying something a bit different. this is fiction, not fan fiction, and i've worked pretty hard on it. it's a short chapter but i hope it's worth the read. i'll upload soon, most likely tomorrow. oh, and it's based on the spoken word poem 'ocd' by neil hilborn. the first line of the summary is him, and there's a line in this chapter somewhere that belongs to him, too. (:

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                                                 CHAPTER ONE

Today I woke up at 7AM sharp. I showered for 30 minutes and then got dressed for 30 minutes; any longer than that and I would’ve had to start all over again. I walked out of my room and turned the lights that I’d previously turned on 5 times, off 5 times. I touched the banister of the stairs all the way I walked down, walking back up to repeat my actions until it felt right – until it felt safe. I could hear my mother’s sighs from the kitchen, but that didn’t change my behaviour. She understood.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” the brunette woman chirped, shifting the pan from side to side as the smell of pancakes wafted around our small home. Wrinkles made small lines in the corners of her eyes and by the creases of her mouth and where they connected to her cheeks, and then I had to kiss her good morning. I pressed my lips to the side of hers and put my right arm around her shoulders. I kissed her again, and again – one kiss for each aging crevice. I counted five, but to make sure I counted again and instead got six. I counted two more times just to be sure. It was six.

“Good morning.” I washed my hands in the sink beside my mum, a tiny voice in the back of my head saying, ‘don’t blink until you’ve dried yourself’. So, I kept my eyes wide until they stung, and when I blinked before reaching the towel, I had to start all over again. This time I used even more soap, scrubbing quicker and more furiously but still very, very neatly. Once I’d finished, I sat on the table and looked at the arrangement of letters piled on the table. “Are there any letters from colleges, colleges, colleges, colleges, colleges – are there any letters from colleges?” My fumbling hands shook as I closed my eyes while I spoke, snapping them open afterwards to stare at my mother. She shook her head and I allowed myself to exhale a deep sigh.

Standing up again, I tucked my chair in and surprisingly, it only took one try to get it right. I felt okay with doing that once. I put on my coat and my scarf and my gloves and another pair of socks and my shoes and then I took them off and put them on again, and then I put on another pair of gloves. I hated germs. I hated cold. I hated cold. I hated cold. 

My mum handed me a ten pound note and I furrowed my eyebrows at the creases and the dirt. If she wasn’t so stressed from work, I would’ve asked her to iron it – I didn’t, though, even if it was her turn to buy. I hated when the turns weren’t fair. I shook my head, patting the wallet tucked firmly in my back pocket three times. “It’s okay, I’ll buy.” I kissed each wrinkle lining the tired expression on her face. I counted six like last time. I counted again to make sure, and then I left to get coffee from the little shop down the road. Me and mum got one every Saturday. I wanted to be there by 8:15AM. 

8:15AM. 8:15AM. 8:15AM. I chanted that in my head every minute – I counted each second. I got there at 8:13AM, so I waited outside for 2 minutes. I walked inside and looked around, confirming that everything was the same. Beside the counter, there were refrigerator shelves stacked with fresh pastries, fresh pastries, fresh pastries, fresh pastries – and then I saw her, and all the ticking stopped. My hands stopped shaking, and I stopped counting how many bagels there were; I didn’t even care that I’d lost track of all the numbers.

The only thing I could hear was the heavy beat of my heart. Thump, thump, thump, with every word she spoke.