❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
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"Do you think that this will stop the OCD?" Cleo asked thoughtfully as the unlikely pair sat at the bus stop on that classic, bitter, English December morning exchanging sweet nothings. Of course, the icy weather enhanced the need to snuggle into her hooded superstar. For warmth and protection from the unformidable temperature. Or at least, that's what she told herself. "Finding the root of the problem, I mean." Her statement was met with nothing but contemplative silence and a tightening of an arm around her shoulders. "In the voicemail, you said that your OCD was a way to forget what you have done. Do...do you think it's possible that by moving on from your past you may be able to move past he OCD? I mean, I know it's not nearly as simple as that. I know that you can't just flip a switch and turn it off or anything like that. Your mind isn't just one switch, it's an entire system with thousands of delicate wires that spark when touched and worst of all, they're all intermingled with each other, a mess. I believe it's truly impossible to just flip a switch without taking the rest of the wires into account. Otherwise, the whole system will just collapse. I guess what I'm trying to say is that...there are a whole lot of other factors as well. This is only one wire out of thousands...but do you think it could at least help?"
Shane sighed, a large puff of carbon dioxide expiring from his lips as he did so. He did not answer for a long time. With each passing second he pulled Super-girl closer to him; as if she could somehow cure his internal battle. "I...I don't know. Maybe. I honestly can't say that I know my own mind. But...seeing as I'm sitting with you here, right now, I'd say that I think it's already starting to heal."
Cleo frowned, shoulders raising in an uncontrollable tension. Something about the last sentence irritated her. People always looked at broken glass the wrong way, always looking for a way to fix it instead of realising how beautiful the end product is. "Don't say that," she whispered, voice almost drowned by the hush of the wind.
Shane tilted his head to look down at her, brows furrowed into a bridge of confusion. "What?" He took the advantage of a stray hair escaping from the perfection that was her head and tucked it behind her ear.
"Heal," her voice was clouded with emotion, "don't treat it as healing, fixing, mending or anything like that." Shane let out a knowing chuckle at her words, resting his head against hers as he prepared himself for another one of her famed speeches. "It's part of who you are Lost Boy. It's part of what makes up your spectrum, without it you would be nothing but black and white. Subtracting it from your history would make you a completely different person. So, don't treat it as healing. Treat it as...moving onto a different stage in your life. The wire in your mind hasn't been removed as such...just rearranged into a more comfortable position."
Shane laughed again, the warmth of the genuine action warming his cold soul. "Has anyone ever told you that you should run for Prime Minister?" Cleo rolled her eyes, smiling knowingly as she gave him a slight slap on the head. "Scratch that. You may as well run for Queen of the world. You're already the Queen of mine."
