Ten | newtmas

fifteen

I sit inside the big intimidating office with my mind racing a thousand miles a minute.

Thomas had come back about an hour after he left, me making small talk when addressed and watching everyone else joke around while he was gone. When he came back he'd announced lunch and we all made our way over to the dining area, me slower than others.

He'd eased my mind a bit more about the therapy situation without me even asking, I'm guessing he just knew I needed it. But eventually he broke off into his own conversations with everyone else, and I was left alone with my thoughts and the occasional interaction with Chuck.

At some point I went back to my room, cleaned a bit, time passed, and now here I am. Waiting for Dr. Janson to enter the room and start the pointless interrogation.

"Newton."

    I jump, turning around in my seat to see Dr. Janson walking in, giving me a smile.

    "Hi." My heart catches in my throat. It feels like a job interview, but what am I interviewing for? A ticket out? That's what this is, right? One big exam. If you pass, you're free.

    "Hello," he says, walking over to a desk on the other side of the room. He talks while shuffling through papers. "How are you today?"

    Is that a trick question? "Alright."

    "Alright is good," he says, seeming to find the file he needs and walking over with it before finally sitting in front of me in a huge cushioned chair.

    The chair looks more comfortable than mine, my chair being the equivalent of bleachers. Then again, he could give me a beanbag and I'd still be uncomfortable.

    The room has an eerie feel, like putting a living room in the middle of a hospital. It feels wrong. Plants in the corner, paintings on the wall, and to top off the homey feeling, a barred off window.

    "So, Newt, lets start with your OCD. Have you been tested for OCPD?"

    I steady my breathing, trying to focus on his question. "Yes, I tested negative."

    "Wonderful," he says. I'm not sure 'wonderful' is a great way to put it. "Tell me about your routine."

    "Well, usually, I wake up, brush my teeth ten seconds each section, wash my hands for ten minutes, get dressed, make my bed, then get on with my day. I clean and dust my room once a day, too. But constant routine is my walking. Ten steps, snap my fingers ten times, repeat."

"Always?" Dr. Janson asks.

"Every day," I say.

    "Do you have to snap your fingers with a certain hand?"

    I pause. "I, uh. No. I hadn't really thought about that. It's just whatever hand is available, usually I use my right."

    "Do you have to start with a certain leg?" he asks.

    Why does this matter? "No, I don't."

"How have you been adjusting here? Has your routine changed?" Janson asks, thankfully not poking more holes in my routine.

"Not much, although cleaning and dusting has gotten a bit harder. Chuck isn't the neatest kid," I say. "It doesn't bother me as much if he keeps it to his side.

"How have you and Chuck been getting along?" he asks.

"Fine," I say. "He's a good kid. Extremely friendly, I like him a lot."

"So you've been hanging out with his group of friends here, I see?"

I can see why they call him Rat Man. He does bear a strong resemblance to the creature, with his squinty eyes and pointed nose. It almost distracts me from his question.