Saving Laurel

55. A Flying Fork

Wes Thompson

I'm out of breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I lay sprawled out on the floor of my bedroom. My tic fit has slowed and it's left me exhausted. I'm not sure if it's better or worse than being wide awake after one.

"Sorry." I mumble, my eyes closed. My head jerks to the side twice.

"You're okay." Ryan answers.

He's sitting beside me, he has been since he first walked in as my tic fit started. Shifting my pillow around on the floor to catch my head and staying out of my way.

His hand runs over my head, not quite as gently as my mom does but it doesn't matter. It gives me something to focus on.

"Fuck off!" My entire body spasms forcing me into a ball for a few seconds before I relax back into the floor. Air deflates from my lungs from the exertion.

"I th-(whistle, normal tics) I think I'm good now." I tell Ryan.

I don't want to take up anymore of his time. Plus I'm embarrassed.

"You sure?"

He hasn't stopped running his hand over my hair, the motion repetitive and a little hypnotizing threatening to send me to sleep right there on the floor. I'm not completely complaining, sleep sounds good right now.

I nod my head, slap myself in the chest, shout "bitch" and then say "I'm gonna nap".

"Yeah, alright. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?" He's still sitting next to me, not stopping his motions.

"Thanks."

I don't make a move to get up, I'm relatively calm plus there's that whole thing of the floor is safer. And even though I'm pretty sure the worst is over I'd rather not risk it.

Closing my eyes, I'm aware that I'm still twitching. And I can't help but wonder how many new tics I've acquired because of this episode. Hopefully nothing too exciting. Although I've done this particular sniff a lot that I have a feeling is going to stick around.

Sleep is just about to pull me under when I feel Ryan stand from where he was beside me and his footsteps softly fade from my room.

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"Hungry?" My mom asks as I emerge a few hours later from my bedroom.

I'm stiff and sore and still tired. But even through my exhaustion the first thing I look for is the dirt in the foyer. My eyes linger there for a moment but someone must have swept it up.

And then my head starts in with its justifications for making me beat the crap out of myself. That the only reason my mom is home and okay is because I gave into all the weird rules of my OCD and hit myself for messing up my routine.

I'm aware that sounds crazy.

"Hey baby." Her hand slips around my arm, drawing my attention to her as I tic. "I'll warm you up a plate of food, come sit."

Her other hand reaches for the back of my head, pulling me closer to her height so she can kiss my forehead. My head wants to jerk to the side and I hold it back so I don't hurt either of us by the sudden movement.

I let her guide me to the counter, jerk, then slide onto a barstool beside Ryan. My embarrassment from having a tic attack in front of him resurfaces ten fold and I smack myself in the chest then cycle through my normal ones.

I'm just about to apologize but Ryan asks "how ya feeling?"

Shrugging my shoulders hurts but I do it anyway offering up a quiet "sore a little".

A little is a massive understatement.  The nap I took didn't touch my self-inflicted headache. All my muscles ache, trembling when I call to use them.

The microwave beeps, my mom passing a plate with a chunk of steak, potatoes and broccoli in front of me. My stomach rumbles at the sight of it, I don't even need to smell it but it smells good too, my mouth watering in anticipation.

"This looks good." I mumble, reaching for my fork.

"Thanks, the one thing I know I can cook is a good steak." Ryan chuckles. "Hope you like yours medium."

"Yeah..." and then I do that weird sniff thing that started during my tic fit. My head jerks back and I inhale loud and obnoxiously. Fun. No wonder my neck hurts like crazy. "Yeah, thanks."

I cut into the steak, sectioning off a bite and he's right it's light pink in the middle and even before I chew it I can tell it's tender. My mom and Ryan start talking about work, more specifically my mom's. Apparently she put some time in for a vacation and Ryan seems pleased at the information. Maybe they're planning a trip but before I even start thinking about all the ways that's going to mess with me I shove it to the back of my mind. I'm not looking to bring another fit on. I've been stumbling into them enough on my own.

Stabbing another piece of steak with my fork, I go to eat it but a tic rips through my right side and the fork goes flying, along with the piece of steak. Apparently my tic has good aim though because it lands in the sink.

"Nice shot." Ryan teases as my mom shouts out "food fight!".

Laughter bubbles out of me without warning, taking some of my stress with it.

"You don't have food to fight with." I point out.

"Kids got a point. Grab the leftovers." Ryan tells my mom.

He's got a massive grin on his face, an easy way about him and even though my fit was all sorts of embarrassing I gotta give the guy credit. He handled it well, probably better than my dad would have. And that thought makes me relax.

"Fuck! (Whistle)" I look to my mom as she hands me a clean fork and even though I've already told my mom, maybe it'll help if I say it so Ryan can hear too.  "I like him".

My mom beams at me, that sweet motherly one that most kids are embarrassed about because it sort of makes you feel like a little kid again. But I don't mind. I'm glad my mom is happy. And I'm glad it's someone that doesn't seem to mind that I'm a lot to handle.

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Who's excited to find out the name of the next book?