Saving Laurel

21. Again!

Wes Thompson

Laurel left before my mom got home.

And I was mostly fine until I stopped playing but then instantly chaos happened.

I'm tic-ing like crazy, the full spread out on display for the walls of my room and my OCD is full blown.

I'm panicking.

And through my distress I'm trying to convince myself that my mom's fine. That just because I was late getting back here I didn't set off some monstrous chain of events that led to her having to stay late which resulted in her leaving at a different time and ultimately something happening to her.

She'll be home soon.

Right?

She promised.

A tic rips through me, pulling and raging at my body without my consent. But nothing I do calms them.

And my OCD is eating away at me, the thoughts that consume my mind are terrifying and the one compulsion, or tic, honestly it's classification is a little blurred, that I absolutely hate and have tried so hard to redirect comes calling for me.

My heart rate increases, my body rocking as I fist my hands in my hair and try to fight it. Its overwhelming, screaming at me.

Just do it.

You'll feel better.

It'll make everything okay.

"FUCK!!" And then my head jerks up so hard pain erupts in the back of my skull splintering out into my temples.

I. Hate. This.

My fingers curl into my hair, pulling at the strands hoping to satisfy my growing urge to hurt myself but it doesn't do anything to settle the storm inside me.

I'm frustrated and mad and scared, what if this is the one time something happens. What if this is the time that all of these thought become my reality and it all could have been avoided if I would have just gotten into Brett's car in the first place. It'll be my fault.

All because you didn't follow your routine.

The thought glitches in my mind. And I can't take it anymore. I give into the chaos that I am, my right hand releasing itself from the tangles of my hair before my clenched fist slams into my head.

Again!

My body obliges. My eyes watering as an instant headache blooms at the point of contact but my compulsion still isn't satisfied.

Again!

A tic explodes out of me as a guttural scream roars from the depth of my body, pitching me forward. I knock myself off balance and slip from the edge of my bed, landing on my hands and knees.

Take a deep breath Wes, I tell myself, think of the piano.

But my thoughts don't give me the reprieve, my compulsion is still there, complaining that I've forgotten about it like it's a spoiled child and it didn't get what it wanted.

Again!

I want it out.

"FUCK OFF!" I scream then immediately whistle and follow it up with "CUNT".

Again!

And I listen this time because this will make four and for some reason an even number is safer than an odd number. It's more balanced. So I punch myself hard in the head. Tears leak out of my sealed eyelids, my forehead meeting the hardwood floor of my room as my body folds over my knees.