three

1

This morning, it was exactly 7:32 in the morning. I guess you could say that it was indeed too early, but most would not mind that kind of information. For a person with the same traits as me, maybe they would for typical reasoning.

I checked out the mirror in the sense of attempt of seeing if I was ready enough for today. Collar folded on the right place. Hair neatly brushed. Shirt perfectly pressed. Wristwatch on the correct wrist. Nothing unusual as it is for me.

I turned away from the mirror and took a glance around my spacious room. There was a small proximity between the my shoes that seemed horrific to stare at in my own fair sense of judgment.

I rushed over to it and immediately fixed the small issue with my bare hands; moving the shoes to each other in a much more desired place to calm my nervous self.

I stood up on my feet once again as my eyes lingered, just specifying. My eyes caught the unplugged charger that was not even supplying a phone with its provisional purpose. I scurried to that side of the room and pulled the socket from the wall, preventing to waste electricity, I thought so.

My hands were palming the outsides of my pocket to feel the outline of some of my belong . . . wallet, keys, phone. Everything that was considered essential were on me. I decided to leave the room and twisted the key on the lock. I re-checked it by moving the doorknob a couple of times until I was satisfied that no one may come in on my house.

I ran to the black mustang that was parked infront of my house and hopped inside to the shotgun. The welcoming aroma greeted me as a smile makes its way to my lips.

"Goodmorning," Tristan's Israeli accent was very prominent and it was a goood way to start the morning.

He revved the machine. "How's my girl so far?"

"It hasn't even been seven hours since we last saw each other," I said, timidly.

Being socially awkward was something I did not want to qualify with myself, but it was a portion of who I was so I have to accept it either way whether I wanted it or not.

"Yeah? Thought so too. So, my mum wanted you to meet my stepsister today. Is that okay with you? I met her yesterday and she's a kind girl," he said, keeping his eyes glued to the road as he steered wheel.

"It is fine. She is your stepsister anyway, so there is not turning back on this one." I chuckled and almost felt his slight smirking showing off.

"You don't seem nervous at all."

"Should I be nervous, Tristan?" I asked in a playful manner and he let out a humorous laugh.

He shrugged his shoulder and fidgeted on his seat. "Nope and you're doing a good job."

I hoped I was, but the truth was—I wasn't doing any better at it—at being not nervous since being nervous was the most common thing I had to deal with on a daily basis.

Tristan did not look beyond me and it appeared to be astounding that no one noticed me through my thin boundaries and such. No one ever did. Not even my biological parents, nor my pet dog.

Then I remembered.

Did I lock all the doors?

Did I turn off all the lights?

Did I unload the dishwasher?

Did I turn off the airconditioner?

Did I turn off the faucet?

Did I forget something?

It all started to cloud up my mind once again. I started re-thinking all of these and I was being triggered once again. Do I have to ask Tristan to bring me back home to check if all of these were done?

No, it's just my subconscious taking over me. The lights were turned off, the airconditioner was turned off―

No, I had to go back and turn them off.

No, I cannot do that. Tristan will be furious about it.

No, I really had to go back.

I had to go back. I had to go back. I had to go back. I had go back. The lights aren't off. The faucet was not off. The airconditioner was left open. The doors aren't locked. My house might be robbed. Someone might enter without my consent. My belongings may be stolen. Something bad might happen.

And I thought, as always, when would this ever end? Never? Never? Never?

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