Obsessive Compulsion (21 page)

Her office is non-clinical, aside from her
various degrees she has hung on the wall. There’s a small desk in
the corner, but the room is dominated by a comfortable couch, a rug
and a few matching chairs. It looks like a living room and I’m sure
I’m not the only patient who appreciates that little bit of
normalcy.

I think that’s why she always asks me to
call her Michelle instead of Dr. Veselovsky. She told me that she
stopped asking patients to use her last name when she was treating
a man who stutters, but I think the real reason is the same as the
living room set up. You feel more at ease telling your secrets to a
friend than to someone in a white coat who looks at you like a test
result.

“How are you?” she asks the first question
she always does.

I swallow and take a moment to formulate an
answer. Her eyes are examining every twitch, gesture and
expression, but they’re also offering genuine interest. She
actually cares about what I’m going to say, and I know she won’t
judge me for it. She may change my meds around or suggest what I
need to alter in my routine, but she has never once told me there’s
something
wrong
with me.

With a deep inhale, I repay her kindness
with honesty. “I’m fantastic, Michelle… A really fantastic
mess.”

I proceed to tell her everything about the
past week - updating her on Charlotte, what happened at the club
and my joke about proposal that wasn’t a joke. She listens to every
word, nodding and taking a few notes, never stopping me as I let it
all out. It’s like a great release of pent up energy that deflates
me into a weary mass of skin and bone that sinks down into the
well-worn, overstuffed chair.

As I get to my breakthrough with being able
to touch Charlotte without convulsing, I smile. The smile falters
into a frown as I explain how I’m now obsessing over not being near
her, and how I can’t seem to touch her enough. I’m so full of joy
in Charlotte’s presence, it changes the entire way I interact with
the world. I have more control over
everything
.

And I’m an anxious, incomplete soul that
barely functions when we’re apart.

“She loves me,” I hear my voice cracking as
my last remaining wall collapses. “Can you believe that? Now I’m so
afraid… I’m going to lose her, Michelle, I know it. I don’t know
what to do.
Please
, tell me what to do.”

She leans back in her chair and watches me
in silence for a long moment with the eraser of her mechanical
pencil tapping her lips. It’s a lot to take in – I get that. This
weekend I lost my virginity, I found out Charlotte loves me, I
agreed to go meet her folks and I’ve decided I want to marry her
sooner than later. I’m prepared for Michelle to up my meds, try
some new relaxation technique or even for her to tell me to back
off from Charlotte for a while.

“There’s nothing I can do for you, Ian.”

Shock vibrates through me. “W-what?”

Oh, God
. I’m too far gone. I knew it.
I need to get as far away as possible from Charlotte so she can get
back to a normal life. Wonderful! Looks like I’m going to spend
Christmas this year committed to a rubber room at Green Oaks.

“You’re supposed to have
something
!”
I yell in a distraught plea, jumping up to pace the room. Well, at
least I won’t have to commit myself this time. Keep this rant up
and Michelle will commit me herself. “C’mon, doc! A pill to calm me
down or some stupid mantra to keep me from stalking her?
Anything?!”

“Nothing,” she motions towards the chair,
“but if you sit your butt back down and let me finish…”

I slump back down in the chair, my head in
my hands. “Tell me I’m not completely hopeless.”

She sighs with a continued, small and
sloping smile. “Ay me, for aught that I could ever read, could ever
hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run
smooth.”

My brow quirks up at her quietly spoken
words. I know the line well, having taken several English Lit
classes to fill up my electives, but it’s not what I expected her
to say. “Shakespeare? Seriously?”

She laughs quietly before explaining. “Well,
he was quite brilliant and the point Lysander was trying to make is
apt. No love is perfect, Ian. There are always obstacles that must
be overcome in order for two hearts to beat as one.”

“Poetic, but…”

“Patience, young padawan,” she interrupts my
interruption with another quote that makes me snort. “What I’m
trying to get at, Ian, is that this has absolutely
nothing
to do with your OCD. You’re just a man in love. Deep love – and
your obsessions over it are from your fears of failure. They aren’t
compulsive in nature nor are they generated through your
disorder.”

I blink at her. Is she seriously telling me
that Kyle was right? “This… this is
normal
?”

“There is no
normal
when it comes to
love,” she corrects. “Everyone experiences and expresses it
differently, and there are many different types. You love your
friends, and you worry about them. It’s a common theme in our
sessions, but that worry is a normal concern that everyone has for
the wellbeing of the people they care about. The fear about your
future with Charlotte and her wellbeing is no different.”

Pausing, she leans across the space between
us. “I have no doubt how very much in love you are with her, and
that’s why your fear is so strong. Anyone, when they find love like
that, is afraid of losing it or doing something wrong that could
chase it away. We don’t want to let it out of our sight because
we’re afraid it could disappear. We want to hold onto it with all
the strength we have. Sound familiar?”

I sit back, my leg bouncing as I contemplate
her words and the lines of Lysander. He had been trying to convince
Hermia that true love was a risky venture always full of traps,
tests and hardships, but that it was worth whatever they might face
in the end. My leg stops, I take a deep inhale and it’s all
clear.

Holy shit
. This is just one of those
tests. It’s completely normal. I’m normal. Charlotte and I… our
love… is normal for
us.
It’s our normal, and I was about to
ruin it because I was obsessing over being obsessive!

It makes me laugh. Tears and snorts and
shoulder-shaking chuckles. I take the tissue offered, gather myself
back together and smile across at one of the smartest people I
know. “I get it. Thank you for the insight.”

She shrugs lightly with a matching smile.
“Glad I could help. So, what are you going to do?”

“Go find a coffee shop,” I’m already out the
door as she calls out ‘
see you in two weeks!
’ and then I’m
rushing for the nearest place that sells café mocha.

My next stop is Charlotte’s apartment, but
she’s not there, nor is she answering her cell. University classes
are out until after New Year’s, so I try the only other place I can
think of. My caffeinated bribe is starting to cool by the time I’m
standing in the open doorway to her studio. She has her back to the
doorway and is staring out into the sunlit windows. Her face is at
an angle I can’t see it, but I know something is disastrously
wrong.

Next to her sits a new canvass, it’s entire
surface painted a murky blue-black gradient that gets darker
towards the bottom. At the bottom, in the deepest depths of the
unending darkness, there’s a faded, dying light with air bubbles
struggling to reach the top. Just looking at the painting makes me
intake a gasping breath. It’s like a soul is drowning.

All around the painting, chaos creates a
backdrop of madness. There are tossed pallets, toppled easels,
scattered brushes and pools of spilt paint. I think a tornado hit
her studio, leaving nothing untouched, and I think the tornado was
Charlotte.

Setting the coffee down, I approach with
timid caution. There’s a strange static hanging in the air, and it
feels like the smallest disturbance could set off an explosion. I’m
covered in goosebumps and the hair at the back of my neck stands on
end because this feeling is eerily familiar.

That same quiet stillness. The same caught
breath and rapid heartbeat. A string of sanity pulled taught, its
last threads unraveling. The pause before the jump; the last exhale
before the fall.

“Charlotte?”

She flinches but doesn’t otherwise
acknowledge me. I skirt around the mess on the floor until I’m
standing in front of her, blocking the sun from the windows. Her
eyes are hauntingly blank but the remains of tears are clearly
evident.

My hands tense with a desire to touch her,
because the woman I love is in obvious pain and I can’t stand
seeing her like this. “What’s happened?”

Her eyes dart up to mine with a momentary
flash of anger, then she stands and pushes away from me. “Nothin’
you need to concern yourself with.”

The dismissive tone puts me further on edge.
It’s resolute. Final. Parting. “Charlotte, talk to me. I’m sorry I
missed your call, but I’ve had a rough couple of days. Hell, I was
only awake for three hours yesterday, and I…”

“
You’ve
had a rough couple a’ days?
Well, I’m mighty sad ta’ hear that, Rider.” Her thickened accent
along with my last name sends ripples of anxiety up my spine. The
way she’s clenching her jaw and fists tells me she’s barely keeping
up this brave face. “Don’t let me add to it,” she motions towards
the door.

The fuck?

“No. We’re not doing this.” I step up to her
again as her eyes widen. If she needs me to take control then fine,
but I’m not letting this happen. “I’m not stepping out on you,
Charlotte. I want you to tell me what happened and then we’ll deal
with it together.”

I see fire in her eyes, she takes in a long
breath, then it’s extinguished by tears and a heaving sob. Her body
folds into mine, her hands latching on to whatever they can. I try
to hold on, but then she’s pushing me away again and heading out
the door.

“You can’t step out on what’s already gone,”
her words leave my heart shattered on the floor at my feet while
the reality around me tries to catch up with what just
happened.

I don’t chase after her, even after I pick
up my bruised heart and shove it back into my chest. I recognized
that look in her eyes, because I’ve seen it in the mirror so many
times. She’s not really mad at me. Something has her running
scared, and she thinks this is the only solution, or that she’s
doing me a damn favor. I need to find out why. I also need
reinforcements.

When a tornado blows into town, you know
it’s going to take the whole village to clean up after it. I call
in the cavalry, spending the rest of Monday on my phone and at
Brandon’s house. What I learn doesn’t just solidify my refusal to
let Charlotte push me away, it makes it impossible for me to let
her go.

Why am I such a damn coward? I ran from Ian
yesterday as if he were the Devil himself. I’m damn near thirty
years old, but I can’t even sit down and have a rational
conversation like an adult. No, I have to act like some drama queen
full of angst and poor decision making skills.

I knew, as soon as I left Ian standing in my
wrecked studio, that it was the wrong choice. The wrong choice for
us
, at least. As I rush to finish packing, I’m still trying
to convince myself it was the right thing to do for Ian.

Picking up the little jewelry bag I got on
Saturday does nothing to help me make up my mind. Maybe the
engraved necklaces were a dumb idea anyway. Who wears something
like this? Fingering the two heart pendants, I sniffle against a
smile, because I know they are hokey but that they fit Ian and
I.

Well, they did until I went and ruined it.
He didn’t run after me like some romance novel, begging me to see
reason. Not that I expected him to. Ian may be a submissive when it
comes to sex, but he’s no meek boy or whimpering doormat. If
anything, I think his submission in the bedroom makes him stronger
outside of it. Stronger than me, for certain.

He didn’t call me or send me any messages
either. If he’s smart, and I know he is, he’ll figure out I’m way
more trouble than I’m worth. These little emotional hissy fits and
the tantrum I threw in my studio aren’t exactly an irregular
thing.

I just thought I’d finally gotten my life
together enough to let someone like Ian in. To love someone like
Ian. To deserve someone like Ian.

Thank you, Fate, for once again slapping me
upside the head to clue me in.

I’m not ready, and I’m starting to think I
never will be. Not getting past this slump after six years, even
after finding a man like Ian, is like a big flashing sign that it’s
time to cut my losses and get outta Dodge. Maybe I’ll move to Italy
permanently. Not like I got anything left here, except Emma - but
she’s got Brandon now.

Unlike me, Brandon actually takes care of
her and was there for her when I wasn’t. I know Brandon will take
care of Ian, too, but that doesn’t ease the guilt. I love him, but
I’m leaving him. What does that make me?

It makes you Neil, Charlotte. No, I’m sorry.
It makes you worse than Neil, because you’ve been on the receiving
end and yet here you are, doing it to someone else. You’re a
tornado, alright. I big puff of wind that jumps in, destroys lives,
then disappears to leave your mess for others to clean up.

The necklace chains dig into the palm of my
clenching fist. Tears threaten to break free, but I hold it back.
Fastening the two chains around my neck to serve as reminders of my
regrets, I finish stuffing the other gifts into my bag just as my
phone rings. It’s Emma letting me know they’re waiting out
front.

A deep inhale. I just gotta get through this
visit, not think about Ian, then worry about the rest when I get
back. Thank God I didn’t have time to tell my folks I was bringing
him. It’s gonna be awkward enough when I tell them everything
else.