Obsessive Compulsion Read online

  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.

  Charlotte

  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.

  Merry Christmas. Your daughter screwed up again!

  My phone beeps again putting my legs back into motion. One last check on Kitkat’s auto-feeder and water bowls, and I’m out the door. Brandon is waiting by his open trunk and takes my bag while Emma waves with a giant smile from the rolled-down passenger seat window.

  “Charlie!” She emphasizes how awake she is at seven-thirty in the morning with a boisterous giggle. It’s only a three hour drive, but Daddy insists we leave early because it’s safer and Momma will have some big lunch ready, I’m sure.

  “Morning sweetie,” I smile at her after thanking Brandon for taking my bag. With another deep inhale to prepare myself for three hours in the car with them, I’m praying they don’t ask me what really happened with Ian. I simply told Emma last night that he couldn’t make it and she hadn’t asked for an explanation. Sliding into the back, it’s pleasant to find out Brandon’s Mercedes has heated seats.

  It’s not so pleasant to look over and find Ian sitting next to me.

  I blink once, twice – certain I’m seeing things, because no way are Emma and Brandon this cruel. A muffled snicker from Emma confirms that my best friend has turned traitor, and Brandon’s fucking goofy-ass grin almost has me getting back out of the car. I’d rather walk to Oklahoma than take part in this little circus.

  Brandon locks the doors, which are child-proof from the backseat, and I hiss out a curse. He pulls the car out onto the street, heading to the I-35 while I try to keep from exploding on them. Glancing down, I spot a large to-go cup marked as café mocha next to Ian’s coffee. I take it, begrudgingly giving into my addiction, and inhale the open vent.

  Ian snorts next to me and I bit my cheek to keep from smiling. “Shut it, Rider. What’re you doin’ here?”

  He shrugs casually. “I seem to remember being invited.”

  The little smirk twitching his lip both pisses me off and has me swooning all over again. God damn this infuriatingly stubborn, adorable man! “Dammit, this aint funny. My folks don’t even know you’re comin’. I didn’t have time to call.”

  “I talked to John and Carol last night,” Emma comments then resumes humming along with the radio that’s turned down so low I wonder if she even knows what song it is.

  I try not to glare at her. “Before or after I called you?”

  “Hmmmmm…” she draws out the noise on purpose and I catch Brandon fighting a case of the chuckles. “Can’t recall.”

  The little liar.

  So, they think this is funny, do they? Well, screw ‘em then. Pouting like a proper adult, I stick in my earplugs and turn up the mp3 player on my phone. Knowing that three hours of nothing but flat, endless cow fields awaits my brooding stare out the window doesn’t help my mood. Neither does the reflection of Ian’s face on the glass that I can’t help but watch.

  He’s watching me as I watch him, but he doesn’t make any further moves or attempts to talk to me. I get the feeling he’s biding his time for something, or that he’s in no rush to have the conversation my gut is flipping summersaults over in anticipation. The man is completely calm. Not a single twitch. It unnerves me.

  I wonder if Emma told him about what really happened yesterday. At least she couldn’t tell him about Neil, because not even she knows about that. A shiver passes up my spine, and for the briefest second, I see Neil’s face in the window instead of Ian’s. It’s faded, though. Blurred through a condensation fog. After six years, I have a hard time remembering his features, but I’ll never forget the sound of his voice.

  ‘Say you won’t forget me, Charlotte.’

  I won’t, Neil. Not matter how much it hurts me to remember.

  I wake up just as we’re pulling into the drive leading up to my parent’s goat farm. Yes, I said goat farm. They used to raise cattle, but that got too expensive, so Momma talked Daddy into exchanging cows for goats. Who knew goat cheese would take off like it did? Apparently my momma did.

  I glance around the car, but none of them are making eye contact. Damn, these three aren’t fooling around. I guess they decided not to make any rest-stops for fear I’d jump ship. My uninterrupted sleep also makes me wonder if they put something in my café mocha. I wouldn’t put it past Emma.

  ‘For your own good’, she’d say.

  My scowl deepens as I put away my earplugs, and I toss the scowl over at Ian. He’s got this smug smile on his face, but his eyes show worry. I’ve gotten good at reading his expressions. The man is just as nervous as I am. My fingers itch to reach out and hold his hand, and I think he can see my want, because he glances down at our hands. His fin
gers twitch. He wants to hold me, too.

  Monday, and everything else I put between us, is starting to feel incredibly insignificant. And childish.

  My next clue that this is some sort of planned intervention is that my daddy is sitting on the front porch waiting for us despite the brisk temperature. I swear, if Dr. Phil is sitting in my parent’s living room, I’m gonna let the whole world know about Brandon’s Stables and then I’ll hogtie Ian in a goat pen for the night. See how he keeps from twitching then.

  Heck, I bet he’d enjoy it.

  Dammit! Now I’m visualizing raunchy images of Ian naked and hogtied in a hay bed. With his boots still on, of course. And maybe a hat.

  Charlotte…

  I know, I know. I’m about to walk into a warzone and I’m lusting after the enemy. My eyes immediately glance back at Ian. The bastard winks at me like he can see the images floating around in my head.

  Fuck. I am so outgunned.

  My dad approaches the car and doesn’t say a word to me. He pats Emma’s head, shakes hands with Ian, helps Brandon unload the trunk and then disappears inside with the luggage. Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. My dad being silent like that has never been a good thing.

  My daddy has a big heart, a friendly smile and these dark blue eyes that can freeze you on the spot. He’s only had to spank me twice in my lifetime. The rest, well, he just had to give me that silent look and my ass started hurtin’ all on its own. My ass is on fire now as I walk up the porch steps.

  “Charlotte,”

  I pause mid-step then look down at Ian who’s standing at the bottom. “What’s go’n on, Rider? What did you tell my parents?”

  “The truth,” he says with no apology in his eyes. He steps up beside me, pauses then chastely kisses my cheek. “That I’m in love with their daughter, and that I’m going to do whatever it takes help you let yourself be loved.”