The OCD Games

  The OCD Games

  A Christmas Romance Novella

  Kayla Krantz

  1.

  I STARE AT the door set into the gothic archway of the church a moment before my hand wraps around the simple brass doorknob. There’s a conflict between the doorway and the knob—simple versus complex, like me in a way. At eye level, sits a wreath, full and fresh—not one of the fake ones bought at a craft store, reeking of scented pinecones, but real and alive. It hangs here, a bit of festivity to spruce up the boring door and the even more boring reason I’m here.

  Okay, support group isn’t always boring. Sometimes, I can relate to the others, and when I’ve had a rough week, it’s almost cleansing, like I’m actually going to a sermon here rather than into the basement. Lately though, the process has felt a bit repetitive, something I have to go to rather than something I want to. More often than not, I sit in the chair, drowning out all the things happening around me with thoughts of where else I could be and what else I could be doing.

  I push the thoughts away and make my way inside. As usual, there are five chairs in the circle—four for the people like me and one for the support leader, Destiny, who I suppose is also like me. She’s a woman of about thirty-five with a compulsive need to do things in a certain order. According to her, she’s had the same routine every day for the last decade and hasn’t detoured once. I try to imagine how that could be possible but find that any extended time put into thoughts of her life makes me sad.

  Even though we’re both affected with OCD, I feel bad for her. I can’t imagine living the same day over and over again. Doesn’t it ever get dull? I don’t know why I’m so judgmental. I’m not one to talk. I sit in the plastic chair by the window like I always do, chewing my nails down to the quick. OCD and anxiety is a cruel mixture sometimes, but this seat helps. It’s the only one that offers a good look outside, at the fresh snow that’s just beginning to fall. Outside, I can feel the Christmas spirit, but in here…?

  I only feel depression, my reasons for being here once a week. There is no cheering up the feeling of this basement no matter how many Christmas decorations Destiny uses. The other three chairs fill in as my brother and sisters in compulsion—Brayden, Serena, and Alice—file into their respective seats. I nod and smile at each of them, but my mind is divided with thoughts as Destiny begins the meeting. All I can think about is how I usually go to work directly after support group but today, that’s not an option.

  Today presents something that people like me are completely uncomfortable with—change. I try to ignore the uncomfortable wiggle in my stomach that that thought alone creates and glance at Destiny. I see her lips moving but hear none of the words coming out. It’s like everything is under water as I run through my thoughts. What in the world would Destiny do if she were in my shoes? How would she go on if someone told her she could no longer lead these support meetings?

  “Erica!” her voice pops my bubble and pulls me back to attention.

  My eyes widen as I focus on her. I don’t even have it in me to pretend that I’ve been listening.

  “How are you doing this week?” she asks.

  I sigh. This week has been heated, dreadful, and the free time has given me too big of an opportunity to fall back into my habits; the bad ones that this group is intended to stop. Even though this is the place to admit all that, I don’t want to. I’ve always considered myself the strongest of all of us. I guess we always see ourselves as the hero of our own stories, but being honest leaves me feeling less than everyone else…even though I know I shouldn’t.

  “Good,” I lie and run my fingers together three times.

  Destiny watches the tiny movement, and as soon as I see her eyes on my hands, I tuck them together, which earns a frown from her. “Erica? This is a safe place. You don’t have to feel ashamed.”

  Now I feel worse than I had a moment ago. I’ve been with this group for a little less than a year now, so her words are not news to me. I pretend to smile at the comment anyway, like no one has ever offered such wisdom. The smile doesn’t last. “I-it’s been a rough week,” I admit, dropping my chin. “I lost my job because well…”

  Serena, seated in the chair next to me, reaches out to place her hand on my knee. The touch is encouraging, and I appreciate the effort, but I wonder how long I have to wait before it’s considered acceptable to move her hand away.

  “I…take too long in my morning routine, and I was almost always late to work,” I admit. “I tried getting up early on multiple occasions, but it seemed like that just made it worse.”

  Serena’s lips pull downward at my words, and her tiny fingers grip tighter. I wince and take the opportunity to pull her hand off. She gives me an apologetic look, and I wonder if she realizes how strong she really is.

  “I’m sorry, but why wouldn’t they just accommodate your schedule?” she asks.

  I shrug, eyes dragging from her to the floor. I have a safe box in the back of my mind where I try to hold onto questions like that, questions that could stress me out or cause me pain from a situation long past. Hers is one I had kept under lock and key. Now it’s free and not just for me to ponder, but for an entire room of people.

  “Have they no compassion? It’s almost Christmas!” Alice chimes in her disgust of the normal world outside this room. Beside her, Brayden nods along.

  My eyes stay fixated on the same floorboard as I listen to them all voice their opinion. Wanting the subject to change, I add, “I’ve been working on my yoga and drawing to help me clear my mind.”

  Destiny bobs her head and writes something on the pad of paper on her lap. “Good, that’s good. Anything in particular?”

  I shake my head. “They’re all uh…abstract, I guess,” I murmur, thinking of the charcoal shadow drawing I had done in my last class.

  They give me a round of applause, but I wonder if I really deserve it. Then Destiny’s attention turns away. “Brayden, you’re awfully quiet today. How has your week been?”

  I’m glad to feel the spotlight fall off of me. I smile at Brayden encouragingly even though I don’t hear a word he says as I go back to tuning the world out. I handle everyone in the same manner, and I’m nothing but grateful when support group is over this time. I pick up my bag and try to beat everyone to the door like I do every week. Serena, filled with bouncing curiosity—the same kind you see in five-year-olds—stops me at the door.

  “Hey, I’m really sorry to hear about your job,” she says, hand on my shoulder. Why does she keep touching me?

  I shrug it off because I don’t know what else to do. “It’s okay. It’s not like I planned to work there forever, anyway.” I don’t wait for Serena’s reply before I walk ahead, going through the door and out into the cold December day.

  My words to her are the truth. I hated the job. It was one routine that I am not sad to see go. Yet, I’m sad just the same.

  2.

  MY FOOTSTEPS ECHO strangely as I walk down the hall. Each thud seems to bounce up off the floor and around the walls, filling my ears before fading and returning with the next step I take. There’s a chill running down the length of my spine that warns me of impending danger, but I don’t understand it at all. I’m at work, a place I’ve been a thousand times before, yet something’s different. I can feel it in the air.

  I walk on, attempting to shrug off the sensation, but it nags harder when my boss’ voice catches me as soon as I pass by the entrance to her office. “Erica, can I speak to you for a moment, please?”

  I peer inside. Her face is anything but welcoming, and instead of sitting in the chair in front of her desk, I wish I would’ve pretended that I hadn’t heard her. That I had just kept walking down the hall.

  “You’re fired,” she says, no greeting
or prologue to start it off.

  I gasp and sit up so fast that I nearly bash my forehead into the lamp hanging above my bed. It used to hang higher, but the water damage in my ceiling has caused it to lower by an inch or two—just enough to be in my way. I swat at it bitterly, vowing to move it with the knowledge that it’ll most likely never happen. Above my bed also happens to be the center of the room. Since the lamp is the only thing on my ceiling, it has to maintain its position in the exact middle…even if the ceiling gives out. That is, unless I decide to get three identical lamps and hang one in each corner, but who has the time?

  Not to mention the money.

  With a sigh, I swipe my fox-colored hair out of my eyes and make my way to the bathroom. My freckled cheeks are flushed from the nightmares of my recent life event, and I allow myself just a moment to laugh at my reflection in the bathroom mirror before I go to work, cleaning myself up. Cold water directly from the faucet feels like Heaven on my skin. Once I’m in order, I put my makeup on, starting with my eyes, despite the constant criticism that my best friend, Kara, gives me for my lack of makeup skills.

  She’s not here now, I think with another laugh as I put my face together in my special backwards way.

  With that done, I turn on the faucet to rinse off the mascara smeared on my thumb. After drying my hands, I turn back to the sink to wash them two more times. My morning routine takes a good amount of time to get through, and sometimes, I hate myself for being this way, barely having the energy to continue it, but also knowing that things can’t go any other way. I can’t imagine how much I could get done in a day without my rituals, how many hours would be freed if I was just normal.

  Maybe I could learn a new language…or keep a job.

  Most days though, I’m no-fear-cavalier. I take it in stride, right down to Kara’s never-ending jabs, just as Destiny tells me to do. Besides, today’s not the day to get hung up on anything. Even though it’s only been two days since support group, and the beginning of my search for a new job, I already have an interview. My ball of anxiety makes it hard to muster up the chipper attitude I could otherwise approach today with. It hadn’t been tough to interest a potential employer so quickly—with my experience, I have quite a few options, but I chose something simple to make it easier, a cashier at a small convenience store.

  After the most intricate of my routine is complete, I ruffle my ginger hair with my fingers, trying to add volume to it before I groan and leave the bathroom. I stand by the front door and turn the lights in the living room on and off exactly three times before leaving the house and locking the door. I try to drag myself off the porch to my car but only make it two steps before I’m back, checking the locks a second and third time. Finally satisfied, I make it to my car and sit in the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath through my nose.

  My routine shatters here—I’m entering new territory, a situation completely unfamiliar to me. I could throw up. I feel the bile in the back of my throat as I pull out of my driveaway, but I force it away. If I puke, I’ll have to go home and brush my teeth three more times, and I can’t afford the time if I plan to not be late.

  My hands clench around the steering wheel, though I’m not conscious of them doing so. The whiteness of the skin over my knuckles shows just how tense I am, and I try to talk myself out of my anxiety, to convince myself that it’s ridiculous to feel this way. Surely, normal people don’t…it’s just an entry level position that anyone can apply for, but I’m terrible at convincing myself.

  Talking myself into getting out of the car once I arrive takes some work, and I trip over my feet only once on my way inside the store. That I actually consider to be a victory. It’s small and gives me the motivation to find the manager, Greg, who greets me with a capricious smile on his face that reminds me of a shark.

  He leads me through the store for a long period of time before bothering to ask, “You’re Erica Mills, right?” as we head into a small office at the back of the store which fits him, his desk, a lamp, and a chair. He goes to close the door, but I hold a hand out, and he leaves it cracked. The feeling of claustrophobia sits in my stomach like acid.

  I nod, trying to hide how sick this room makes me by tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear as I sit rigidly in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk.

  “Well, your resume is impressive. If hired, what do you believe you’d bring to the team?”

  “Uh, well, I…” I frown and struggle for words, knowing how bad it looks to get hung up on the first question. Inside, I kick myself. Why didn’t I prepare? For all my obsessive tendencies, I had not had the foresight to think about possible interview questions. Idiot. “Order,” I spit out stupidly, staring at him as if it makes sense.

  He waits, clearly waiting for a follow-up explanation that I don’t have, and plasters another smile to his face but doesn’t seem thrown off by my stupidity. “Okay, well, what are your strengths?”

  “I’m neat and capable. I know what I want and how to get it,” I say with confidence that seems misplaced with the impression I’ve already made with question number one. Idiot, I chant again, dragging out the word in my head.

  “All right, Miss Mills. One last question for you—when can you start?”

  My face must brighten at the question because the smile he gives is painfully wide. Or maybe he just always looks like that. Who knows?

  “As soon as possible,” I say, hoping to not come off as desperate.

  “I will see you tomorrow morning then, Erica. Glad to have you on board,” Greg says and reaches across the desk to shake my hand.

  Maybe there’s such a thing as Christmas miracles after all.

  3.

  CLUTCHING THE PAPERS that Greg had given me, I sit in my car, running through proper breathing exercises again. My heart begins to calm down, though every time I try to begin reading the papers, it starts up again. I skip over the job duties portion and skim down to the dress code. I toss the paper into the seat beside me and adjust my mirrors before pulling out of the parking lot.

  I text Kara to see if she’s at home, then I go by our favorite café and fight down my wave of anxiety again to go inside and order a frappe for Kara and a cappuccino for myself. For some reason, I watch the cashier with extended interest—that probably makes me look like a weirdo from his point of view—but I can’t help it.

  The thought that this will be me tomorrow is a strange one.

  “Have a nice day, ma’am,” he says, bright smile on his face as he hands me back my change.

  I blink and return the pleasantry, breaking out of my strange trance long enough to realize I’ve been staring too long. I turn away quickly and head through the door, two steaming cups of coffee in my hands, and make my way to the car. When I climb back into the driver’s seat, I check my phone and see that there’s a reply from Kara.

  Kara: At work, baby doll.

  Usually, that would’ve bummed me out because I hate the mall with a passion that only introverts can understand, but it works today. I need to find something acceptable to wear anyway, and she’s my go-to person for everything fashionable, whether it be clothing or makeup.

  I pull into one of the parking spaces farthest from the door and gather the coffee before making my way across the parking lot. Unlike the tiny parking lot of the convenience store that I now work at, this one has been salted, so it’s not slippery.

  Thankfully. It would be just like me to slip and spill both cups of coffee on myself.

  I make it inside without incident and look at the map overview to find my way to the clothing store where Kara works. As soon as I go inside, I see her bent over the counter, blonde hair draped over her shoulder and snapping loudly on a pink piece of bubble gum.

  When she turns and sees me, her red lips turn up into a smile, and she stands to her feet, eyes on the coffee in my hands. “Well, how’d it go?” she asks, eagerly accepting my offering.

  “Good, good,” I say. “I got the job.”

 
“As I knew you would,” she replies and tips back her head to down a big gulp of her coffee.

  I wonder how she does it without burning herself, but when I take a sip of my own, I realize it’s cooled considerably from the journey. “But now I need your help,” I admit and pass her the paper with my new dress code on it.

  “Hmm?” Kara asks, setting down her cup to pick up the paper. She skims it, and her lips curve into a smile again as she thrusts it down. “I’ve got the perfect outfit in mind for you.”

  “Uh-oh,” I say and hold my coffee up to my chin, though I don’t take a sip this time.

  “No, uh-oh,” she says and pries it from my hand before grasping my wrist and leading me toward the dressing rooms. “Wait here.”

  I stare at her with pleading eyes. I hate dressing rooms. They’re cramped and tiny, not to mention the fact that I don’t know if there are cameras in here or not. Sure, they say not, but you never quite know. My heart pounds as I wait for her to return, looking for hidden cameras and wishing I still had my coffee to sip on if for nothing more than a distraction from myself. I eye the tiny bench and take off my jacket before sitting on it.

  At last, there comes a knock on the door, and Kara peeks her head inside. “Ready?” she asks.

  I shrug, and she tosses a bundle of clothes into my arms, slamming the door shut behind her before I can protest her selection.

  “I want to see it!” she says from the other side.

  I sigh and finally look at what she’s given me—a collared, white, button-down blouse and a black pencil skirt. The sight causes me to frown—it’s too much like what I would’ve worn at my last job.

  “This isn’t an office job, Kara,” I protest.

  “And?” she asks. “You look smokin’ in pencil skirts, and if you double check your list, a white collar shirt is a requirement, so stop complainin’, and follow my advice, girl.”