Blank Stars

Prologue

I sat on the stairs of our small, two floored house. Dad was away out with Sophia again so I was left in the house on my own, again. I had lived here for seventeen years yet I still noticed new things every day; the faint smell of worn out books and the leather that filled my dad’s room. The way the wallpaper curls at the bottom of the stairs, threatening to fall off. I began to notice things about my dad too, like how he would look at pictures of my mum from time to time and his eyes would tear up slightly, mum’s smell had long since vanished from the house. Since her death the fragrant rose scent that had once filled the house had now faded to less than a slight tinted smell mixed in with the leather, books, and wood.

I pushed myself up off the stairs and revelled in the creaking beneath me. I loved the sound, it made me feel secure even though the sound makes it seem unstable and unsafe. It reminded me that this house was old, it was ours and it was strong. I was about to go up to my room -where a treasure trove old children’s books awaited me - when door handle rattling. I trotted back down the stairs and pulled the handle down opening the door to my confused looking father. 

He stood with his keys outstretched, evidently unaware that the door hadn’t been locked. The faint musky odour of his cologne wafted its way towards me and I inhaled it deeply before dragging him into a hug. He pulled away as he put his keys back into his pocket and then looked back at me beaming. We walked into the living room, locking the door behind us. 

He fell back onto the soft, worn out leather couch, which let out a sigh of air as it slumped under my dad’s weight. I perched myself next to him, placing myself more delicately on it than my father had. The couch stayed silent for me, what a reassuring thing. I looked back at my dad, he pushed his hair back out of his face. His hair was getting long and he really needed to cut it, the withered grey strands were brushing past his eyebrows, making him seem years older than he was. He let out a large sigh before turning to me.

“Hey honey, what did you do today?”

I recounted the day’s events in my head before voicing them, wanting to get every detail right.

“Well, I got up at nine, after you had left. Then I had a shower and I had breakfast. I read a couple of books and did some school work then I had another shower at about one. I’ve been reading since then and waiting for you to get home.”

He looked at me empathetically.

“Why did you have two showers within the span of four hours?”

I fought the urge to call him ignorant and dodge the question as I had done so many times already, but I stayed my tongue remembering the advice of Marcus (my psychiatrist). I prepared myself to explain my mind to my dad.

“It’s not that I want to shower so much, I just feel so dirty and filthy and I don’t like it. If I don’t shower or wash then I get really upset and that scares me.”

Dad looked at me, confusion twisted his features, he obviously doesn’t understand what I mean, that’s why he took me to Marcus in the first place. I can’t stand my psychiatrist sessions with him but not because of Marcus though, I mean I couldn’t fault the man, he is sweet and caring and actually takes the time to actually understand a person. But there’s nothing wrong with me in the first place and the only reason that I have to go to a psychiatrist is that my dad can’t understand my compulsive need to be clean. Instead of trying to figure me out he sends me off to a shrink. I mean it’s not for a lack of trying, my dad is warm hearted and tries his best to connect with me but it was always something my mum was best at and he didn’t have a lot of practice dealing with me before she died.

“I thought that Marcus had given you medicine that would help with that.” 

I flung my head back and let out an exasperated groan, this was my dad’s biggest issue. He thought that he could just pop me some pills and that would fix me. I mean I was perfectly fine dealing with this in life but I certainly was not going to become dependent on pills just because I like staying clean. Marcus knew this too, this is why he told me that I didn’t have to take the pills if I didn’t want to. Sadly though, because my dad wanted a quick fix he gave them to me. I knew as well as he did that I don’t really have an issue, so long as there’s a bathroom or shower or even just a simple sink I could easily deal with it. In comparison to some of the other people who go to the mental health clinic I’m perfectly normal, my dad only has normal people to compare me to though so he doesn’t see what I do.