[Trigger warning - symptoms of OCD described]
(Present time)
"Sir," the chauffer's voice comes through the intercom again. "Are you ready?"
"I am," I answer, although, I'd rather scream 'No!' and hide my head between my knees.
"Thank you, Sir," the woman responds. Her voice is nice, friendly and, for some reason, I find it very soothing. She also must have been trained in how to communicate with me. How this club could be eager to give me a membership is beyond me. I wouldn't admit myself.
"I will lead the way to the entrance and then you can go in on your own. Please, use your phone when you are already inside, if you want to call someone. I will be waiting for you right here. You can leave at any time. Is that alright, Sir?" The girl has done her homework. She obviously knows I don't like to be approached face to face, so the details are being explained, avoiding the direct contact.
This whole thing is not alright with me at all, but I promised Sarah. That means I will run with the ball, even if it's the last thing I do. Fuck! She will pay for this. She knows me too well and never misses the chance to use it against me. Well, she is convinced that she is doing me a favor, but it's questionable.
"Sir?" the woman coughs discretely.
"Yes, I ...I'm... it's fine," I manage to mutter and desperately look around one more time, but can't find anything, good enough to be used as a mirror. The thought of hairs, stuck to my clothes, is digging a hole in my brain. I take a deep breath and count to five. The door opens.
We start walking silently towards the building. I stare at my feet and count the steps. If they are precisely one hundred, everything will be ok.
One, two, three... I am fully aware of how absurd it is to think that a future event can depend on the number of my steps, but there is no way to stop. Logic plays no part in this... ninety- six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight. We stop. I need two more. Stepping back doesn't count. What shall I do? I'm panicking. This is a disaster. I am only few inches from the solid, metal door. It's black like a black hole. My palms are sweating. My stomach shrinks. Maybe, if I...
"Sir," I hear the woman's calm voice. "I am very sorry for addressing you directly, but would you come closer, so that I can show you the call button. I should have told you about it in the car. I apologize!"
I raise my head and find her standing exactly one step to the left of the door, smiling softly. I approach her... ninety-nine.
"If you don't feel like walking all the way to the parking lot, you can just press this button and I will pick you from here," she says busily, pointing at a device, mounted on the wall, nods and hurries away.
I step back to the door... one hundred.
I wheeze and lean my back on the cold metal. That was close, on the verge of a full-blown nervous breakdown. I should talk to my therapist as soon as possible. I need more medications. Wait! Sarah is my therapist. She would never prescribe me anything stronger. I would have fired her long ago, if she wasn't my best friend as well. Is it legal for your therapist to use your obsessions to trick you into doing things you don't want to? Definitely not! A faint smile finally appears on my lips. I've asked her this question countless times and she always shrugs her shoulders and answers, "Sue me!"
I stay still for few minutes, staring at my shoes, but finally turn around and grip the door handle, driven only by the thought that, once inside, I can call Lea. It opens effortlessly, almost by itself, without making a sound.
I find myself in an enormous production hall. It must be fifty feet high at least and as big as a soccer field. Everything is spotlessly clean. The steel panels of the walls look perfectly polished. This must have been a heavy machinery factory, judging by the size, but nothing reminds anymore of the manufacturing process that once took place here. My surroundings are almost sterile, no smells, no noises, the perfect temperature.
The light gray, polymeric floor reflects the soft glow of the floodlight fixtures, mounted on the structural metal beams of the ceiling. I am fighting the urge to count them too. It is almost irresistible. I always end counting the objects around me, especially when I am nervous, although, I hate it passionately.
A call is a good distraction. I start rummaging my pants pockets for the phone. Fuck! It seems I left it in the car. Alright, it's not such a big deal. I can survive without whining to Lea about how terrible this is and how my disorder is hitting new heights at this moment. I'm not a child. I promised Sarah, so there's no escape. I'll do it.
__________________________
Photo 104343621 © Anastasia Vishnickaya | Dreamstime.com
A/N
Hello everyone at the end of chapter 4.
Thank you for reading and supporting! ❤❤❤
Do you think David will pull this off and finally meet the mysterious man?
What do you expect him to be?
Why do you think he wants to meet David?
Share your thoughts, ask questions and criticize, if you feel like.
And don't forget to vote, if you liked the chapter.
Thank you!
YOU ARE READING
SAFE (mxm)
General FictionA handsome man, obsessed with computers, workout and books, clever, well known for his professional expertise, rich and impressive. David is all of that on his thirtieth birthday, but there's one more tiny detail. No one knows this except his best f...
