OIKOS: AmaCon3

OCD

3

Depending on where you begin, this is how the story starts – by the end of an episode.

Alden Richards, 24, butcher, OCD. If you could reduce this man into words, those would have been the words he'd use. This year, at least. Next year, it'd be Alden Richards, 25, butcher, still OCD.

He checks himself in the mirror. Hair gelled and combed. Clothes pressed and neat. Face smiling and spot-free. Everything is in place. He breathes easy.

He checks his knives in his briefcase. Butcher knife first, then the cleaver, then a slicer, then a boning knife and lastly, a scalpel. He frowns at the spot of blood in the cleaver's handle. With a quick wipe, he quickly re-checks everything again before being reassured that everything is in order. There. All shiny and spot-free. Good.

He likes things in order.

He breathes easier when things are in order.

Then came a knock in the door.

"Alden? Hinihintay ka na ni Lolo sa garahe. Malapit na daw kayong ma-late."

Nicomaine, ageless because apparently it's impolite to ask a lady her age, partner-in-crime, not OCD. Good.

The door is not locked but she doesn't open it like some impolite people do. There's an order to these things. Knock first then wait for the person inside to open it for you. Nicomaine knows this and she knows him. She's good.

"Ma-late? Para namang kaya s'yang takbuhan ng puntod ni Lala."

On second thought, he sees the estate of the mess in the room and frowns; not good. Nicomaine won't like this at all.

He opens the door and quickly gets out.

"HEP!" Nicomaine slams her hand on the basement door before he could slam it close. "Saglit."

She squints at something on his neck.

Alden tenses. He's pretty sure he's gotten all the spots. He couldn't have missed something, could he?

She gestures at him to turn around and he does so obediently. It doesn't do well to disobey her.

Quickly, he feels her jump on his back and lick his nape as he grapples to support her weight.

Alden could feel her breath on his ear when she leans to whisper, "Baby boy, there's blood on your nape. Anong ginawa mo?"

Alden gulps nervously and steals a quick glance at still slightly-open door.

Nicomaine notices this. She slides down his back and enters the room.

Mess. Splatters. Red. Blood.

There are still traces of the cover that was probably laid down in the middle of the room to contain the majority of the 'mess'. And there's a couple of bulky sacks on the side of the room.

It could've been easily mistaken for a large animal carcass with the amount of blood it is seeping but there's a bloody shirt and pants and boots neatly folded beside it. Well, not the boots, one can't really possibly fold a boots right?

Agony. Suffering. Torment.

Nicomaine can hear it echo in the room. The fresh blood on the floor is still screaming in pain. She shivers as the story of his systematic slaughtering unfolds before her.

Then she hears the door lock clicks.

"Alden?"

He takes a quiet step towards her.