For more information about Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, look here.
***
Austin was washing his hands.
A steady stream of lukewarm water enveloped them in a frothy whiteness as he harshly rubbed the inside of his palms. The orange scented dish soap was thinning, so he went back and pumped a few more globs out. He went at it again, working the soap into lather. Knuckles, palms, fingers. Not an inch of skin was missed. He rubbed them hard. They needed to be clean. Very clean.
A drone of white noise had been beating into his head for the last five minutes. It was sort of like a barrier to the mind. Austin only heard the familiar noise of running water. It calmed him. One of the few things that did. Maybe the only thing.
He went back for more soap.
The antibacterial gold dripped off the tips of his fingers, forming perfect little spheres that went down the drain with the current. Austin had neglected his wrists again. Forming rings with his first finger and thumb, he began rubbing them fiercely back and forth. He was always forgetting the small places. Like below his nails, or the little bridges of skin between his fingers. If any part remained dirty, it was all dirty. He needed them to be clean.
A few more pumps for good measure. Austin went faster, scraping away at his skin. The pressure in his chest was coming back. He scraped faster.
Skin raw, he continued to rub and massage his hands beneath the water. The world around him became mute. Scrape, rub, rinse. More soap. Scrape, rub, rinse. Another pump. Wash, wash, wash
Raps on the door.
Austin quickly shut off the facet with his elbow. Water ran down his arms.
"Austin, I need to use the bathroom!"
"One sec." He grabbed the towel from the rack, and dried off his hands as quickly as he could. His heart beat against the pressure. Using the inside of his shirt, he twisted the handle.
The door swung open. His sister Tamy leaned against the doorway, eyebrows raised.
"You done? I've been waiting out here for ten minutes."
"Why didn't you knock earlier?" asked Austin. He began squeezing each of his fingers.
"Didn't know you'd be in there forever, buddy," she said, pinching one of his cheeks with a smirk.
He let out a small sigh. She didn't touch his hands.
"Sorry," he said, and ducked past her. The pangs of his chest hit him as he crossed the hall to his room.
Stupid bitch, she deserves to die.
Austin shut his eyes tightly as he nudged the door closed with elbows. His heart hadn't stopped beating. More pressure.
The bed covers were in somewhat of a ball shape at the foot of his mattress. One corner hung down and touched the carpet. Austin shot over and tucked into the rest of the ball. He patted it over neatly, making sure it stayed in its place.
Another sigh. His body felt like a frame of strings being pulled taught. All day. All night. All the time.
Austin took his chair facing the window. The sky glowed orange and red as the sun kissed the horizon. He thought sunsets were beautiful. For a fleeting moment the the dark pressure lifted from him. A sort of normal happiness. It was like a snapshot, going before he knew it had come. The lump settled again. Heavier.
Kill yourself.
There was a tree in Austin's backyard. He was hanging from its largest branch, his face blue and contorted. His lifeless body swung gently in the twilight.
His lips trembled as he forced his eyes closed again. When they opened, a small bluebird had taken the place of the rope knot.
The sun sank deeper, and its lower edge blurred and rippled as the sky grew darker. Austin squeezed his fingers some more. Muscles all over his body spasmed as he focused on the glow outside his window.
Kill yourself. Tonight
He hung in his parent's closet now. He would do it during the day, while both were working. They would find him there as they got ready for bed. His mother would be screaming and sobbing on the floor. Maybe his dad would try to call 9-1-1. It wouldn't matter. He would probably have been hanging by the dog leash for hours by then.
Austin blocked it out. He squeezed his hands until they hurt. His feet were icy cold, and his chest felt like a dead weight.
"Watch the sunset. Just watch the sunset," he muttered to himself.
For a moment Austin thought about how high his bedroom was from the floor. Below him was solid concrete. And he could open his window very easily.
Jump.
His huddled mass of broken bones would just lay there, unmoving, unspeaking. Bruises and cuts all over him, a large dent in his head. They wouldn't know why. Nobody would know why. Why
Austin didn't know why.
Like a flame being gently pinched into darkness, the sun was gone. A strong breeze lingered, picking up leaves from the grass and flinging them to a new home.
What if he did. What if he did.
"Austin?" A couple of knocks sounded against the door. "Babe, are you in there?"
He knew it was his mother. She was checking on him more often these days. It was starting to show.
"Come in." Austin got off his chair and sat next to the bunched up blankets on his bed. The door creaked loudly as she opened it. His mother peeked in, her auburn hair tied in a bun. Her hands folded behind her back, she seemed almost to tip toe into the room, as if somewhere foreign. But her eyes were soft as she looked at him.
"Hey babe. What are you doing in here?" Her tone was normal and sweet, as if there wasn't a worry in the world.
Austin shrugged. "Sitting."
His mother smiled a little. "You don't maybe wanna come sit with your Dad and me?" she said, gesturing behind her. "We're gonna watch a movie."
Kill her. Kill them all.
"No thanks," he said, shaking his head.
"Are you sure?" she said, extending her upper lip in a puppy dog face. "It look like a funny one."
Kill her now. She doesn't love you.
Austin felt a little dizzy. He was trying very hard to keep his hands still.
"No, its okay," he said again. "I'm kinda tired. I think maybe I'll try to sleep early."
His mother sighed. She made his way over to him and rolled the ball of covers towards his pillow.
"Come on, what's bugging you?" she said as she sat down next to him.
You, fucking idiot.
"Nothing."
She put a warm hand on his shoulder. "Look, you're just getting bored," she said, nodding her head sympathetically. "You've been on vacation for a while, and I know sometimes you start skulking around like this when you're home too long. That's why you can't keep sitting in your room. You have to get up and do something, babe. You know, keep yourself busy."
"I know."
Kill her. Kill her. Kill her
He imagined himself bashing his mother's head against the corner of his desk. How she would fall to the ground screaming. And all the blood. Austin's toes curled in painfully.
"Is there anything else bugging you?" she rubbed the side of his neck affectionately. "It's not because you're starting high school, is it?"
I'll kill her when she's sleeping.
"Maybe," he lied.
She leaned her forehead against his. Austin tried to look away. His face was growing hot. He didn't want to cry, not now.
"Trust me," she said softly. "Whatever you're going through, it'll pass. You think you're the only one who was ever thirteen?"
Austin still looked away. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything. About all the thoughts, the horrible things that he couldn't get out of his head, about how he would cry at night for no reason at all. But the words stayed in his chest, with everything else.
He felt a smooth caress across the back of his hand. Fighting the urge to pull back, he looked down. His mother was tracing her thumb across his skin, her eyes narrowed. His hands were unnaturally dry and cracked, broken skin and bits of dried blood across his knuckles.
She took his hands in hers, and slowly brought them to her lips. For a moment Austin chanced a look at her, hoping he had the will to keep his tears back. Her gaze pierced him with an infinite love he could only imagine. It took every fiber of his being to keep from become a bawling puddle in her arms.
She kissed his fingers. "You have to stop this, Austin. I love you."
She's a whore.
Austin gulped. "I love you too, mom."
***
Austin lay in his bed watching television. It was close to midnight. He stared almost almost unblinking at the screen, his eyes dull. Blue and white lights flashed against his face, playing tricks with hair.
Sleep battled dread as he curled beneath his covers. His favorite cartoons had no effect on him. The black lump in his chest was there to stay, and nothing he did would budge it.
The sleep timer on the T.V came onto the screen. Austin had set it a while ago and forgot about it. He thought he'd be asleep before now. Numbers on the screen started to count down from five. Austin pushed his head more snugly into his pillow. He should try to get to sleep now anyway.
4
He was too tired from last night. He couldn't stay awake longer if he wanted.
3
The weight in his chest. Austin breathed.
2
A trembling in his arms and legs. Just close your eyes.
1
The television switched off.
And he was plunged into Hell.
Austin's face was deep blue. The dog tag touched his broken neck. This time no one was screaming. His mother was in her bed, blood flowing out of her back. Austin had stabbed her with a knife as she hung tight to her bedcovers.
His sister was gone, too. Her eyes were open, empty and staring. Some blood still drained from her neck. The computer screen glowed brightly, illuminating her lifeless form.
Austin's dad was lying across the floor, unmoving. He had given him too much medicine. The whole bottle. Austin had killed them all. His whole family. Because of him.
The lights came on.
Austin sat up in his bed, shaking. He was clutching his shirt at the chest, breathing heavily. A cold sweat pulsated down his neck and back.
He got up. Seconds later he was standing in the bathroom, the faucet gushing water into the sink. He grabbed at the soap dispenser and pumped fiercly, spreading it to nearly half his forearm. By the third time he had scrubbed them clean, his hands began to sting. A fourth time. Fifth time. He dug painfully beneath his fingernails. Clean, they needed to be clean. The smell of citrus rose into his nostrils. The dispenser was emptying. He pumped till it ached. Just a little more. A few more strings of soap jutted out. It went from orange to white almost instantly. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Austin fell onto his bed, exhausted. His knuckles bled and stung. Sobs came out in painful gasps as he squeezed his fingers. High pitched moans escaped his lips. The pressure in his chest slowly chipped away as he cried, emptying out with the tears.
Every night it was the same. They would all be sound asleep in their beds across the hall, while Austin lay awake, being eaten alive by his own fear. What he was afraid of, though, he could never place. But he knew he couldn't escape it. It was everywhere.
The pillow wet beneath his cheek, Austin groped for the leather bound book on his nightstand. The pages were blurred as he turned them with trembling hands. He finally came to right page, with a portion of text yellowed by a highlighter.
Austin became calmer. The sobs came out less forcefully, and his head became heavier with sleep. He turned on his back, the book pressed open against his chest. As his breaths slowed, bags of sand seemed to settle onto his eyelids. Salty streaks lined the sides of his face.
His body twitched as he inhaled deeply, the remnants of sobbing fading away. His mind was calm. No thoughts. Bliss.
"Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest; and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. Your soul will find rest." *
Austin slept that night.
***
*Matthew 11:28/29
