Tuesday, January 31st, 2017

I bravely decided to take the bike to meet up with Dr. Delgado after school. He’s back at work now that Calo is doing a bit better and I had a new appointment with him right after school. I just had enough time to pick up my bike.

But, point is, I want to be a little more independent. I want to be able to get from a, to b, by myself.

I want to be able to decide on going out and go out without mom having to change her entire schedule to drop me off and pick me up again.

Worst case scenario would mean that I had to call her to come and pick me up anyway.

But I somehow managed to get there pretty fast, I didn’t freak out and I only slightly felt restless once I arrived. I spoke to Dr. Delgado about the persistent need to execute my compulsions, and how I sometimes feel like giving up. And I hate how I can’t tell him it’s his very own son who keeps me from actually giving up. That being with him, having him as my boyfriend, helps me to get through the toughest of days.

I told him how Luke apologized to me yesterday, and how my day had been pretty much ‘normal’ after that. People still laugh at me for my compulsions, but as soon as they noticed Luke left me to my own business without insulting or bullying me, they kind of started ignoring me again.

And I don’t know what feels worse; being bullied for it, or nobody responding to me in any way. Nobody willing to sit with me during class, a handful of people keeping me company during lunch – but mostly because they’re friends with either Pyper or Angela.

During class, I now feel as if I don’t exist at all.

There’s nobody paying me even the slightest attention.

I spilled all of it out to Dr. Delgado, and we again decided on fighting the compulsions one by one. Starting with going back with dressing myself instead of having Pyper picking my outfits.

I’m no longer allowed to let her help me. I have to conquer my closet as from tomorrow.

He did tell me it wouldn’t be a problem to ask mom and Pyper to clean my closet up a bit, so I wouldn’t freeze again because the colours aren’t in the right order.

And then I had to head home by bike again. I’m riding through the park towards home, when another biker overtakes me. I yelp in surprise since I was in my own world, trying to get through this safely, as soon as he kicks my bike and cause me to lose control. I’m whimpering, holding my sore hand up, watching it bleed in several spots. There’s a nasty cut on the top of my palm and there’s already a bruise forming.

I look up to see who would do this to me, not even that surprised to find Jimmy with a smug grin on his face, staring down at me.

“Woops, didn’t see you there,” he mockingly lies to me. “But now that we’re here anyway…” He throws his bike aside, taking in our surroundings to make sure there’s nobody here to intervein.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at a boarding school?”

“Next week.” He shrugs. “Which is what brings us to the next problem,” he leans over, grabs my collar and pulls me up swiftly. “Because it’s your fault I’ll be going there in the first place.”

“If you would’ve left me…”

“Shut up, freak,” he snaps, his face close to mine. “Because of you, I lost my best friend, my parents hate me, I’m shipped away to that stupid nerdy boarding school. And you damn well know you deserved every bit of it. You area freak, you shouldn’t even be allowed to live a normal life. They should lock you away…”

“Stop it!” I cry out, not wanting to ever hear any of those words ever again.

A person can only take so much before they will believe those words.

And I already feel worthless and faulty because of the OCD and the anxiety. I already hate myself because I’m not normal.

If I’ll allow him to go on, I don’t know if Calo will be enough anymore.

I already had it, I already wanted to end my life. And since I thought I got rid of him, that he would no longer bother me, I think I never expected this to happen.

And the fact it comes as a complete surprise, caused me to not have my guards up.

“It’s true! You know it is! Say it, Faulty Favre. Admit you’re a freak!”

“I’m not!” I call out just as angry as he is.

“Stop lying, freak,” he hisses. “Lying is wrong.” He hits me in my stomach with a fist. I double over, gasping for air until he grabs my hair and pulls me back up. “Say it.”

“No!”

“Say it, and I’ll leave you alone,” he whispers with an evil grin on his face. “Admit that I’m right, that this is all your fault. That you are Faulty Favre…”

“It’s not true…! I can’t help it!”

“Oh, you can, and you know you can. You just want attention. And you’re one of them filthy fags too.” He hits me twice more, once in my stomach, once against my jaw. Then he let’s go of my hair and I slump to the ground. “You are pathetic. You don’t deserve to live a normal life. You are Faulty Favre.” Jimmy kneels in front of me. “Faulty, faulty, faulty,” he repeats the word over and over again and I want to cover my ears, but he doesn’t allow me to, hitting me again in my stomach.

“Stop it!” I start crying, rolling over while gripping my stomach. Why is nobody here to help me? Is literally everybody in town having dinner right now?

“I’ll stop, once you finally admit you are a faulty freak.” Jimmy hisses, again his face close to mine. “Admit it, Faulty Favre.”

“I won’t!”

And then he just starts to hit me, over and over and over again. He kicks my chest repeatedly, knocking the air out of my lungs and I cry out, I call out for anyone to help me, but there’s hardly any sounds leaving my mouth as I’m mostly trying to get in a bit of air.

“Admit it, and this will all be over.”

“I’m faulty!” I squeak out, causing him to stop kicking and hitting me. My whole body is sore and every movement hurts like hell.

“What did you say?”

“I’m faulty… it’s true…” I cry out, now with a bit more strength. “You’re right,” I whisper, curling up to a ball.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that?” He leans in.

“You’re right, I’m faulty, a freak,” I whisper, tears rolling down my cheek.

“Never forget this, freak.” Jimmy spits in my face, gets up, grabs his bike and takes off like he’s on fire.

* * * * *

I’m not sure how long I’ve been laying there, until a dog comes up to me, sniffling around curiously. And I want to get away from his drooling and his disgustingly dirty paws, but each inch of a movement hurts like hell and I simply can’t. I can’t move without being in terrible pain and since I’m already on the ground and Jimmy spat in my face, I can’t be bothered with the germs either. I know that I will be in a shower for hours in a row as soon as I manage to get home, but until then I can’t be bothered fighting the panic, the fear, the pain.

And I’ve been uncontrollably crying like a baby ever since Jimmy left, and I’m not stopping now that someone is walking up to me.

“Holy shit!” It’s a guys voice that calls out in shock, and his footsteps quicken, soon stopping. He kneels in front of me, touching my shoulder carefully. “Hold on, I’m calling an ambulance…”

“No!” I cry out, again sobbing loudly at the thought of having to go to hospital. “My mom… I need my mom…”

“But you need to go to hospital!” The guy retrieves his phone from his pocket, getting the dog to stop sniffling me in the same time. “Buzzer, sit,” is his simple but effective command.

“I’m not going without her.” I look up towards him, while tears blur my vision. “Please, my mom…”

I see he’s doubting to listen to me, but then he nods. “What’s the number?”

I tell him the number while he’s dialling it, checking me out in the same time. At least he’s a multitasker. “I think you need stiches, dude.” He grabbed my hand and I hiss as he presses a bit harder then I expected him to do. “What’s your name?”

“Neo…”

“I’m Carson. And I’m gonna make sure you get home, okay?”

I carefully nod in response, but then I start crying worse again. “I’m not worth the trouble, just go…”

“What? No!” He scowls, then he silences and his facial expressions change. “It’s going straight to voicemail.”

“That can’t be… She never shuts down her phone.” I whimper, wanting to get myself to a seating position, failing nonetheless. “Unless…”

Unless Pyper needed to go to hospital in a hurry and they’re in a part of hospital where she can’t keep her phone on. But would she really go there, knowing I could always call in case of an emergency?

“So, ambulance?”

I shake my head, biting my lip as I push myself up, whimpering and cursing at the pain in my chest. “My dad…”

“Number?”

I name the number, glad I memorized both their numbers, and allow him to help me until I’m on my back, with my legs pulled up. I take in deep breaths, and not just to calm down, but because breathing is difficult right now.

“Voicemail.” He sighs. “You need to be checked…”

“I’m not going to hospital without my parents!” I snap at him. “I’m a freak, believe me, I need them.”

“What are you talking about? What happened anyway? Buzzer! Sit!”

“I can’t go to hospital without them… I will freak out, I can’t… I don’t have the energy. I need to go home. You don’t understand.”

“Well, you’re in no way capable of riding your bike…” Carson sighs, sitting down beside me. “Can you walk to the entrance of the park? Because my car is there and I could drive you home.”

“I could try…” I don’t even want to fight the fact I don’t even know him. He’s clearly trying to help me and I need to get home to find out if mom, dad and Pyper are okay.

Carson helps me up to my feet and with small steps, I manage to get to the street again. He took my bike with him, leaving it behind by the gate, locking it before he helps me to get into his car. Buzzer jumps into the back, and I sigh in relief that someone showed up and was willing to help me.

“So, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. I guess since you don’t know me, I have no right to stick my nose into your business.”

“Exactly.”

He nods along with my word, driving further in silence, following my directions.

“Just park on the driveway.” I mutter, noticing it’s empty while a dreading feeling is settling in the pit of my stomach. Pyper must be in hospital. I don’t have any other explanation as to why neither of my parents’ cars are on the driveway.

Carson did what I told him to do and helps me to get inside the empty house.

“Do you guys have some sort of medic kid?” Carson looks around curiously.

“Kitchen, why?”

“I’m going to patch you back up. I’m not leaving you on your own like this.”

“You really don’t have to help me any further… you already did enough.”

“Dude? Unless you’re calling the cops, telling them I’m a burglar, I’m not leaving until someone gets home.” Carson smirks, opening the cabinets in the kitchen one by one until he found the medical kid.

Which contains more then a simple kid in any home.

“Sit.” Carson gestures towards a chair, and I stare at him, before staring down towards the floor. I’m in the door opening, unable to skip the first two tiles because I can hardly take a decent step, let along a bit one like that. Jumping is out of the question too.

“I can’t…” I mutter, not looking at him.

“You can’t what?”

“The kitchen… I can’t… I have to…” I shake my head, fighting back new tears.

“So, living room it is?” Carson shrugs, gesturing for me to head towards the living room. I take a seat on the couch, and he sits down on the coffee table with the case full of bandages and other medical supplies next to him. “I need to clean the wounds first. And that might hurt.” He holds up the bottle of alcohol that I know all too well.

“I can take it…” I drawl awkwardly. I’m used to the stinging pain caused by the liquid.

He shrugs again, soaks a gauze with the stuff, and starts working to clean the wounds, not getting much response from me while he does so.

And I stare, observing Carson as he is in my house as a stranger, casually helping a pathetic teen that he found, bawling his eyes out in the park. “Someone beat me up.” I blurt out suddenly, wondering why the hell I felt the need to tell him that. “He bullied me, and he got punished badly and he took revenge.” I can’t seem to stop my blabbering mouth anymore. “He said I deserved it because I’m a freak and I…”

“You’re not a freak. Would you stop that?” Carson sounds annoyed. “Who is he, ‘cause I might pay him a visit to teach him how to treat people…”

“No, you won’t.” I can’t help but chuckle. “But thanks for taking my side without knowing the story.”

“Why is he calling you a freak?”

“Because I have OCD and I’m not functioning in any way.”

Carson frowns, staring at me in silence for a while, before he goes back to cleaning the wounds on my hands and elbows.

“That’s it, no response?”

“I’m not sure how to respond.” He shrugs for a bit, grabbing adhesive plasters, waterproof plasters and bandage. “Is that why you didn’t enter the kitchen?”

“Yup.”

“Right…” Carson clears his throat. “And why is it any of his business that you do things different?”

“If you know… please tell me.”

Carson chuckles and I chuckle along with him. “He sounds like an idiot, really.”

I nod, hissing as he touched a wound on my elbow. “Well, thanks… for helping. And for not calling me a cry baby for the OCD…”

“What? Are you stupid? I’m not going to insult you for something you can’t control.” Carson awkwardly laughs. “Look, that guy had no right to bully you. We allhave something. And while one persons’ worst issue is dealing with pimples, the other deals with issues that control them instead of them controlling their issues. But those issues should never define us as a person. Or give others a reason to define us.”

“Amen.” I chuckle again, but I know this is a serious conversation. “So, what’s your issue? I told you mine.”

“I have a brain tumour. But it isn’t growing or anything, I’m not using any medication, it’s not causing any problems. I could become old just like you or anyone else. I just need a scan every three months to make sure it stays this way.”

“Oh, wow…” I stare at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t expect that…”

“Nobody every does.” He chuckles. “I guess we both have something in our head, messing with our lives, huh?”

“Only yours is physically present and mine isn’t.”

“I do believe there’s small differences in your brain to that of a healthy person. It’s an e godystone disorder which means that it’s outside of your power. I do believe results show that people with OCD have a smaller volume of the Hippocampus…”

“What?” I cut his ranting short in shock, again surprised by what he tells me.

“That recent studies show that people who have OCD have a different brain…”

“I understood that much, but how do you know all these things?”

“I want to become a neurologist.” He chuckles. “I could totally help you out by explaining more of your disorder if you want me to. Show you the research I’m talking about. Then maybe you can accept the fact it’s not your fault, there’s really something physically causing your trouble…”

“But that wouldn’t solve it.”

“No, but it could help if you do understand it better. You’re giving off the vibe you hate every bit about yourself and your bully was right. I want to show you that it’s not right and that there’s an explanation for it.”

I bite my lip shortly, but then I nod. “Yes, if you want to tell me, I want to know more.”

“Good.” He smiles, clapping his hands once. “And you’re all patched up.”