Silent Waves.

Soft eyelashes brushing chubby cheekbones, eyelids hiding deep, paralyzing pools of blue. Nights when the sandman forgot about me, I watched him sleep, studying his features. A bright white smile behind full lips, dark hair disheveled from tossing and turning. He looked fragile, as if his skin were made of porcelain. I brushed medium-length locks behind his ear, and he let out a deep breath. I watched his pupils move under his eyelids, darting back and forth in the REM stage. He was in peace when he slept, nothing bothering his mind or causing him unnecessary stress. No obsessions, no compulsions, no tics. He was safe there, in his dreams. I only wished I could help him in real life.

I leaned in slowly, planting a soft kiss to his forehead. He stirred, rolling onto his back, his face toward the ceiling. I could see his eyelids part and those marvelous oceanic eyes were visible once again. His head jerked to the left twice, stalled, and then jerked to the left a third time. I let out a soft breath.

“Good morning,” I said, reaching out with my right hand and cupping his chin. I ran my thumb across his bottom lip and smiled. He smiled back and yawned, stretching his arms toward the headboard. He threw his legs over the bed and left, towards the bathroom. I didn’t have to follow him to know what he was doing.

He would pull his toothbrush from the bathroom cabinet, and then put it back down. He’d pull it out again, and set it back down. Finally, he’d pull it out and run it under hot water tap. Next was the toothpaste. Open, close. Open, close. Open, put toothpaste on toothbrush. Lather, rinse, repeat, repeat, repeat.

It came in waves; crashing against the shore, dragging unwanted debris to rest on the sand before retreating back for a few moments of silence, each time leaving more and more mess in its wake.

I remember once, I had come home from work and found Aiden on the floor with the entire contents of our bookshelves in neat, alphabetically ordered and color-organized stacks of ten around him. I blinked several times, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Hey, baby!” He said with a bright smile on his rounded face. He caught my eyes fixed on the piles of books taking up most of our living room, and licked his lips exactly three times before he spoke. “Lord of the Rings wasn’t in the right place, so I’m rearranging the bookcase.”

I didn’t know what to think. It seemed that his disorder had reached a new high, becoming a little bit more out of control. In the beginning, a change in his disorder caused me to get easily annoyed and snappy with him. I used to remind myself that he can’t help it. One, two, three, breathe. It’s not like that anymore.

~

Click. Click. Click. Scribble. Scribble. Scribble. Click. Click. Click. Scribble. Scribble. Scribble. Click. Click. Cli—

“Could you stop that?” If I knew what I know now, I would have kept my lips sealed.

Aiden’s head popped up from his notebook, his vibrant eyes burning holes in mine. “I can’t. You know that.”

He was telling the truth, I did know that. “You’re right,” I started, “but maybe if you concentrate, you could—”

“Concentrate?!” Aiden screamed, throwing his notebook to the ground. He picked it back up. “I’m sick!” He threw it down a second time, picking it back up just as quick and looking at me with tears rolling down his face. When he threw it down for the third time, it stayed put. He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, bottom lip trembling. “Fuck you.” He said, barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back, biting my lip. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

He looked at me, cheeks stained with tears that were still flowing, and sniffed. “Hold me.”

I was there in an instant, embracing him, my left hand in his soft hair, my right high on his back, and I held him, like the sand holds the sea.

It wasn’t always like this. For two months, Aiden was what society liked to call “normal”. For a while, things didn’t come in waves of three. There were no tics, no obsessions and no compulsions. He was free. I remember that morning the most.

I woke up to the sunlight filtering through the bedroom window. I also woke up alone. At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Aiden’s routine consisted usually of bathroom routine, living room routine then kitchen routine. Dragging myself out of bed, I made my way down the stairs. Stepping off the last step and turning into the living room, my jaw dropped.

Firstly, Aiden was wearing my clothes. An old, ripped A Day To Remember tank and a pair of my black boxer briefs. Second, he was sitting in the neon green bean bag chair by the TV, Black Ops on the screen, controller in hand. I don’t know how long I was standing there, staring at him, before he finally noticed me.

He looked over his shoulder and the biggest grin I’ve ever seen was plastered on his face. “Play with me?”

I didn’t have any words to say. I rushed to pull him into a hug, tears streaming down my face. I wondered if it were a dream for a fleeting second, and then realized I didn’t care. Aiden was free.

For two months, Aiden and I enjoyed normal things; going to eat at restaurants, going to the movies, taking walks. We had the time of our lives for a little bit, then Aiden woke up and went right back to his routines. I remember crying silently all day.

But as the days with Aiden go by, I know that I wouldn’t want to have him any other way. He’s the Aiden I fell in love with, and that’s all that matters. Perfection doesn’t exist, but Aiden is the closest thing to perfect if I’ve ever seen it.