Status: updates on tuesdays and thursdays, authors' schedules permitting
Timer
The chemicals burn when things get ugly
Zack’s POV
I wake up in a sweat, panting, still shaking from the nightmare. I lean back catching my breath, "Fuck" I whispered to myself staring down at my blood stained wrist seeing the time ticking down. Today. It’s today. Don’t freak out. Don’t.
I quickly stand up and start the day as any other, cleaning, of course. I make my bed, folding the corners of the bed sheets and arranging the pillows so the 1st and 3rd are at an angle, the 2nd and 4th straight. Moving over to the wardrobe I slip on my favourite pair of skinny jeans, a plain grey t-shirt and my extensive bracelets while make sure all of my shoes in their correct pairs and the clothes on hangers having a 1 inch gap between them before moving onto the bathroom. All the bottles on the counter and in the shower facing forwards, my blades hidden in an empty bottle of pills some doctor prescribed me but I’d obviously eaten them like tic tacs in some attempt to sleep. Maybe die, I can’t remember.
Most people on the day of their meeting would ring up their parents and all their friends and make a big fuss out of it but that’s just not me plus I have no one to call. Well I have one friend but she’s probably at work or fucking her wife (Oh god I’ve walked in on them way too many times so ringing up is not something I want to risk...again)
Grabbing two bottles of disinfectant, I stroll into the open kitchen living room and start scrubbing at the sparkling white floor. Everything will be perfect I repeat to myself. Perfect. Consistent. The familiar stench of chemicals burning my skin fills the air “Shit” I murmur thinking about what my therapist will say about trying to cut back on the cleaning. She doesn't understand that I can’t.
If I don’t clean then everything will be well … unclean. Every single item in this apartment has a place and I chose that place. I did. It’s in my control. I make sure that everything is perfectly SAFE. WHY DOES THAT BITCH NOT UNDERSTAND THAT I HAVE TO. SHE THINKS SHE’S HELPING BUT SHE’S NOT. SHE’S NOT. FORCING ME TO TALK ABOUT THE PAST DOESN'T HELP, IT HURTS.
I grab a glass vase I was partially fond of and throw it as hard as I could against the wall, screaming. Quickly I grab my black leather jacket, I run. As fast as my slightly muscular legs would take me. 1 minute my TiMER blinked. I almost trip on one of the last steps in the many flights of stairs I'd been running down before pulling the large glass doors and stepping into the busy street. The air smelt like always, smoke, coffee and boozes. I look left then right and notice a tall-ish black haired man walking down the steps of a little cafe a few doors down. 10 seconds. Oh God I think as I realise...I’m not wearing any shoes.
I wake up in a sweat, panting, still shaking from the nightmare. I lean back catching my breath, "Fuck" I whispered to myself staring down at my blood stained wrist seeing the time ticking down. Today. It’s today. Don’t freak out. Don’t.
I quickly stand up and start the day as any other, cleaning, of course. I make my bed, folding the corners of the bed sheets and arranging the pillows so the 1st and 3rd are at an angle, the 2nd and 4th straight. Moving over to the wardrobe I slip on my favourite pair of skinny jeans, a plain grey t-shirt and my extensive bracelets while make sure all of my shoes in their correct pairs and the clothes on hangers having a 1 inch gap between them before moving onto the bathroom. All the bottles on the counter and in the shower facing forwards, my blades hidden in an empty bottle of pills some doctor prescribed me but I’d obviously eaten them like tic tacs in some attempt to sleep. Maybe die, I can’t remember.
Most people on the day of their meeting would ring up their parents and all their friends and make a big fuss out of it but that’s just not me plus I have no one to call. Well I have one friend but she’s probably at work or fucking her wife (Oh god I’ve walked in on them way too many times so ringing up is not something I want to risk...again)
Grabbing two bottles of disinfectant, I stroll into the open kitchen living room and start scrubbing at the sparkling white floor. Everything will be perfect I repeat to myself. Perfect. Consistent. The familiar stench of chemicals burning my skin fills the air “Shit” I murmur thinking about what my therapist will say about trying to cut back on the cleaning. She doesn't understand that I can’t.
If I don’t clean then everything will be well … unclean. Every single item in this apartment has a place and I chose that place. I did. It’s in my control. I make sure that everything is perfectly SAFE. WHY DOES THAT BITCH NOT UNDERSTAND THAT I HAVE TO. SHE THINKS SHE’S HELPING BUT SHE’S NOT. SHE’S NOT. FORCING ME TO TALK ABOUT THE PAST DOESN'T HELP, IT HURTS.
I grab a glass vase I was partially fond of and throw it as hard as I could against the wall, screaming. Quickly I grab my black leather jacket, I run. As fast as my slightly muscular legs would take me. 1 minute my TiMER blinked. I almost trip on one of the last steps in the many flights of stairs I'd been running down before pulling the large glass doors and stepping into the busy street. The air smelt like always, smoke, coffee and boozes. I look left then right and notice a tall-ish black haired man walking down the steps of a little cafe a few doors down. 10 seconds. Oh God I think as I realise...I’m not wearing any shoes.
♠ ♠ ♠
Slightly longer chapter that includes OCD!Zack :) Enjoy :3