Ochlophobia

The worried voices were unfathomable to me; I just couldn’t make them out. There was a voice that I distinctly recognised as my mother’s, another was my father’s, and then there were two more. One was male and smooth, the other female and highly accented.

“Mum?” I groaned, opening my eyes slightly. I felt a pressure on my head, and a cold cloth being placed over my eyes. Swiftly, I heard more people being ushered out the room, so I wouldn’t feel ‘crowded’. I tried to ignore the fact that I know knew the male voice was Brendon, replacing vague affection and the beginnings of a crush with anger and resentment. How could he make me go in there, when he knew I was scared? Oh, who was I kidding? I wasn’t angry with him.

Though, that wasn’t going to be something he was going to do in a long time.

The therapists and psychiatrists had tried ‘flooding’ with me, of course, but it never worked. I always did what I had done at the park- passed out. They were trying systematic desensitisation, but that was going to take a long time before anything would happen that would directly impact my life for the better. So whoopee! I could now look at a picture of a crowd and not panic (unless I was having a bad day), but how was that going to directly help me? It wasn’t, unless I was planning on buying some Where’s Wally? books.

I threw the cloth over my eyes at the wall as I sat up sharply, in the front room. The cushions behind my head had moulded to the shape of my head, indicating the fact that I’d been lay there for a while. I also figured out that it may have taken Brendon around 10 minutes to get me home- and about the same if he’d panicked and phoned his mum to get me into a car.

“Where’s Brendon?” My voice was rough and sore, and my eyes stared blearily at my mother. She was stood in front of my dad, almost as if protecting him.

“He’s… in the kitchen.” She admitted, almost wearily. Almost as if I would panic again. Which was when I realised; the idea of there being more than three people in the house no longer terrified. Not if it was Brendon. But his mother… that scared me. I hoped she wasn’t in the house. Five was too many.

“Is… is anyone else here?” I supposed my Mum could hear my voice catching slightly, and she shook her head solemnly. This was when I heard the voice of Brendon’s mother ringing from the kitchen.

“You liar! She’s here! Get someone out now! I don’t care whether it’s you, Dad or Brendon’s mother, just someone!”

My voice shook lightly, and I hoped that my mother didn’t sense my desperation for Brendon to stay, to comfort me, but I also kind of hoped she did. I wanted Brendon to come to see me and hold my hand. Well I kind of did.

Suddenly I winced as I realised that I’d probably made her feel really bad for lying to me about people being in the house, as she looked taken aback, and went to usher Brendon’s mum out of the kitchen and away.

“Mum? I… I didn’t mean it. I just… panicked.”

I was talking to an empty room, but I still carried on with my apology.

“I’m sorry I’ve let this take over my life, I’m sorry that I don’t let you have friends round here anymore, and I’m really sorry if I ever caused you any hurt. I’m sorry I’m not man enough, Dad, it’s just that I’m scared. I don’t want to be, and if I could choose, I wouldn’t be… I’d be famous.”

I choked on sobs that threatened their existence, watering eyes burning. I sounded like Roxie (from Chicago) right then, all fake apologies (I knew it sounded fake, but it really wasn’t) and teary eyes, dramatics and sweetness. She was most definitely my favourite character from any musical. And my dad was proud of me for watching that- he enjoys the skimpy outfits. I enjoy seeing the power a single woman can hold. Even if I don’t enjoy a women’s body, there’s still a little bit in me that enjoys the beauty of power. Ok, so call me a masochist, call me whatever you like. I do love a bit of power.

I sighed, and slotted the DVD in. Maybe later I’d appreciate something more fitting, but right now I was in for a show.

“Is that what I think it is?” The melodic voice floated through the door.

“It depends what you think it is.” I looked Brendon in the eye, before pressing for ‘English’.

I heard a squeal of excitement.

“Chicago!”