Obsessive Compulsion

by C. E. Kilgore

  “Thank you,” is all I can manage, but I know he understands how much something like this means to me. A fridge that fits within my crazy lifestyle is just one step closer to feeling more normal. Emma passes Charlotte a similar box next and I already know what’s inside.

  I watch her fingers carefully tugging at the wrapping before she gives in and just tears it open. Unfolding the blueprint that’s inside, I wait for that beautiful moment when understand blossoms over her face. At first she’s confused, then she tilts her head just slightly to the left and I see the realization dawning.

  “This is one of the retail spaces at Shoe Village?” she asks and Emma nods while motioning for her to keep looking. Under the blueprint are digital renderings of the inside which have it set up as an art gallery on the first floor and a studio on the second. A gasp expels past her lips and the first sign of tears appear. “What…”

  “It’s a gallery!” Emma explains the obvious. “Your gallery,” she emphasizes.

  “We figured you could use the second floor as a studio,” Brandon takes over, “and maybe teach some art classes?”

  Charlotte attempts to say something, but her lips fumble the words while her eyes continue staring in disbelief at the images. “I couldn’t possibly… I mean…”

  “Stubborn,” Brandon huffs. “You two are both stubborn. If you want to pay rent for it eventually, then fine, but Emma and I are doing this for you. It won’t be ready for four months or so, but after that, I think an art gallery and art classes is just what Shoe Village and that neighborhood needs.”

  “And we’ve already paid for the next four months at your current studio space,” Carol breaks into the conversation and Charlotte’s head snaps up. “I know you liked the University, but I think teaching your own classes is a great idea.”

  “But, Momma,”

  “No buts,” John interrupts. “You deserve to have more time to paint and a place to display them. You got talent, girl, and I’ll not have it wasted at some stuffy school that can’t appreciate it enough to get over their outdated ideals about the propriety of my little girl.”

  I can tell John’s words shock her and she looks to me for explanation. I’m tempted to tell her how the conversation with John went, but I’m still trying to digest it all myself. Brandon simply laid it all out and helped John understand our point of view while I held nothing back about just how much Charlotte means to me.

  With twitching fingers, I reach into my pocket. Her pupils dilate then focus on the silver house key held tightly between my thumb and index finger. I get the idea it’s not what she was expecting, but I want to do this first. I have to get this right. “I know it won’t be easy, and unplugging everything at night is only one of many things I’m asking you to deal with, but I want you to move in with me.”

  She eyes the key and reaches for it, but stops. “I have a cat.”

  I know, but I play along with a grin tugging at the corner of my lip. “Is she the jealous type?”

  “Depends,” Charlotte touches one finger to the key. “How well do you work a can opener?”

  “I’ve had no fridge for five years,” I snort then take on a serious tone. “Your lime green couch, however…”

  Her eyes go wide and it’s breathtaking. “How’d you know…” Her eyes dart to Emma. “Traitor!”

  Emma giggles loudly with a giddy bounce against Brandon who’s all chuckles as he speaks. “Had to give the man some fair warning. That couch is fugly.”

  “Is not!” Charlotte argues then looks back at me, her grip trying to tug the key out of my fingers. “I love that couch. It was free, and it’s comfortable!”

  I pull back on the key with a feigned sigh. “Disappointing. I was hoping it would work out, since I am walking distance from the museums and the Spaghetti Factory.”

  “Screw the couch and gimmie my damn key, Rider!” She yanks as her mom gasps at her language and I’m trying not to laugh.

  I let go just as Charlotte pulls the hardest and she falls backwards into the cushions. Holding the key up in victory, she freezes as light sparkles across what’s dangling from the other end of the keychain. Before she can sit back up all the way, I’m down on one knee in front of her, unhooking the ring.

  “Charlotte Susanna, will you marry me, twitches and all?” I get the words out as calmly as possible, but inside my stomach flips while my heart runs a marathon.

  Somehow, I avoid twitching as I hold the ring up to her. The green and blue fire opal centering a circle of small diamonds catches the light from the tree and illuminates in a dazzling array of color. The colors catch in her tear-filled eyes and I’m lost for a moment as everything comes together perfectly.

  I’m waiting for her to say something, but all she can do is nod as I slip the ring up her finger. She finally gulps in a breath with a loud ‘yes!’ before falling into my arms. It’s the sweetest sound to ever greet my ears.

  The glint of Carol’s camera flash makes us both laugh, but I’m not letting go of her yet. I want to hold onto this perfect moment for as long as possible, taking in every detail so I can carry this memory with me and use it to get me through the rough patches I know I’ll never be able to fully avoid. I believe, though, that Charlotte’s going to be there with me to help get me through them. I believe she’ll let me start over, again and again, and I know she’ll always be standing there patiently, waiting for me to reach her.

  Austin

  They say love is blind. I think maybe love can see just fine, but she’s a bit of a trickster who likes to dangle possibilities in front of you, waiting for you to reach out and take one. If you’re lucky, she’ll let you keep what you can grab. If you’re a messed-up, unlucky fool like me, she’ll laugh in your face, tug the offer out of reach at the last second and leave you hanging.

  It’s not her fault. That’s just how she rolls. And, shit, it’s not like she hasn’t given me plenty of opportunities to take hold of what she’s offering.

  Saul and I have been friends since the day the parole officer dropped me off on Brandon’s doorstep. Saul’s kid-at-heart nature helped me ease into life at the Peters’ Estate, and he never seemed to care that I’d spent the prior two years of my life behind bars for stealing Brandon’s car. It was time well deserved, and I still think, at times, that I got off too light; that all was forgiven too easily.

  I can remember, clear as day, the sound of Julio breaking his bat across Brandon’s arm, and the thudding kicks of four pairs of boots landing blows into Brandon’s stomach. I remember the look in Brandon’s eyes – anger, confusion, pity. In the midst of getting beat up by a bunch of stupid thugs, Brandon had been able to look at me with compassion and forgiveness.

  That’s when I had chosen his side. That moment, I became his for the rest of my life. He was the first man to ever look at me as more than a worthless piece of shit, and I didn’t even stop to think of the consequences as I jumped on top of him, taking the blows in his place.

  I’d begged them to stop, but they laughed and called me a weak little faggot. At that time, that’s all I really was. A weak boy hiding who he really was behind a bunch of meaningless tattoos and false loyalty to a group of other weak boys pretending to be tough gangsters. I wasn’t worthy of the way Brandon had looked at me that night, and part of me is certain I never will be.

  I think that might just be what’s really holding me up with Saul. I guess I’ve earned his friendship, but I don’t think I’m worthy of what I really want. I don’t think I have any right to step into the middle of what he and Victoria have built together since they were kids.

  Victoria, God love her, disagrees. She’s been pushing me and pushing me, no matter how hard I dig my boots into the ground. It seems no amount of dragging my feet is gonna make her change her mind. She loves me the same way I love her; a friend I could never replace.

  I just don’t think it’ll work the way she says it could. I don’t think Saul will ever love anyone but her the way that I love him. God help me,
I’m so stupid in love with that boy.

  That’s the other thing they say about love, aint it? That if you love someone, sometimes the best thing you can do for them is let them go? I think that’s what I need to do. I need to walk away and let Victoria and Saul rebuild what’s started to crumble between them. They deserve that chance far more than I deserve either one of them.

  I realize it now, as I stand outside Saul’s hospital room and listen to their quiet laughter floating into the sterile hallway through the crack in the doorway. My hat in my hand, I scuff my boot against the white tile, a battle raging within my heart. It wants to see Saul’s smile, but my memory reminds me that I’m probably one of the last people he wants to see right now after our misunderstanding. Shoot, the only person he hates more right now is probably Kyle.

  I know Victoria won’t explain things to him. She told me straight up that I had to do it; that it’d be the only way it’d work. I don’t get it, but I know better than to question her. Questioning myself? Well, that’s something I do on a daily basis.

  An orderly in a crisp white uniform pushes a gurney with a squeaky wheel past me. I glance up and he nods at me. I nod back and watch him continue on down the hall. Another round of Saul’s laughter finally puts my feet in motion, but they take me down the same hallway to the elevators.

  Coward that I am, I text Victoria an update on Forester as I step out into the cold air and onto the sidewalk. She immediately responds, asking where I’m at. With a deep inhale, I tell her I’m on my way back to the estate to take care of some things for Brandon. I know she’ll be able to read the lie between the lines, but I’m convinced it’s better this way.

  Glancing over my shoulder at the lighted hospital rooms, I swear I catch her staring down at me. Forcing one step and then another, I get in my truck and head to my sister Annabelle’s place instead. I’m sure she’ll let me stay the night before we head out to Gramma’s house for Christmas tomorrow morning. I don’t feel like being alone in Brandon’s big estate tonight.

  My parole is up in the Spring, and maybe it’s time I started looking for a new place to hang my hat. I’ll never stop repaying my debt to Brandon, but I think I owe it to Saul to move on outta his life. Part of me aches at the very idea, but I know he’s got enough shit to deal with between his sister and Kyle. The other part of me, the part that wakes me up sweating in the middle of the night, is snarling at me in my father’s voice, telling me what a yellow-bellied mandria I really am.

  Both parts are right and I wish they’d both just shut up and let a man sulk in peace.

  Peace.

  I pray to God I find it one day.

  Look for Book 3 of The Stable Series, If You Still Want Me, coming Summer 2014.

  Learn more at http://www.cekilgore.com