The OCD Games

by Kayla Krantz

  “You’ve got this!” she says, snapping on her gum as she opens a plastic bag in preparation.

  I start to ring up the customer, but my progress is slower than it had been during my first attempt, and the more aware of that fact that I become, the faster I try to go. I mess up. Camilla easily fixes the problem before the woman even notices, but it rattles my nerves, and when the woman finally puts the last of her bags in the cart and leaves, I feel as if I’ve climbed a mountain. I’m exhausted, and my heart pounds. A few beads of sweat sit at my temple, but I resist wiping them away for fear of drawing attention to the fact that they’re there to begin with.

  It isn’t long before Kara finds her way to my line. She snaps her gum in the same obnoxious way that Camilla had before smiling wide enough to show all her perfect white teeth. She hands me a bottle of water, and I take it from her gratefully.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a sip before I set it down on the small table beside me.

  “Not a problem,” Kara says then looks at Camilla.

  “This is Camilla,” I say to her then look at Camilla. “This is my friend, Kara.”

  Kara holds her hand out, long pink nails shining in the light as she waits for Camilla to return the handshake. “Make sure you take care of my girl here, okay? She means the world to me.”

  Camilla smiles and nods, caught off guard by the statement, and I watch the exchange in amusement. Camilla is to Kara what I am to Camilla. Interesting.

  Kara drops the handshake, and Camilla looks away as if she’s searching for some sort of escape. It’s strange to me that there seems to be so much tension between the two girls. With their personalities being so similar, I would assume they would click instantly. Maybe that’s the problem.

  “Hey, girl. I got your heart attack for you,” Kara says to me, wiggling her eyebrows as she leans close to me.

  I draw my eyebrows together before Kara gestures with her eyes for me to turn around. Inside, I wonder if I really want to do that or not, but then I see the wicked smile on her face and decide it’ll be better to obey her wishes willingly. I glance over my shoulder to the opposite register, whose cashier I had neglected to acknowledge up to this point, and see a boy with black hair and brown eyes. He looks up from the item he’s scanning to smile at his customer, and my knees immediately go weak.

  Kara certainly knows my type, and I hate her for it.

  Camilla, who I had all but forgotten about in the moment, reaches up to stifle a giggle that sounds very cartoonish. “That’s Blaine,” she informs us. “He’s sort of…mysterious.”

  With my brain still in the process of trying to restore itself, I nod stupidly.

  “Mysterious how?” Kara asks, not taking her eyes off him.

  I risk another glance at him from the corner of my eye, but he isn’t looking in our direction. I doubt he hasn’t noticed three girls staring at him, and I commend him on his self-composure for not even so much as glancing in this direction.

  “Keeps to himself,” Camilla says and shrugs.

  The words and gesture give me an odd look into her relationship with Blaine. I sense rejection on her, and that certainly works to heighten the ‘mysterious’ title he’s been given. Apparently, he isn’t swayed by just looks. A weird surge of hope rises in me at that.

  “I know someone else like that,” Kara says and pokes me in the ribs with her long fingernail. I only smile as I ring up her drink.

  “Are you going to talk to him?” Kara asks, and even Camilla looks interested.

  I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Feeling as I have a spotlight on me, I forget how to speak and look down at my shoes. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being the center of attention.

  I count out her change as slowly as I can to keep avoiding their looks with the hopes that they’ll come up with a different topic of conversation. When I hand Kara her change, however, that wild grin is back, and I know that whatever she’s about to do, I won’t like.

  “Blaine!” she calls out then bolts from my line as if her pants are on fire.

  Camilla breaks down into laughter when he glances up from wiping down the belt on his register, but his chocolate eyes look right past her to focus on me. When our eyes meet, I can’t pull mine away for all my trying, and I feel even stupider than I did the first time I had seen him. At this point, I’ve lost all control of my body as I stare at him.

  “You’re drooling,” Camilla whispers in my ear.

  My eyes stretch wide, and I look down to hide my face, reaching up to wipe my chin—in case I really am drooling—and when I look up again, I realize he’s approaching. Without the tiny walls of the register blocking half of him from sight, I see how tall and fit he really is. He strides over to us, feet barely making a sound.

  “New girl, huh?” he asks with a throaty chuckle and hangs his arm over the register divider.

  Up close, his face is even more transfixing. His brown eyes are layered into honey and chocolate, and they sit in the perfect place within his thin, sculpted face. I nod, not wanting the terrible sound of my voice to interfere with the beautiful sound of his laughter. Still smiling, his gaze sweeps from my face downward and he reaches his long fingers toward me. His fingers brush my shirt as he lifts my nametag, bending forward to read my name in a tone slightly louder than a whisper.

  “Well, Erica, I’m Blaine.” He looks at Camilla then back at me. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

  Again, I nod like an obedient puppy and he smiles again. “I look forward to working with you,” he says and saunters back to his register to greet the elderly customer who had wandered up in his time away.

  As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Camilla, expecting some type of scathing look or eye roll at the very least. Instead, she smiles wide enough to reveal the lipstick on her teeth again, and I’m unnerved.

  “Good for you, girl!” Camilla says, though I’m not sure exactly what I did to earn her praise.

  5.

  WHEN IT’S TIME for me to clock out, it’s just me and Camilla left to close up the store. Blaine had clocked out hours ago, and I was glad for the loss of a distraction. As we get everything in order, and Greg overlooks the store before walking us out, I let myself really breathe for the first time that day. When I think back through the events of the day, I hadn’t done much of anything, and yet, here I am, stressed to the max. I can’t remember feeling like this after starting my last job. Everything had been so calm and easy, so normal.

  I walk with careful, deliberate footsteps across the icy parking lot and hold onto my car for added support as I dig out the right key.

  When I open the door, I see a rose on my seat along with a folded-up note. Furrowing my brow, I pick it up and open it, recognizing Kara’s loopy handwriting instantly.

  Great job, girl, it reads.

  That puts a smile on my face as I move the flower to the passenger seat and force myself to take calm, even breaths as I get behind the wheel and begin the drive home. I did it. I made it through my first day, completely intact. And now that I know what to expect, my next day of work will come much easier…as far as my OCD is concerned, anyway.

  As I pull into my driveaway, I think of possible icy patches that could be waiting as soon as I leave the comforts of my car, and that doesn’t help either. So, I waddle to the door like a penguin, and when I get inside, I plop down on the couch and let myself relax…for fifteen seconds anyway. Then, I’m mad at myself again.

  There’s a trail of muddy water leading all the way up to me from the door. Cringing, I peel off my shoes and throw them onto my rubber doormat before I go to work cleaning up the mess I hadn’t thought to avoid in the first place. When I put the mop away, I pass my room and catch a glimpse of my tote bag sitting in the shadows on my dresser.

  The thought of its presence brings me some comfort. Once a week, I take an art class in the building next door to the church that houses my support group. My favorite coffee shop is right across the street from
them both as if that block is dedicated to my mental well-being. Life’s funny like that, but the art class is my ultimate stress relief, the one thing I can count on to make me feel better, and it’s strange. From week to week, I never know what I’ll be learning. In any other situation, I would be on edge, but in this one? It feels right to be able to sit back and let someone else take the wheel for a little while.

  I change out of the carefully pressed outfit that I had forgotten was uncomfortable after being in it all day. Being free from the confines of the outfit, I hurry to pull on a pair of leggings under a baggy gray dress and top that off with a blue jacket. I tidy up the house—when in Rome, right—then push my way out the door, tote bag over my shoulder and hair clip firmly in place somewhere in my ginger tangles.

  I toss my bag onto the passenger seat as I climb into my car, and as I drive, it jiggles precariously with each bump I go over, but I’m not worried about its contents the way I am my purse. Surprisingly, my art tote is the only thing that I can stand to let be unorganized, the only thing that can do as it pleases, and I won’t feel compelled to check thrice times over. I think it has something to do with the fact that I consider this entire experience out of my control, right down to my supplies.

  Ah, a hit of normalcy. It’s almost addicting.

  The thought causes me to smirk as I pull into the parking lot. Sniffing the air, I glance at the doors of the church next door and climb out of my car, slinging the bag over my shoulder again before I assimilate into familiar surroundings after my long day of being in new, unfamiliar places that make me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

  I push into the building, through the empty front room and down the nearest corridor. During the day, there are a lot of classes here—I can tell by the number of teachers and room numbers listed on the walls—but in the evening, there is only this one class. As I round the corner into the classroom, my teacher, Viola, smiles at me. I don’t hesitate to smile back as I take my usual seat at the front of the room. After a day full of uncertain grins, it feels good to actually be smiling for real.

  “Good to see you, Erica,” Viola greets. “You seem radiant today.”

  “Oh, it’s just the cold,” I say and look down at my desk, though even beyond the stinging redness of my cheeks, I can feel the warmth from true happiness.

  Viola smiles too, and I scoop up the paintbrush she places in front of me, studying the blank canvases as Viola sets them up. I stare at the beautiful array of paints on the middle of my table with a bemused expression.

  This should be fun.

  ***

  THAT NIGHT, I’M happy to relax. After the day I’ve had, I’m buzzing on a mixture of endorphins and the start of a caffeine crash. My day hadn’t been particularly long, but it had seemed so eventful.

  To think I get to do it all again tomorrow…minus the art class, of course.

  I sigh wistfully, remembering Camilla and Blaine’s oddness during the shift earlier and wonder if things’ll always be that weird, or if that was just a one-time ordeal. I cuddle my pillow to my chest, staring up at the painting of rainbows hanging in the exact middle of the wall that divides my kitchen and living room from my place on the couch. It’s pretty, in its own way. Something about the brown I had used for the mountain in the background makes me think of the brown in Blaine’s eyes, and I feel like such a creep just for having the thought. I don’t know him from Adam. Yet, he’s on my mind at almost eleven in the evening. It’s strange to be so smitten and for a stranger no less; it’s a feeling I haven’t had since high school.

  I can’t bring myself to get up, to drag myself to bed and lay down below the annoyingly low light and stare up at the perfectly angular shadows of my ceiling. After my rough day, the couch feels like Heaven. Somehow, in the poison of my own mind, I manage to fall asleep, and when I wake up, it’s with all the usual obsessions and the new one in the back of my brain.

  I groan and swipe a hand over my face, but for all my denial, I’m excited for work—a feeling I’m not used to. Of course, the anxiety is still there, but it’s eased considerably from the level it was at yesterday.

  I cross the house to my bathroom, arranging my makeup as carefully on my face—eyes first—as I do on the counter after I’m finished with it. I think of curling my hair but stop, realizing how ridiculous I am. Letting Kara pick me out some clothes that aren’t like me is one thing but dressing up? That’s a step too far. Blaine doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him…so why am I pampering myself like I’m about to be escorted to a fairytale ball?

  Erica, you are a silly, silly girl, I chastise.

  With another groan, I grab my hand towel and vigorously wash every ounce of makeup off my skin, going for a much simpler look when I reapply it. But of course, that doesn’t sit right on my skin, and I scrub it off, adding more stains to the towel, and take my final approach. Satisfied, I study the creamy smears of discarded makeup on the fabric in my hands and consider tossing it into the trash can, but I can’t bring myself to do it. So, instead, I throw it into the immaculately clean laundry basket beside me. I frown at the way it interrupts the perfect clean, but I force myself away. My thoughts stray to it again, but as I walk out of the bathroom, I convince myself that nothing can bring me down today.

  I don’t understand this newfound excitement, but no matter what, the voice in my head says, I know it doesn’t have to do with my new job…more like my new chocolate-eyed coworker that’s got me feeling this way. This giddiness? I recognize it only from the times I’ve seen Kara wear it.

  Why am I so awkward? I groan to my flats as I pull them on and rush out the door.

  When I pull into the parking lot, I clench and unclench my hands around the steering wheel. I’m ready and not ready. I spend a minute looking for Kara, hoping she’ll have the foresight to come see me again, knowing how much I’ll need her today. Even if she’s over the top sometimes, she’s also a wonderful ice breaker. Unfortunately for me, today I’m alone. I prolong making the walk inside by sitting in my car, struggling to tie my apron without the prying eyes of an audience. Uniform in place and all the time I could afford to waste spent, I make my way inside, heart lurching as I seek out Blaine. Upon not seeing him, that hope deflates with a sickening pop that I hear inside my mind.

  Camilla is here and lets out a squeal when she catches sight of me. “Hey, girl! It’s you and me bright and early again today.”

  I manage a nod, but with the lingering disappointment, it’s hard to get out a coherent response. Why do I feel like this? I ask myself, carefully trying to make sense of my own head. He’s a stranger, and yet I’m disappointed that…what? I won’t get to stare at him?

  “Looking forward to today?” Camilla asks, smile bright and hopeful again.

  Another nod as I fight through my biting thoughts to appear semi-normal. My lack of actual words doesn’t seem to bother her a bit. She’s like a puppy, rambunctious and full of energy even if the situation around her doesn’t call for it.

  “So, today we’re pretty slow. Sundays are usually like that…you know, church and all,” she says with a lackadaisical glance around us.

  “Seems about right,” I say, pretending that I’m looking around at the lack of customers as well when really, I’m just using the excuse to see the empty register a few feet away.

  “When it’s really slow like this, they want us to pass the time by focusing on making the front of the store look good, you know, putting things back in line and just making it look pretty.”

  “I’m aware of the concept,” I reply, and only after the words are out do I realize how snippy they really are. I don’t want to be mean to Camilla, but there’s something about her unwavering lightheartedness that gets to me.

  She sniffles and cocks her head back a bit as if she expects me to flat out insult her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, looking down at my feet. Even if Camilla and Kara seem to not like one another, Camilla hasn’t done a thing to me to make me feel an
y resentment for her. Looking into her big blue eyes leaves me feeling instantly guilty for taking a tone with her.

  “You work on the lighters, I hate them,” Camilla says, snapping her gum in a gesture to a plastic strip hanging off the side of the cooler. Her tone immediately tells me that’s her way of getting back at me for the attitude. Not to mention how she sidestepped my entire attempt to apologize.

  I shrug, not taking it to heart. If she really does have the personality of a puppy, she’ll be over her feelings in a few minutes. Camilla goes to work on organizing the tiny bags of chips on the other side of the store, and I give her a passing glance as I approach the spot she had gestured to. When I actually catch sight of the lighters themselves, I bite my lip, barely resisting the urge to reach out and smack down the entire thing and stomp it until they’re all so broken they’ll have no other future than the trash can. Somehow, I manage to keep it together long enough to not destroy anything, instead opting to put my energy into rearranging the lighters by color and have them all face the same way. My brain feels fully engaged in the activity as I work, and once I finish, I step back to admire my work with the slightest hint of a smile on my face.

  “Isn’t that funny? I arrange them the same way,” a voice says from behind me.

  I freeze instantly, the sound of the lilting voice causing all logic in my body to shut down. Blush lining my cheeks, I turn to face Blaine and let out an awkward chuckle that I hope can come off as cute under the current circumstance. I want to say something clever, but my mind goes blank, focusing on the fact that it isn’t cute when it comes down to the fact that I have to do things in my own way.

  “H-Hi,” I stutter out.

  “Greetings,” he says, tipping his black hat toward me, and that’s when I realize he isn’t dressed in a work uniform. He’s wearing street clothes—jeans with a black jacket and black hat. With the shadow over his eyes, I’m once again reminded of Camilla’s words—He’s mysterious. He glances up at the clock on the wall and begins to walk deeper into the store. “I’ll see you in a minute.”