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Lucky
I texted periodically. Asinine things that meant nothing but reassured me that she was okay while I went about my day, trying and failing to focus on any task at all to keep my mind from what she might be thinking.
Finally, I gave up and eased my bike out of the garage. Snapping down my face shield, I pulled out onto the road. Once I hit the backroads leading to Bridgewater, the restlessness began to dissipate.
I thought back to the cool blond with the secrets in her eyes that first nabbed my attention. I compared her to the dream she’d become, my dream who was currently locked in her own nightmare. One I’d willingly take from her.
When she set the parameters for our relationship, it unleashed a well of insecurity I didn’t know I had. Believing from the outset that I wasn’t good enough, her limits suggested that she agreed.
Talking to Hope about my sex life uncovered the root of that fear: that perhaps I couldn’t connect emotionally with a woman. Perhaps I did not have the makings of a life partner. Minty blew that theory out of the water.
I couldn’t believe I thought she’d be uptight and shy in bed.
I huffed out a laugh. She fucking made me blush.
So much passion and fire on lockdown.
I remembered our date, the one Hope and Brayleigh inadvertently crashed, and how much I wanted to hide Minty from them. Perhaps hide them from Minty. Like a kid at Christmas, my inner child screamed ownership and I did not want to share.
Being honest, I didn’t want to scare her off, either. If having a child didn’t do it, I feared once she got an eyeful of Hope, I’d be finished. So much guilt for wanting Brayleigh out of the house, for wanting to hide Hope.
I’d watched my sisters with their husbands, as well as Barrett and Lenny with their women, and figured it out. The right woman holds a man’s heart in a way that binds him to her and forges her likeness onto the membrane of his soul. That bond, so fragile in its beginnings, demanded protection. Holding my breath, waiting for her reaction to meeting Brayleigh and Hope. The weakness of relief that threatened my limbs when she decided to stay. That feeling of trepidation, not knowing what would happen next.
I pulled my bike back into the garage and took off my helmet. I ran my hands through my hair and climbed the steps to my front porch. Easing back into my chair, I watched the sun sink behind the roofs of the houses across the street.
Dealing with Minty’s nightmare was not unlike Brayleigh’s night terrors. My job was to wait them out, keep her safe until she worked through them on her own, and stay close enough to offer comfort and support.
There was no feeling of trepidation now.
Only determination to move forward.
And the drive to be there when she woke from her nightmare.
I slept fitfully, and when she called the next morning and asked me to come, I ran.
Minty
I hadn’t slept since Lucky’s the night before.
Instead, I wrestled with the internet. Searching for someone who was braver than I could ever be and willing to expose their OCD so I could compare it to mine.
On the days I spent at home, I searched for hours and found nothing of substance to quiet the voice of doubt inside me. I tried again. And again. Searching. Pleading. Praying.
What does your OCD sound like?
Who is the voice of your OCD?
What does OCD tell you to do?
How does it tell you to do things?
Pedophilia OCD.
Sexual OCD.
Harm OCD.
Are people with OCD dangerous?
