Chapter One
The front steps of any building you've never been in before, always feel intimidating and seem larger than they really are. The entrance and steps to Speare Hall had felt full of inspiration and excitement the first time I saw them. The stairs were intimidating and exciting.
Orientation cured that feeling.
The cinderblock cell-like room was not what I expected. I expected romance and creativity and downtown Boston. I never expected blazing heat, lack of air conditioning, humidity and a general sense of sterility. I looked around that first day for the cameras and guards. I assumed I was on the set of the remake of 1984. Surely Big Brother was watching me.
Now, months later, I still can't seem to get back that initial inspiration and excitement as I cross the threshold to start the year. I am stuck in the sterility and 1984.
The school is alive with people and energy, but the building is strange and smells like prison. I know about the industrial smell of prison, all too well.
My excitement about being a freshman is long gone. Instead, I'm climbing the stairs, gripping to my belongings and trying not to make eye contact. I don’t want my fellow students to see it. See the fact I don’t belong there, with them.
I glance at my watch and count the minutes until my saving grace arrives. I wish we'd managed to get flights together. But we did not and so I am stuck with the responsibility of walking through the front door of our room alone.
I enter the grey dank room and dump my crap on the bed. The mattress is frightening with its plastic cover and the wooden desk in the corner is old and industrial looking. Everything about the small room is functional and wipe-able.
I do like that, it feels like home.
The floor is shiny like a hospital and the walls are white and stark. They close in around me. I almost bolt from the room, leaving my things and running the entire way home. The entire two thousand miles home.
Instead, I close my eyes and let Dr. Bradley's words fill my head. 'Deep breaths in and out. Eyes closed. Body numb. You're at the beach and the sand is soft. The waves are small and make little noise. Slowly come back to the room you are in. Let the light of the room feel like it's blessing you. You are safe. You are grateful for the safety and the air and the roof over your head.'
I open my eyes and try desperately to let the light of the wide window bless me.
My heart is slowing and my mouth isn't as dry.
I've grown fond of Dr. Bradley's affirmations.
I look around and decide to focus on the room instead of my insanity. The room is blank. I need things, which means I need him.
I hate needing him. I dread sending him texts asking for things, but I don’t have any other way of buying things. Besides, he wants us in as much contact as possible. It's his rule. Well, one of them.
I pull my phone out and sigh.
'Can I go to the store?'
'Why do you insist on asking? Of course you may go to the store. I told you about this already. What do you need?'
'Bedding and stuff. Remember I asked you before?'
'Right, but I told you to stop asking. I gave you the account. Spend it how you want. The car will be there in 20.'
'KK.' I don’t mean it. I won't ever use the account without asking first. I don’t like the fact he gives me money. It won't ever feel like it's mine.
'KK is a typo, not a send off. Please speak like an adult' He's so snarky.
I sigh, and look around the room. I can't unpack anything. I just can't. I need everything there to be able to do it and I feel like I have nothing. No control. No peace. The room isn't clean, not like it should be.
I don't move. I just stand there and take it all in. I can't sit on the bed or touch anything. I never realized how bad it would be. The new place syndrome is almost physically painful.
I grab the wipes from the bag I carried up and I start.
It's a frenzy when it starts. OCD isn't just a sickness, it's a way of life. I should have gone to school to be in forensics, instead of wanting to be in journalism. I'm sweating and moving in a way that would frighten a normal person. Fortunately, the person who walks through the door understands. Her green eyes lift. They're not surprised at the state of me, at all.
"Em, did you do my side already?" Her voice is dripping with sarcasm when she asks.
I glance back at her, snapping out of my attack mode. I stop moving and look around. I barely remember entering the room. The room that now glistens far more than it did before.
"You know his car is sitting at the curb. His hottie, naughty driver saw me and asked if you were ever coming down."
It takes me a second to come back to the real world. I put the used wipe in the bin and dump pumpkin-spice hand sanitizer in my palm. She watches my face as she dumps her bags down on the shiny mattress, which no doubt reeks of bleach.
I frown at the plastic mattress and our few belongings, "Don’t unpack. Let's go to the store first. I forgot I asked him to let me get bedding."
She shrugs, "K."