Clean Routine

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by tash777, May 7, 2015.

  1. I'm back and I have the feeling I'm gonna regret it. But OCD is interesting to write about.


    Clean Routine

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    I sat in the padded chair, resisting the urge to sleep. It was so dull here. The same thing happened every day; Get up. Shower. Get ready, go downstairs. Go back up and shower again. Private therapy session. Lunch. Shower. Group therapy, which I was currently enduring. Free time. Dinner. Progress reports. Shower. Bed.

    The routine was comforting, but I wanted my routine.

    Peter wouldn’t shut up. His voice was so erratic; it grated my nerves whenever he made the slightest stutter. I looked around, desperately fiddling with the identification bracelets on my wrists in an effort to distract myself. They’d let me have two so that I could be more symmetrical. Not everyone here was bad. I heard my name being called.

    “Annie?” They spoke so gently, like I would shatter into pieces if someone startled me.

    I sighed, sitting up and starting off my usual spiel about how things were difficult, unclean and disorderly but how being here has helped me cope with it all so much, that I feel like I will be out of here in no time and able to live life to the full.

    My fingers curled around the armrests. I touched something, my skin began to crawl. Was… was that gum!? I screamed and leapt to my feet, oblivious to the commotion I’d caused. Immediately I was grabbed by two workers I barely knew the name of. I must have spoken at some point; because another one of them lifted the chair up, showing me that there was in fact no gum underneath the armrests, or anywhere else for that matter. I demanded a new chair anyway. I also wanted a shower. The former is granted. The latter, I’m told, will have to wait.

    Eventually I calm down enough and group therapy is resumed. It’s just as boring as before. Still slightly twitchy from earlier, I started to look around the room again. An unwise decision. One of the curtains isn’t quite fully drawn. I spot a scuff-mark on the floor from where a chair has been scraped along the ground a little too hard. Cathy’s hair looks greasy. Jacob hasn’t shaved this morning. I began to scratch at my arms, willing all the imperfections around me to disappear. The doorway had two potted plants, one on either side of the entrance. It would have looked alright if one wasn’t further away than the other.

    I stood up. Somewhere far away, someone stopped speaking. All I could focus on was the plants. Before anyone could stop me I was kneeling by them, moving the pots until they were exactly the same distance from the door. Nobody stopped me.

    Now that I was closer, I could see that the plants weren’t quite in the centre of the pots. No problem. It could easily be fixed. I shoved my hands into the dirt, scooping out clump after clump until enough roots were exposed. I yanked the plant out in its entirety, placing it back where it should be. I had begun to put the earth back on top of the now appropriately centred plant when I noticed a brown, sticky hand-print on the stalk.

    Oh no.

    My hands. My hands were filthy. My hands were covered in mud and dirt and bacteria. I shrieked, dashing to the nearest bathroom, but it was locked. They only let you in if there was a worker with you, but there wasn’t time for that. I kept running and found myself at the reception. A visitor was just coming in. Perfect! I barged past them, through the open door and into the outside world.

    Free at last! All I had to do was find somewhere to clean myself. My bare feet slapped against the surface of the tarmac of the car park. I stopped, looking around.

    Gum stuck to the underside of car tyres. Cigarette butts and sweet wrappers were all I could see. It was so dirty! So unclean and disorderly, so disgusting-

    I couldn’t take it.

    I sank to the ground, kicking and yelling at the top of my lungs as I was picked up and carried back inside. People having their bacteria-ridden hands all over me made me need a shower more than ever. Why did this have to happen every day? Why can’t I be clean…?

    Routines are comforting, but I don’t like this one.
     
  2. oh my god this reminds me of my friend's script for speech & debate. sobs.

    but ayeeee, that was nice. ♡ i love the obsessive tone in it.
     
  3. Thanks :) we had to write a short piece on obsession, this is what I came up with.
     
  4. I'm gonna bump this because it's literally the only new piece of work I have
     
  5. I love this tash ?
     
  6. Omg this is so good!! It was so fun to read and this is so great Tash!! ️️
     
  7. I'm glad you liked it ️
     
  8. This is so good! Are you going to write more?
     
  9. Awaiting update Tash! Good to see you writing again