Page 28 of Forgotten Prejudice

My eyes snapped to him. “What?”

Pushing from the doorway, he walked further into the room and stopped beside me.

“I had to extend the wall so this exact number would fit,” he said while fixing his glasses to sit better on his nose.

“To extend the wall?”

“Yeah. Nothing some renovation couldn’t do.”

My lips curved up, and I shook my head, unable to hold back from laughing.

“You think I’m joking?” He raised one eyebrow at me while slowly sipping from his coffee.

“Wait, you aren’t?”

He snorted and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m afraid not. In fact, I can’t fall asleep until I count them all,” he said casually, a small smile on his lips.

“That’s…”

“Crazy?” he offered, and I almost jumped from my place while shaking my head.

“No! Not at all,” I mumbled, searching for the right words. Oh my God, did I just call him crazy?

And while I panicked, Soren didn’t seem offended as he laughed.

“Relax, Ashton, I was just messing with you.” He pinched my cheek, and then his expression turned serious. “Do you know what OCD is?” After shaking my head, he went on. “It stands for obsessive-compulsive disorder.”

A disorder?

“Is it something you have?”

“Yes.”

Worry filled my gut. “Is it serious? A-Are you going to survive?”

Soren’s eyebrow perked up, and a second later, he burst out laughing. And while I didn’t understand what he found so funny about him being sick, he took his sweet time to calm down. Taking off his glasses and putting them aside, he wiped the corner of his eye.

“It’s nothing like that,” he said, taking my hand in his. “It’s a mental disorder, one that involves intrusive thoughts that lead to repetitive behaviors, such as excessive cleaning, rearranging objects, or counting the two hundred and twenty photos I have on my wall to help me fall asleep.”

Still trying to understand what he was saying, I scratched my jaw. “W-Why?”

“That’s exactly the point. A person without OCD wouldn’t understand the reason behind it because, to them, there are none, but for me, it just puts things in order. Gives me control. It helps me to ease my mind.”

That sounded almost mystical. “So, it’s like some sort of a ritual?”

Soren chuckled. “I guess you could say that.”

“But wait.” I paused and perked up. “My mom also always cleans the house and likes to have things in order. So what’s the difference?”

Soren pulled his shoulders. “We all have intrusive thoughts, but it’s a question of quantity, what we do with them, and how much those compulsions interfere with functioning. If they do, that’s when you know you have a problem. Besides, assuming every person who has OCD is obsessed with cleaning is a stereotype.” His voice was calm and even.

“Oh… I’m sorry for assuming that, then.” I swallowed hard. “And does it? I mean, your thoughts, do they interfere with your life?”

Taking another sip from his coffee, he nodded. “They do. But that’s what medication and therapy are for.”

Therapy? Like a shrink? As a kid, after my dad died, Mom tried to make me go and see one. Thinking about those times brought back bad memories. I remembered how different sitting in his room made me feel, how each of his questions felt off and wrong. I hated it so much and fought Mom about going there. I finally stopped seeing him after Aiden suggested he teach me how to surf. I didn’t understand how it was a replacement at the time, but now I did. Surfing was my way of coping with my feelings and problems. The ocean holds no grudge.

“I don’t like therapy,” I said after keeping quiet.