A/N: This is just a one-shot set when Emma Pillsbury was in high school and how her life was with her OCD. Enjoy!
Perfect
There she was at the family desk that she kept exceptionally clean. Everything was neatly ordered and everything was neatly placed. The family picture was set at an angle to Emma's pleasing. And it was set exactly twenty-four inches away from the stack of reference books she organized by use. The pencil holder was two inches away from the large eraser she used to clean up her glaring mistakes. Everything was even and everything was perfect.
Her pre-calculus book was opened to Chapter 7: Trigonometric Identites and Equations. there it sat neatly while Emma Pillsbury did her homework. Every scratch mark she wrote would be erased five seconds later until it was perfect. It had to be perfect. She had to be perfect.
There she sat. Hours had slowly passed and the work was yet to be complete.
Frusturation seeped its way into her brain. Her final math test was tomorrow and here she was lost. Her grade of an A would no doubt be lowered to a B and that would not do. Her perfect 4.0? Gone.
Her large eyes began to fill with water but she would not let them fall. Could not let them fall.
She would make herself understand these identities by tomorrow's test if it killed her. She tried and she tried.
Number eighteen. The verification would not show itself.
She was going to fail that test and she knew it.
Would her father still love her then? Was it possible that she could still please him even if she failed the test?
Surely not.
She sat there for what must have been another thirty minutes and no progress. No matter what she did, she could not get the equation to fit. It was as if the actual equation, the one she must verify, was a rubics cube. Her brain was throbbing and tears pulled at her tear ducts, but no tear could latch free.
She placed her head in her hands, taking a deep breath. Breaths just like the ones her therapist taught her. Deep soothing breaths. She was in that position for ten minutes, counting each breath.
Two-hundred and two.
Emma was on her two-hundredth and third when the front door's knob started to rattle and soon entered her mother and father. Finally, at 11:30 at night, did her father finally get back from bowling and her mother from watching him bowl on his Wednesday League.
Her mother greeted her daughter, assuring her that she was clean. Only then was she able to manage a hug out of her sixteen-year old.
Her father said his brief 'Hello' as he made his way to the back door for a smoke. Never was he allowed to smoke inside. Never.
Her mother sat on the couch, the couch Emma made sure was spotless whenever she had the chance, and turned on the television.
Emma tuned back into her homework, trying to get it done for tomorrow in preperation for tomorrow's test. But again, no answer would present itself.
Her father was outside smoking with the door open. He made conversation with his wife who was still sitting on the couch. Emma was slab-dab in the middle making every effort to focus on her assignments.
The door was open!
Horrid smoke was making its way inside the house.
Bugs, creepy crawlies, entered.
And they're making their way to your room, Emma! Your room!
And finally she snapped out of it. They're just bugs, they will not kill you. they will not harm you. They are just bugs. Dirty bugs. Bugs that have been God knows where. Germy, nasty, grimy, creepy, dirty bugs!
She yanked her head up and looked towards the open door.
No bugs. No bugs that she could see.
Paranoia took over her being and she felt them. By God she felt them. She felt them on her skin, crawling and spreading their disease.
Her eyes shut tightly out of reflex and she panicked. Her breathing quickened and no thought would form solidly in her mind. Her hands clutched at the chair and she struggled for breath.
Bugs!
Bugs.
Bugs..
Bugs...
Bugs?
Breath.
Breath one.
Breath two.
Breath ten.
Her eyes opened, darting around the room, wondering where the voices were coming from. Then suddenly, she was ashamed. Her parents were staring down at her. Her mom very concerned mimicking Emma's wide eyes but her dad...
Her dad was annoyed.
Emma felt herself losing it fast. Was she no longer perfect to him? Of course not, she never was to begin with.
Again, her eyes began to water. She did not want to cry, especially in front of him. For this reason, she stood quickly planning on running to the bathroom. But then...
She saw it.
The largest bug she ever saw was flying close to the roof. It's large body clicking everytime it hit the roof. It's short wings futtering in that sickening way.
Emma wanted to puke. Not wanted. Needed.
And then there were two! Two disgusting beetles flying at the roof.
Her eyes were now rimmed with tears but they would not fall. She would not let them fall. She had to be perfect for her daddy, she had to be.
She prayed a quick prayer that these bugs-three!-would not land on her skin. Her washed skin that rarely frequents germs.
The sounds of the clicking and the fluttering were too much, however.
With the speed of lightning, not caring that the back door was still ajar, or that her book was still opened on the desk with her homework papers sprawled messily around, and ran to her room. She shut the door hastily to ensure that the bugs would not enter, would never enter.
She jumped on her tidy bed and centered herself. There she would be safe. She didn't care the the bed spread was now wrinkled. All she wanted was safety from the germs.
There she sat in silence for five minutes. Her eyes would glance at the bottom of the door, making sure that the enemy would not sneak into her room undetected.
The only shred of light coming into her room was that of the living room light spreading its way under her door. And that light grew and grew until the entire light poured into the darkness of her prison.
There her dad stood, glaring at her in disapproval and blocking the incoming light. He roughly threw her book and papers aimed for her bed with such force that it landed opened and the dozens of paper went flying everywhere.
With that, he turned sharply and slammed her door shut. This slam was enough to make Emma jump. She loathed herself whenever she made her dad this angry.
It hurt. But she would not cry.
Won't cry. Won't.
Then the lonliest tear left her right eye. Why couldn't she please her father?
Emma heard her mother screaming at her father. Then his deep voice grumbled loudly, "She's sixteen fucking years old and she's still afraid!"
Her large, doe eyes could not take it anymore. The salty water poured forth not caring an ounce for Emma's feelings.
She would never be perfect no matter how much she strived for perfection.
Emma Pillsubury collapsed on her bed, letting the tears flow onto her bed. Letting them stain her comforter. She pulled her stuffed dog close to her heart and longed for the day when she would beat her obstacles, not just over come them, but beat them.
She longed for the day that her dad wouldn't be disappointed in her.
She longed for the day that her dad would accept her.
She longed for the day that her father would tell her that she was perfect.
XXXXX
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story and would appreciate your comments and input.
Long days and pleasant nights!
~Sai Cheech