I feel like my writing may be too stiff. I anyone reading this has some feedback, I'd gladly accept it. Hopefully you guys can figure out what [redacted] means by the end of the chapter.

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Chapter 1:

"[Redacted] is an [redacted] disorder, one that brings conscious intrusive thoughts and [redacted] - 'Touch the bannister. Pick up that rock. You'd better do it, or something terrible will happen.'" — Tim Howard

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Morty jolted out of bed—awake. He didn't remember falling asleep, but there he was, rubbing his blurry eyes and stretching his stiff limbs.

Something in his brain told him that he wasn't supposed to fall asleep. He had been watching…for something. Looking at the door to make sure that it stayed closed. That he stayed safe. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. How could he have taken his eyes off the door?

Morty dragged himself out bed and cautiously stalked around the room, looking for anything that wasn't supposed to be there, checking corners and nooks for anything suspicious. He let out a relaxed breath. Nothing. The room was reassuringly silent and devoid of any other living beings. His porcelain elephant stood peacefully on his nightstand, the pin-up girls plastered over his walls smiled down at him, and his trinkets, small mementos from his various adventures with Rick, steadfastly sat on his shelves—everything was where it was supposed to be. His room was secure.

Now Morty could focus on what was truly important.

The door.

It stood, imposing, on the far side of the room. The door was firmly shut and Morty squinted to find that the lock was still locked. Good. The main entryway was protected—he could settle back down now. Morty squiggled into his soft blankets and peacefully curled up on his bed. He quietly laid beneath his blankets and mused to himself, thinking about the adventures Rick and he shared.

Morty took a happy stroll through memory lane.

He thought about the beautiful women he met in Atlantis. Their mesmerizing tails, and their even more mesmerizing…melons. He giggled to himself, reliving the feeling of touching their round, firm "melons" and playing with the mermaids.

He thought about the aliens he met in Beta-Meliphun 7, whose peculiar looks enraptured his imagination.

And he thought about Him. The Jellybean King.

Morty tripped—memory lane was covered with spiked traps and ugly monsters.

The Jellybean King had cornered Morty in the bathroom, had tried to rape him. Morty squirmed, suddenly feeling like the blankets around his were too restrictive, remembering the feeling of the King's slimy hands on him. He was more terrified of the Jellybean King than anything else—

–And, Morty reminded himself, the Jellybean King was also dead. There would be no more sentient, perverted gelatinous beans going after him anymore. The disgusting pervert could never hurt Morty again.

Nevertheless, Morty wondered to himself how he could defend himself if it happened all over again. Could he save himself if there were no toilets, no exits, and—most importantly—no Rick to retreat to? If the Jellybean King was, say, in Morty's hallway, would Morty be able to escape?

Morty frustratedly reminded himself that there was no Jellybean King in his hallway, and that the question wasn't important.

…but still. Would he be able to defend himself?

It wasn't a particularly important or relevant hypothetical question, but suddenly, it was more pertinent that anything in the world. Morty's heart raced; he quickly took stock of the room, terrified. Was the door locked? The most important boundary between Morty and his would-be intruder was the locked door. It was of utmost importance that that lock remained firmly locked.

Morty sprung up from bed to check. Good, the door was locked. He looked away, checking the locks on the windows as well, sighing in satisfaction once he found that everything was locked up tight. Now he could breath again. He felt himself calm as he gulped down big mouthfuls of air, breathing hard to calm himself down.

No one in, no one out. He was safe.

He was safe. He was safe. He was safe. He was…imagining the Jellybean King in the hallway again. He could practically see the Jellybean King, pressed up against his door, peering in the cracks, salivating in wait for poor, unsuspecting Morty to leave his door unlocked.

Well, that dirty bean would get no piece of Morty. Morty intended to stay up all night if he had to, protecting the door's lock and checking to make sure that the room was secure.

Never mind the fact that Morty knew that there were no overgrown jellybeans in the hallway, Morty just felt more secure knowing that if there was an intruder he'd be totally safe. Morty laid back down, getting ready to go back to sleep.

And then he sprung back up again. What was Morty thinking? Death and rape and horror were at his door, he couldn't just go to sleep! What if the door was unlocked? What if, because Morty was busy counting sheep or doing something else equally trivial, someone slipped past his carelessly unlocked door and hurt him?

Morty felt as if a heavy stone had dropped straight through his heart. He was so, so very scared. He felt his heart rate accelerate and his pupils dilate.

No! Morty was safe! As long as he kept the door locked, he would be safe.

As long as he kept the door locked, he would be safe.

"Don't be an idiot", Rick's voice echoed in his head. Of course. Rick had always berated for Morty for not being careful enough, for not checking to make sure that everything was just right. This time, though, Morty would be sure to make no mistakes. He checked the lock again, mentally patting himself on the back for remembering Rick's advice.

Morty laid back down.

He quietly tried to lull himself back to sleep.

B ut he couldn't sleep. He felt far too afraid. The would-be-rapist-if-he-wasn't-dead was waiting for him, waiting for Morty to leave the door unlocked. Morty knew, he knew that he had checked the lock a couple seconds ago. But…Morty felt so…afraid. What's the problem with checking the lock one more time if it'll help him feel better?

So Morty checked the lock again.

And again.

And again.

And again—until Rick woke up at 4:55 in the morning (which, considering his unusual sleep schedule, was not a time that Morty could anticipate nor predict) to build some gadget-or-the-other.

Rick was awake! The Jellybean King, if he were still alive, wouldn't dare show up at Morty's door with Rick around! And so, Morty finally went back to sleep, peacefully and happy.

At 4:55 in the morning.