Unless, Unless

I am in danger. 

There is a gruesome fate, a death penalty that is awaiting me, for the crime of being a living, breathing human being with blood rushing through my veins.

I can’t stop it - I know, know, that someone is after me. I have been slated for doom since the moment I was born. I am being hunted through a dark forest by a gruesome monster of myth, simply because, rushing through my veins there is blood - 

blood is the subject of the intrusive thoughts that pour down like rain, hot, sticky, suffocating red rain. The obsessions that go along with the compulsion to form a disorder far worse than any creature with too many eyes and limbs and a thirst for blood -

blood spills on the laundry room floor because dumbass, you didn’t make sure the back door was locked 

five 

separate 

times. 

*****

There have to be exactly five stars between the lines I write. If there aren’t, the sky will crash down and the sea will come ashore and it will all be my fault. 

I didn’t get any sleep last night, so I wake before the birds and sit in the downstairs dark with a stomach full of lead. My body is so heavy with anxiety and terror that I can’t move, I simply sink into the couch, second by second. 

This is sleep paralysis to the max, but unfortunately, I am wide awake. Through yawning and stretching and droopy eyelids, my mind stays alert. They say there is no rest for the wicked, and this disorder is certainly evil. 

Finally, I break through my mental stupor and force myself to my feet with stiff limbs and shaking hands. I take a straight-legged march to the light switch, and with baited breath, watch as the light illuminates my house, certain someone is crouching there in the dark. 

It takes a few minutes for my heart rate to calm down, and then I begin to go about my morning routine. Milk first, then coffee, and stir seven times. Exactly two pieces of bread go into the toaster, and exactly five eggs are scrambled slowly, methodically, the wooden spatula pushing them back and forth with a dull scraping noise. 

When I open the cabinet to get plates, I tap each shelf twice. My husband asks me what I think will happen if I don’t. I open my mouth to respond. 

‘Something bad,’ I would say. ‘So bad I don’t understand what it is.’ And then I close my mouth, realizing 

I 

don’t 

know. 

*****

I have to indent five times between lines of text. If I don’t, my husband will leave me and my luck will run out and everything I’ve ever loved will disappear and it will be all my fault. 

Work is hell, but what else is new? I am lost, swallowed by the clicking of a mouse and being drowned in a sea of blue light that has risen so high, it now laps against the membrane of my eyes. 

I slam my laptop closed and the water quickly recedes, leaving salt crusted on my eyes, making them feel itchy and dry. I lean back in my spinning chair, taking a breath for what feels like the first time in hours. After all, when you are drowning, it’s hard to breathe. 

And as I stand, I am engulfed in a different kind of ocean. 

Because I am in danger. My fate had been written long ago, and it will be soon fulfilled. My mind works that way. Inside my head, the skies were always, always cloudy, and whenever I paid any attention, whenever anyone said ‘looks like rain,’ the hot, sticky drops of red blood began to pour down. My mind told me my fate was doom - unless -

Unless. 

I could change it. Someone would crawl into my office window and slit my neck unless, unless I checked that it was locked just 

one 

more 

time. 

*****

The first section ended with three words, so every section that follows must do the same or my world will crumble out from underneath me, I will lose my job and my money and every opportunity I have ever been presented with, and it will all be my fault. 

I step out of my office for the first time all day, simply to make my way to the cramped gray kitchen at the end of my hall quickly, trying to avoid eye contact with the infamously chatty intern who is heading in the same direction. I vaguely remember that his name is David. 

I hadn’t had time for lunch, or maybe I had forgotten. Either way, the day is done. I clock out at five on the dot, and I am not going to stay for a moment longer than I have to. I’d grab the leftover ravioli in the slightly crushed tin tray and make a beeline for my car. 

And then everything stops. I watch the scrawny intern with glasses too big for his face sneeze into his hand, wiping the excess mucus along his arm with a squelching noise, then reaching for the handle of the fridge. 

The pop-hiss sound of his coke opening fades into the background, as distant as a thunderstorm, miles away. Something is triggered inside me - my fight or flight response, perhaps? But no, it can’t be, because I have no interest in fighting. All I want to do is fly, fly far away from David and the handle of this fridge and this hellish concrete building and the torment that fills my mind.

David is long gone, but I am here, staring at the handle, my mind miles ahead of me. If I touch it, I will die, I am quite certain of it. If not death, something equally horrible, because my fate has been set up in my mind, and the only way to avoid it is by flying away. 

Flight always beats fight, rain will pour down from clouds, and I will always give in to this disorder, this chemical imbalance in my mind. I leave the ravioli to rot in the fridge. 

Because that's the way the world works. 

Afterwards, I sit in my car and stare at the empty parking lot for nearly an hour, because it won. I let it win. 

I 

always 

do. 

*****

One ident follows the stars, always Arial, always size eleven with one point fifteen spacing, not because this is what I have been taught to do but because I fear what will follow if I don’t. Because no matter what happens, it will all be my fault. 

I text my husband, telling him that I will be late. Work ran long, I say, knowing perfectly well that work did nothing of the sort, knowing that I burned an hour away, watching the misty rain collect on my windshield, trying in vain to invalidate my fears. 

And still, I sit in the driveway for an hour more. The car is growing hot, my suit feels like a straightjacket and my tie is strangling me. Seized by a sudden panic, I loosen my tie until it is just barely hanging onto my neck, rip off my jacket and fling the car door open. I don’t look back, just walk, walk, walk. I am Orpheus, and my sanity is Eurydice - if I look back, it will be lost forever. 

The house is empty, filled with a vast silence that puts me on edge. Jonas must have already gone upstairs. He was never a night owl. 

I eat dinner alone, in silence. Ravioli, again. After a few bites, it sours in my mouth. I spit it back onto my plate and scrape the rest into the trash. I lock the doors, checking only the back door five times. It doesn’t make sense, but the blood that rains down tells me that it is my fate to be killed via an intruder through the back door. It is simply common sense to double-check. 

I shut off the lights and head upstairs, intending to creep through the dark quietly. But halfway up the stairs, I am seized by a panic, by dramatic, vivid intrusive thoughts and images of a monster, stalking me because in my veins there is blood that spills, trickling down the staircase, leaking out of my mouth. 

This fate has replayed in my head hundreds of times. It is so vivid, so real, and I am so certain, so sure that this will happen unless, unless I switch on the lights and dash into my bedroom and slam the door to be sure that nothing follows. 

Jonas sits up in bed, bleary-eyed and disheveled, blinking against the sudden, harsh light. He squints at me. 

“Ezra, what the hell?” he asks. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror that hangs above our dresser. My short hair is askew, my eyes embellished with dark circles, my face haunted and haggard. 

Why am I alive? Why am I putting myself through this? The thoughts slip into my mind, unwelcome guests but true all the same. 

And from there it is easy to burst into tears. 

What happens next is unexpected, a prophecy that my frantic, all-knowing mind seemed to forget when it was telling the story of exactly what would happen, exactly what my fate would be. Because Jonas rushes to my side, wraps his arms around me and holds me to him. 

I am far taller than him, but it doesn’t matter, because I am here and I am warm. 

And as we stand there, swaying gently together, the voice inside my head is slowly melted by Jonas’s whispered reassurances. And together, we change the fate that I’ve always been so sure about. 

I am safe. 

The only thing that awaits me is my husband’s eternal love, we are both living and breathing and when we are together, there is no need to think or worry about the blood, blood-

But no, he stops the thought before it can take hold of me, continuing to tell me that everything is alright. There are obsessions, and compulsions, and a disorder, but it doesn’t define me and never will. This is no cure, but it’s a refuge in the storm that surrounds me. It’s an oasis of beauty where I thought there would be none. 

The only fate that awaits me? 

We’ll find a little meadow by a lake. Full of flowers. The mountains will be close by. We’ll find a little patch of land where the sun shines all day. 

“And when it rains?” I ask, my voice hoarse. Rain brings thoughts of blood, blood-

Jonas takes my face in my hands and kisses me before I can begin to panic. 

“I’ll make you tea. We can wrap each other up in blankets and sit out on the front porch, watching it fall,” 

And I realize in this moment - this is fate. A fate far different from the false notions of danger that the chemical imbalance in my brain creates. It was my fate for me to meet Jonas, for us to fall in love. This meadow by a lake is our fate, and it is beautiful. 

And for once, when I ponder my future, there is no unless, unless. 

Because this fate is all I’ve ever wanted. 

This fate is nothing I want to change.