Page 2 of Disorderly

Did that make me weak? Not being able to decide? It wasn’t like I’d been raped or beaten so why had this event impacted me so much? It’s not like this had been the worst trauma I experienced. While I’d shut down, not acknowledging, or speaking to anyone for days after my dad’s murder, it never stopped me from going into the small convenience store. As strange as it sounded, going there, and buying something made me feel closer to him. Yet even the thought of going outside this house where other people were made my hands clammy, and my chest hurt. Thinking about going back to the waterpark… yeah, I didn’t even go there.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I needed to be strong or at least act like it. “Yeah, I can make it.”

“And you won’t stay inside alone this weekend? Or avoid school on Tuesday and Wednesday?” He might have been serious with his questions, but the smile on his lips and the twinkle in his eyes took the sting out of them. Subconsciously that was possibly what I’d been planning. The only reason why I was still dressed in these clothes instead of being back in my pyjamas was that he was on video.

I pursed my lips and breathed out with a huff, drawing a chuckle from him. “Fine. I’ll go to school.”

“And this weekend?” he pushed.

“It’s the fair and rodeo…,” I hedged. Our little town bustled during the summer, almost tripling our normal population, but on this weekend, the last long weekend of the summer when we hosted a large fair and a rodeo showcase, every hotel room, bed and breakfast, and spare room within an hours’ drive was booked.

“That just means that you should be out with people you trust. It’s a no pressure situation. There’ll be tons of people around to both keep you safe and they’ll be focused on other things.”

I knew he was right. People would be too busy with everything that was going on around them to be bothered with me. And if some guys were looking for a little action… then there would be tons of willing females for them to hookup with. They wouldn’t need to corner me. Besides Deena and Sasha had left tons of messages on my phone, begging me to come to the fair with them today before the larger crowds arrived tomorrow. If I was going to try it, today would be the best day.

But just the thought of going with them and having them leave me again, alone, had my heart thumping. Like with Peter, it wasn’t their fault that they had to leave due to their migraines, but like with Peter, I both blamed and didn’t blame them. A feeling Shelly told me was completely normal since I was able to share those feelings openly and honestly with her unlike the same thoughts about Peter.

In fact, she basically told me what he was saying. She suggested I go out with the twins in a group setting where I was with other friends who didn’t bring up the same levels of distrust. With repeated outings, I’d regrow my trust in them.

“You know, Jarrod is at the house, finishing his unpacking, before going to set up and man his company’s booth to advertise their accounting services. You trust him, right?” I nodded into the camera. “And you’re comfortable around him?”

This time the pause was a little longer as I thought about it. Before what happened, my answer would have been immediate. I’d trusted him from the moment I first met him when he’d come for Thanksgiving with Peter during their first year at university. But now, I hesitated. I’d talked to Jarrod briefly as he moved his stuff into the house over the past two days, but it was from my doorstep. He’d come over to tell me that he’d be around all weekend if I needed anything since Jason and Peter were both out of town.

I hadn’t felt any fear as he’d approached me. At least not from his presence. The couple of moving guys who were offloading some furniture to the house a couple of doors down were the reason I didn’t leave the front step. And once his body blocked their view of me, I’d been fine, able to breathe easier.

I nodded again.

“Go to him, wearing what you’ve got on. He’ll tell you the same thing; that you’re wearing something completely appropriate. Then go help him with the booth and when you feel comfortable, maybe hang out with your friends for a bit.”

I heard some talking in the background that grew louder, drawing his gaze. Little creases appeared along his forehead, telling me I’d pulled him away from his work and crew long enough. “I know you need to go. Thanks for talking with me.”

“Any time, sweetheart. You know that if I could, I’d be by your side.” He turned to face off screen l, nodded and held up one finger before turning back to me. “Sorry, I really need to…”

“It’s okay.”

He gave me one long look that warmed me up on the inside and set off butterflies before the screen went dark.

I blew out my breath, straightened my shirt, and forced a smile on my face. For him I’d go even if I really didn’t want to.

Chapter Two

Jarrod

The last pileof neatly folded, colour organized, stack of t-shirts nestled in the labelled drawer in the massive walk-in closet. A sense of calmness washed over me. Every box was unpacked, and every item put away in their designated spot, giving me peace in the midst of the upheaval of my quick move. I dragged the tips of my fingers over the pants and dress shirts hung up neatly in colour coded sections as I walked back into the main bedroom. So long as I looked on my side of the closet—and even Jason’s since I reorganized his as well—I’d be fine. Peter’s, too for the day since I’d organized it to my satisfaction, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. Not with him scheduled to be home late tonight. At that point, I’d be lucky to keep his mess from spreading to my side.

It’s why we never shared a room long-term outside of first year university. He was an everything out type of person when it came to clothing, and after eight months of dorm life with him, I discovered that I needed everything to be put away in an orderly fashion. I’d always beenneat and tidy—a character trait my father didn’t think wasmanly—but living with disorganized clutter while under the pressures of first year had almost been my undoing. Until then, myneat and tidyways only extended to my things, like toys, stuffed animals, books, and my music collection. But I soon learnt that studying while dirty clothes covered the floor and the garbage overflowed didn’t happen. My heart raced, my palms sweat, and my skin felt like ants crawled all until it was all dealt with. It made exam times nearly unbearable unless I studied at the library or spent valuable review time cleaning the mess.

When we moved into the frat house for the rest of our undergrad, I’d been relieved to discover not only did I have a single room, but the house also employed a weekly cleaning service. It kept my brain from going off the rails, worrying about every little thing instead of the important stuff. And for those areas in the house that tended to always be a little messy, I tended to avoid them as much as possible and never went near them when something was due. Even when we shared the apartment and then my condo, we made sure that Peter had his own room. One I didn’t go into, allowing him to be his natural self in a contained area. But for the sake of our friendship? relationship? he’d learned to keep his mess contained in there while tidying the other areas. So while this wasn’t our first time living together, it would be our first time sharing a room for longer than a week or two since the beginning.

Some of our frat brothers had joked that I had OCD. Even my career choice leant itself to the need for order by deciding to specialize as a CPA—Certified Professional Accountant—after getting my MBA. Needing to know if their whispers were true, I looked my compulsive need for organization in some of the school library’s Psych textbooks. And as I suspected, I didn’t meet the criteria for OCD, but rather used my environment to help me handle the emotions within me. In other words, I needed everything around me to be organized and tidy because my emotional life was chaotic and uncontrollable.

Well, uncontrollable because I chose not to address it. That would have opened too many cans of worms, and I really didn’t want to unpack all that shit.

My phone buzzed with Jason’s ringtone, pulling me from the newly acquired calmness. The man was on his job site across the province today—as he had been all week—so a daytime call was out of the ordinary. I snatched it off the night table before collapsing on the giant king bed.

“What’s up?”

“Hey, can’t talk long, but can you take Katy with you today? Her mom’s at work and she’s struggling.”

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