Page 64 of Red Zone
“When I was younger, it started with these episodes where I couldn’t move. Like my body just literally shut off. It started with just my right arm, then both my arm and leg. Eventually, it affected all four limbs at once. I used a wheelchair off and on for a while since the episodes would last anywhere from half an hour to a couple of days. They thought it was a type of seizure at first, but it was…more complicated. The seizures actually came later, but they’re pretty controlled now. The six months without my license as a senior in high school were brutal, but we made do. It all stemmed from something called a stress conversion disorder. Basically, my body stores up all the stress it feels and experiences, then when the dam breaks, it shuts down.”
I don’t say anything—just let her keep going.
“Now, it’s mostly my OCD. Routines help. Lists, order, patterns. It’s the only way I feel in control.”
I nod slowly. “That’s why you always have your tablet and all the different notebooks for different things, the color-coded sticky notes too.”
Her eyes are bright with surprise. “You stalking me?”
I smirk, “No, just observant, Princess. But you are fun to watch, especially when you’re walking away.” I wiggle my brows at her, earning a small splash of bath water.
And we sit there, fingers brushing, the water still warm, the air still quiet.
I don’t know what it is about her, but I feel like I could watch paint dry with her next to me and still feel excited.
“All right, time to get out before you turn into a prune.” I grab the towel off the hanger, holding it open for her, and she carefully gets out of the tub, looking more and more tired by the second.
Her cheeks are still flushed, but her eyes are telling how tired she really is.
“I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but you need to leave if you want me to go to bed.”
I meet her gaze, wondering what flipped the sudden switch. “Why?”
Without saying anything, she starts nibbling on her bottom lip, one of her nervous tells. I carefully free it using my thumb and leave my hand resting on the side of her face. Her shoulders start tensing and releasing, seemingly on their own accord.
“Come on, Princess. Tell me.”
She huffs out a breath, “I have a…routine that I have to do before I can get in bed, or I can’t fall asleep.”
“Like a skincare routine?” I ask as I plop myself down on her bed, making myself right at home.
That earns me a laugh. “Well, that too, but I also have to do things in a certain order. It’s weird and would honestly freak people out if they saw it all.”
Ah, I get it now. She has a compulsion routine and thinks I’ll judge her for it.
“Hey now, I am a college athlete. A really damn good one, if I do say so myself.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I think they might get stuck up there. “I know all about routines and superstitions. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
She gives me a look—half amused, half like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious.
“You’re not going to think I’m crazy?” she asks, her voice quieter now. More cautious.
I cock a brow. “I just had my mouth on your pussy thirty minutes ago. I think we’re past the point of judgment.”
That earns me a real laugh, and fuck, I like the sound of it.
“Okay, fine. But you asked for it.”
She gets up and tugs an oversized T-shirt down over those legs that have been driving me insane all night. I try to play it cool, stay relaxed on my elbows, but my eyes don’t miss a thing.
She moves around the room with purpose. Not rushed, not frantic—but calculated. Specific.
First, she walks to the light switch and flips it off, then back on. Once. Twice. Then she leaves it off and whispers, “Off means rest.”
I keep my mouth shut and just watch.
Next, she crosses to her dresser and checks each drawer, tapping her fingers along the handles in a rhythm. Tap, tap, pause. Tap, tap, pause. Every time, she murmurs something under her breath too quiet for me to hear, but I don’t need to. I know a ritual when I see one. I’ve known kids who had them to feel safe. I’ve had them, when bouncing between foster homes felt like the only thing I could control was the order I laced my cleats.
