Nevertheless, he had to do it and try not to look like a crazy man while doing so. The seat belt. The seat. The brakes. The engine. The lights. Everything had to be right. He couldn’t take any chances, not with her. Not with their child. He finished the check but something wasn’t right. Had he checked the brake fluid thoroughly? Had the seat belt been loose?
Anxiety gathered in a small hard knot in his gut. This was Marisa. She was special. If anything happened to her…
He began the check again, making sure to pay attention this time. Do it properly. Another one wouldn’t hurt; that way he could catch any mistakes.
“Luke? What are you doing?”
“Mechanical issues.” He rounded the car again, peering into the engine. Making sure everything was okay. The last service had been thorough, but then again, you couldn’t tell. Perhaps the mechanic had missed something. Sometimes you needed to get inside the engine to see what was going on.
“But…you did that already.”
“I know. I don’t want to take any chances.” He put the hood down and came back to the passenger’s side. Checked the seat belt and the seat.
It all should be fine and yet… He wasn’t fine. The anxiousness was building. What about the airbags? Would they deploy? What if there was something wrong with them? And he had really needed to test the brakes. He’d probably missed something with the engine, too. A once-over visual examination wasn’t going to be enough.
God, what if something happened? If something happened to her because he hadn’t been thorough enough he’d never forgive himself.
He went back around to the driver’s side, starting the ritual again. Properly this time.
“Luke?” Her voice close to him.
“What?” He didn’t turn to look at her because he couldn’t be distracted and miss something vital.
“You’ve done that already. Twice.”
“Yes, I know. But it doesn’t feel right. This has to be perfect.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t feel right?”
The anxiety in his gut twisted even tighter. “It’s nothing. Just…let me do this. Once I’ve finished we can go.”
A pause. “How long till you’ve finished, then?”
“I won’t be long.”
What are you doing? It’ll never feel right, you know this.
His skin was tight, the worry burning inside him like an ember that would never go out. No, it would be right. As soon as he’d done another check they’d go. Of course they would.
Marisa shifted as he got out and he could sense her gaze following him as he went back around to the front of the car and lifted the hood for the third time.
“Luke,” she said softly, and he could hear something pleading in her voice. “Something’s wrong, isn’t there?”
Yes. You’re the one who’s wrong. You’re the one who doesn’t feel right. You’re the one messing it up. Nothing will ever be perfect because you’re the one with the problem.
He clenched his jaw tightly, tension crawling around his neck and shoulders, doubts surfacing, the ones he thought he’d buried after that date with Heather. The same doubts that had assailed him then. He’d wanted that night to be special, too.
Too late. She thought you were crazy. And so will Marisa.
Marisa’s gaze was on him now, watching him. Staring at him as he checked the oil levels again, shame joining the anxiety. Shame and embarrassment.
“Don’t be stupid, Luke. You know you don’t need to do it. Why can’t you stop it?” His mother’s voice, shrill with annoyance. Then his father, trying for patience and failing. “Come on, boy. Listen to your mother. Stop messing about. Doing that all the time isn’t normal.”
He’d tried to stop. Tried to hide it. But bad things happened when he had.
The dipstick swam in his vision. Were the oil levels okay? Or was there a hole somewhere where he couldn’t see and it was all leaking out?
This isn’t normal. You’re not normal.
“Luke, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
He was descending into a spiral, the obsessional thoughts nagging away. The back of his neck felt hot. He was going to have to be here for hours, he knew it.
She couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t want her to know. Not ever.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he said in a flat voice. Because it was all so clear to him now. He’d been a fool to imagine that things could be different with her. To think he could have someone in his life. To believe in dreams.
He thought he was in charge of his condition, that he could hide it, that he was the one in control.
But he wasn’t. Following schedules and having rules didn’t matter. The OCD would always be there. He wouldn’t be cured.