7:03 a.m. — Alarm went off.
I opened my eyes. Not startled. Never startled.
My body rose, obeying my clock with religious loyalty.
Left foot touches the ground. Always the left.
Left is defensive in chess. Bishop to C4.
Safe.
Yet—watch—
Oh snap, I zoned out again.
7:10 a.m. — Bathroom.
Two pumps of face cleanser.
One swipe of towel. Down.
The toothbrush touches the corners for exactly seven seconds.
Left, right, back again.
Three sets. Thirty seconds in total.
The tap squeaks once.
Then again.
A drop falls half a second after I shut it off.
That's not right.
Faulty plumbing.
I knew this apartment was never the right choice.
7:30 a.m. — I stare into the mirror.
The tie knot is crooked.
I fix it.
But it's not good.
I fix it again.
It's getting on my nerves.
Fix it or lose everything.
Fix it or lose everything.
I threw the tie off.
Took it again.
Ironed it.
Tied it back.
Perfect, this time.
I stared into the mirror again.
My face looks neutral today. That's good.
If it looks tired, people will consider me weak.
Disgusting.
If I look cold, they might think I'm rude.
Not that it bothers me to look rude.
There is a line between acceptance and intrusive.
I balance on it quite perfectly.
Today at 10 a.m. — interview.
Stage One: Self-introduction and technical questions.
Stage Two: Case scenario simulation.
Stage Three: HR / soft skills.
Stage Four: Real-life scenario-based questions, test, and behavioral analysis.
It wasn't hard to get this job,
Given my brilliant scores in everything I tried.
My OCD isn't dangerous to anyone—
If I just have control of what I do, all the time.
I already memorized the interviewer's profile.
He likes cricket and overpriced whiskey.
He plays poker with the HR manager on weekends.
I've calculated the probability of him being biased toward extroverted applicants at 64%.
I will mirror his language—
But only subtly.
Not enough to seem manipulative.
Never enough to seem like Father.
I straighten my posture by aligning my heels to the pattern on the floor.
Diagonal.
Chessboard.
Always chessboard.
My apartment is arranged like one, too.
Each room, a square.
Each object, a piece.
Each person—
Disposable.
No—
Not disposable.
Strategic.
Correction.
Breakfast is two boiled eggs, one slice of toast, and black coffee.
No sugar.
Sugar dulls the nerve.
At 8:03, I am ready.
At 8:05, I leave.
Because odds make me feel real.
Even numbers are lies.
Outside, the city stirred.
So did something inside me.
But I ignored it.
Classic me behavior.
Should I choke myself?
Should I?
Should I?
I shook my head and slapped myself.
Focus!
I got up.
Shit. Two minutes late.
It's 8:07 a.m.
I am going to die!
Die!
Die!
No, I won't...
No—
I will.
I walked out of the apartment.
Left foot out first.
I go for left.
Always.
As I stepped out, the neighbor's sound blasted my eardrums.
Do they ever shut up?
Bad choice of mine.
Mistake!
Mistake!
Mistake!
I shouldn't have chosen this apartment.
Mistake!
Mistake!
"Shut it!" I shouted.
The neighbor's quarrel subsided.
A man emerged from that apartment.
"Oh? Were we a disturbance?" the man asked.
"Ye—" I started to reply, but he cut me off.
Rude.
"You know what? I don't care."
This jerk...