I massaged my temples using both of my hands, squeezed my eyes tight and took a deep breath. I didn't dare stop my routine because I knew that if I'll drop it, I'm just going to found myself shouting, and I don't want that to happen. The neighbors might complain or my walls could get cracked—not that it's not already.
My landlady would kill me if she sees this mess. I'm seriously dead.
When Dr. Ramirez told me the dreadful news, I was so shock that I couldn't talk. She left me to think things on my own, apologizing one more time and telling me that it's going to be fine. "You can even call me if things get a little rough," she said and gave me her card like we're some kind of friends.
But if that was really the case, I would really like to call her now because this is beyond what I can handle. It's worse than babysitting a kid. He's not even a kid anymore!
We got to ride on a taxi to get to my apartment. I still didn't have a license so my dad never had to buy me a car. He wanted me to have one though, said it a lot of times when he got the chance, usually before I went off to school. But then I would point out that school and everything else in town were just a walk away. Besides, I don't want to owe him anymore than I already have. But he still didn't stop bringing it up.
At these times though, I honestly wished to have my own set of wheels.
A taxi held some kind of less public space than a bus would, but it was still a public vehicle. Being with my patient, whether clear on the mental I'm not so sure, bandaged and all in the head with some bruises that I haven't noticed since we went out of the building, we were already drawing attention like we wanted it. It was much worse when we got a ride and he just couldn't sit still, fascinated by the very simple and same infrastructures that bored me everyday.
The driver kept on giving us curious glances as he sat behind the wheel, mostly directed at him then turning to me with sympathy in his eyes. I had to pretend that I was looking out the window beside me everytime he did, counting trees along the way for distraction. The last thing I want is getting pity when I really want is to have my escape route.
But for some reason, being sympathized for a different reason, though also embarrassing, felt so new to me that it wasn't heavy as I thought it would be. It was starting to get a little lighter, like I could snort on the idea.
Though that quickly vanished as we went inside of my room, replaced by a really severe headache that couldn't be patched up with prescriptions. I felt like I was a mother of three children, when in fact it was only one psychopath thrashing my space, along with my head.
"Just..." I paused as I look at his hesitant form, "make yourself at home."
I entered before him right after I opened the door. I had to say that to him so that he would come in. I doubt he would if I wouldn't. He looked like he was a soldier stepping on enemy territory, with his guard way up and his eyes darting from top to bottom, left to right as he studied my room.
But before that, it was me who had an inner battle whether I should really take a step in keeping him in. I still don't know who he is. Even his name, which he failed to say this morning when he woke up, is unknown to me. Shouldn't I be taking a few more hours to decide if I really have to do this? Isn't this beyond the responsibility I had to take?
But there was no more point arguing with myself now. He's already making himself comfortable, just like what I told him. Though he may have gone too far with that.
He's currently covered under a mound of thick blankets, fluffy pillows and random clothes that he intentionally pulled out of my closet, one by one as if to know which is which from what. I just had to thank the gods that I put my underwear on a separate compartment.
My room, which didn't look like it anymore, had its first wave of clutter since the very first time that I stayed here, which was like the summer of my sophomore year. It's already been three years since then.
I was always a bit of a neat freak. I think I've gotten it from my dad who liked everything he can see to be in the most orderly and organized situation it can get. Just when you thought that he finished with the cleaning, he'd exceed your expectations with him drawing attention to even finer details that you would have missed.
But if he could look at this mess, he'd go over the top with the freaking. I am currently in that zone so I have no doubt he would be too—plus double the hysteria.
I would have let everything slide with just a quick glare, but it wasn't just my personal stuff in a disarray. If that was the case, I could easily fix it up when I got the chance to put him to sleep. (It's seriously sounding like I'm being a mother of one gigantic naughty baby.) But it wasn't just that. There at the bottom of my window pane, stretching just above my study table filled with books and binders, was a crack no one would ever miss.
"How on earth did you manage to do this?" I asked, half shouting and half not even caring anymore. With him around, it's starting to convince me that any kind of bad news or any gate of trouble is highly possible. 
"Sorry, was that illegal?" He scratched the back of his head and gave me that guilty smile. I'm losing it.
"You serious right now? 'Illegal?' Wow, I would never expect you to use such an appropriate word which, by the way, sounds way fancier than hospital and bread!" I ruffled my hair like I was going crazy. I think I am. "Do you even know what you've done? You've thrashed my room and added a damage I had to pay for, and that along with me paying your admission in the hospital and giving you a place to stay. Does that even sound right and fair to you right now?"
He gave me a moment of silence as I catch my breath. That wasn't even half of what I was supposed to say.
"Uh..." He caught his voice and stared back at me, directly and straight into my eyes. It didn't make sense and lined up with his response. "No...," he added, trailing the 'o' in a fading tone.
I sighed. "That's right. It's a no." Though you don't actually understand why, I added in my head. I didn't find the need to say it out loud. He wouldn't care anyways.
I sat on the floor, a little defeated and drained, and literally just did a staring contest with him. It's better than me stressing things out and with him adding up with the mess. I think we can do this all day.
But I wasn't supposed to have a free day all to myself. Not on this day.
I was in the middle of winning our battle when my ringtone rang, and the psycho's startled shout right along with it had me in my previous panicking state. I struggled in searching for my phone, throwing piles of laundry away in hopes that I would be able to find it buried underneath. I look up, still frantic about the sound that was also the one I chose for my morning alarm. It always got me to go right up my feet and doing stuff in a double pace. But it was never without me getting all clumsy.
Right there at the top of my study table was my phone, left off from where it was when I got up from work yesterday. I clearly forgot that I didn't had it with me. Must be the zombie vibe.
I didn't think twice and answered the call, not checking who it was and whether that certain person is on the list of 'not to be answered calls', personally made by me.
Thankfully though, it was just Boss.
"Are you alright Ree?" he asked, leaving out the greetings. I could sense the tightness in it, not exactly mad but hinted with worry. I figured it was best to leave the room to prevent him from hearing the background noise of someone throwing a fit.
As I was walking towards outside of the apartment, I let out a sigh of relief just by hearing his voice, and not of another man, which specifically was at the top marked by three asterisks.
"What's with the big sigh?" he asked out again.
I cleared my throat before answering him, trying to act like I was sick. I couldn't just tell him that I have to babysit a grown baby so I won't be coming to work. The fact that the baby is about my age and a guy, he might even call up on my dad and have situations down in the gutter.
I coughed for a second while closing the door behind me and took a deep breath. "Nothing, I just thought you were someone else. I wasn't really expecting someone to call." I coughed again.
"Well you should be. You're late for work. Assuming that you never liked to be later than five minutes, I took out the time to call you up and know what's going on. We're already low on staffs you know, so I just want to see if you could still make it." He paused for a minute and I faked another cough just so he could hear. "That sounds serious Ree. I guess you won't be here then."
Cough. "Yeah Boss, sorry. I woke up late with a fever and I forgot to text you earlier," I lied. Painful but inevitable. "Can you please update me on the witch news tommorrow?" I was talking about Fiona. With me absent, I'm sure she'll have a lot to say and perhaps celebrate.
Boss didn't chuckle as I thought he would, but it felt like I could see him smiling while glancing at the girl in question. "Okay, but take your medicine and some water," he finally said, and then hung up.
While I was still gripping my phone, I also checked my messages and found two from Zebby. She was asking me to go out for some pizza after work. "Thought we could use a little breather out of this ghost of an ice cream shop," she joked at the end, adding two laughing emojis.
I never thought she could be so close feeling at times. Clearly something is wrong. Usually, she wouldn't even text me if it isn't about work or learning about the guitar. I knew a thing or two about it, though I wasn't really an expert. But it was still better than not knowing anything or asking a complete stranger, so she chimed in once in awhile.
I texted her back and said I couldn't make it or even come for work. I really wanted to make it up for what I did yesterday. I felt even more guilty that I just went on my way and probably left her no choice but to drink the night alone. But I couldn't possibly leave anything unless psycho has been settled in nicely and less crazy that he currently is.
Below Zebby's name was a message from a person labeled as three consecutive asterisks. No term used. Just that symbol repeated thrice and warning.
I didn't bother opening it up. I, instead, chose to leave it in my inbox and then shut the screen of my phone with a nonreactive expression.
Nope. He's not gonna get any, even if it is just a text message.
When I got it inside, psycho was in his looting game again. But this time, I have no idea how to react because those things are basically items ranging from junk to valuable in no particular arrangement. They were all just fitted inside a medium sized box, stuffed into like how you would force trash to get all cooped up inside a bag.
He didn't take his time to be careful and just threw everything away; a small teddy bear keychain, scratch papers that I used back in freshmen for algebra, sketchpad for stupid doodles, random bag of polished stones and anything else he could grab.
"Be careful with those!" I shouted. "You might break something again."
As if right on cue, a small springed notebook, just a little bigger than my hand, worn and crumpled on the edges fell on the ground, just a few steps right in front of me. It wasn't anything fragile or breakable, but it made me want to bolt just to catch it.
But even if my hands wanted to, I didn't. I just stood there and stared.
He was still rummaging over the almost empty box of my past, while I knelt down and picked the notebook with my right hand, trembling. My eyes were disturbingly glued on its once bright pink cover, now dirty and less glowing. I felt a sudden prick of pain in my insides and the boiling of tears at the corners of my eyes.
I flipped over the first page and read the title: A GUIDEBOOK THROUGH NAMES. It was written using the same shade of pink the cover had. A highlighter that back then looked so pretty, but now only hurt my eyes.
I didn't want to read any further, but my gaze shifted at the guy still busy with his personal business. He might look like this, all bonkers and weird, but I'm sure he had a name—a proper one. Calling him psycho started taking a toll out of me, as my rudeness always had, choosing to backfire when I have already showed I was mean.
But he could be anyone; a Dave, a Carl or a Steven. I don't think some random word would do. It isn't supposed to be a big deal, but a really common name that obviously didn't suit him doesn't sit well with me.
I began opening the pages again, flipping through every word and description. Just when I thought I finally found something decent, I heard a loud growl that made me look up.
Psy— He(I keep forgetting to stop the rudeness), stopped moving. He was clutching his stomach, as what I can conclude with the way his elbows bended and hands pressed in front of him. He wasn't facing me so I wasn't quite so sure, but his face might have been red. The tip of his ears were and I think I saw a little steam.
I stiffled a laugh. It ended out to be a snort, but being a proper lady was the least of my concerns.
I stood up and grabbed my bag, which I dropped earlier by the door, and stuff in the pink notebook. "Come on," I called out to him. "Lunch sounds pretty good right now."