Ginger Fox Part 2

“I still think hiring someone was unnecessary.” Lorane’s nervous voice speaks quickly, catching my attention. I turn my face and see her two balconies away from mine, with the room light on and the doors open.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on my decision.” The icy, impersonal voice replies curtly, cutting her off immediately.

“You never ask for anything, you just order.” For a married couple, they seem as passionate as a cow for the butcher.

“Exactly! And now I order you to leave my room!”

I hear the unrefined curses coming from the elegant woman I met this morning, followed by the loud sound of a door being slammed in anger. I flinch at the sound, my eyes widening in fear. Before I can retreat or look away from the balcony, there he is again, standing silently, one hand in his pants pocket and the other holding a glass of whiskey, staring at me from his balcony. For the second time that day, I’m caught snooping. The hand with the drink lifts in a greeting. I look down at the floor and hurry back to my room.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Ginger” I scold myself for not being able to control my curious eyes around this man.

A week passes faster than one might imagine, especially when every day brings something new. Jon doesn't talk a lot, but he's not completely silent like in the first days. Some mornings, I manage to get a "good morning" out of him. Sometimes there are things about him that scare me, like on the third night when I woke up in the middle of the night with a strange feeling and found Jon standing next to the bed, staring at me. I nearly had a heart attack from the fear. But when I turned on the light and saw his state, it was my heart that broke with pain. I took him back to his bed, laying him down there. That night, it wasn't just Jon's nightmarish visions that caught my attention, but the fine cuts on his arm, made only to cause him pain, which was still alarming. I tried talking to Lorane about the self-inflicted injuries Jon had, but she silenced me, saying he was already seeing a psychologist and she didn’t want me to continue with the subject. But for a boy who was under medical care, Jon didn’t seem to be making any progress.

On the fourth day, trying to get him to talk while I was putting away his clothes, which Lira, one of the maids, had brought, I saw him almost having a nervous breakdown because I put his black shirts with the colored ones. In silence, Jon separated them all, organized them one by one, and divided them by color and size. I left a white pair of underwear in the drawer where only black underwear was kept, curious to see if his reaction would be the same. And yes, Jon snapped his fingers in agitation, looked at me and the drawer. Unable to hold back, he got up from the bed, went over, and put the white underwear with the others of the same color. In the library, where he liked to spend his afternoons, I tested some theories with him by leaving some books out of order. Jon became nervous, organized them one by one again; and the crooked pencil on the desk was adjusted almost millimetrically to align with the others.

Later, on the fifth night, alone after dinner and putting him to bed, I called a college friend whom I had met in a psychoanalysis class auditorium. I described his strange behavior, and she confirmed what I suspected. Jon is very likely to have OCD. Even at such a young age, the disorder is already worsening, which will only make his state worse in adulthood if not treated. I remembered a lecture I managed to attend on a day Tom had to work late, where the professor talked about psychological disorders, which put Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder in the spotlight. Just as it could be hereditary, OCD could also stem from some trauma or childhood abuse. And once again, there I was, talking to Lorane, and once again, she silenced me. On the fifth night, I didn’t wake up to Jon standing beside my bed, but to his screams at three in the morning, which made me run to his room and find him almost naked, just in his underwear, with his trembling body lying on the carpet in the middle of the room. He was screaming and crying, hugging his own body. I ran to Jon, dropped to my knees in front of him. He curled up more, screamed when my fingers touched his shoulder, as if my touch hurt him. I pulled my fingers back in shock, seeing him so fragile with his painful cries, and nothing in the world could be as broken as the boy’s cries. Amidst his thrashing and altered screams, I pulled him to me, wrapping him in my arms, holding his body tightly against mine.

I’ve always had a clear idea that nothing is more solid and important for a human being than the comfort of another, the embrace, the empathy, and the security that brings peace to the soul. I whispered tender words in his ear, told him he would be okay, that it was just a nightmare. Slowly, he calmed down, falling asleep in my arms amidst his sobs. My eyes wandered over his body, seeing the outline of his spine protruding from his thin back. I stroked his blue hair, kissed the top of his head, hugged him tighter, and listened to his breathing slow as he slept. Jon’s shorts were fallen in the corner; I knew he had gone to bed in them, as I had put him to bed myself and turned off the light. Jon wasn’t just in his underwear when he went to sleep. I carefully laid him down on the carpet, crawled over to the bed, and pulled his pillow and blanket. After making Jon comfortable, I covered him up and went back to my room just to get my pillow, but froze at the sound of the door to Jon’s room slamming. I hurried back to the door connecting our rooms, entered Jon’s room, faced the door I had heard slam, turned the handle slowly, and with a click, the door I had locked before going to bed was open, and the sound I heard wasn’t just in my head. My heart raced as I looked into the dark hallway. I wasn’t crazy; I was absolutely sure I had locked that door, just as I knew there was someone else hiding in that room, probably in the bathroom, and had used the brief time I went to my room to escape. I locked the door again, feeling my fingers tremble and my heart race.