Chapter 11

Ash

U sed to waking up in my small bed and to the sound of my mom's dream catchers dangling in the wind, I was confused the first few seconds after opening my eyes to the view of West Hollywood.

That's right, this is Soren's house.

Yesterday, after eating and watching a movie together, Soren asked me if I'd like to spend the night. His offer immediately made me nervous because what if it were his way of suggesting we have sex? As it turned out, I jumped to a conclusion way too fast because other than cuddling me, Soren didn't do anything. Each time he snuggled closer to my body, I hoped he'd make a move, and each time he didn't, I was disappointed. I wanted Soren to fuck me, I was sure of it, but I was too scared to ask for it directly.

Good boy.

Soren had said those two words last night, and since then, they hadn't left my mind. Whenever I replayed that moment in my head, the same shiver ran down my spine, and my skin heated up. I often picked porn movies where the top was the one in charge in the bedroom. I loved scenes where the bottom, who I always pictured myself as, was there for the purpose of pleasuring his partner. Soren definitely seemed to be the controlling type. Right ? He had these undeniable dominant and caregiver vibes that made me hot all over whenever he was close.

I flipped to my stomach, then buried my face in the pillows. They smelled like Soren, and I inhaled deeply while wrapping myself with the comforter, enjoying how warm and cozy it was underneath the sheets.

Hold on a second.

I picked my head up and looked around, only now realizing Soren was missing. We went to sleep together, but now he was gone. The warmth I felt was replaced with discomfort. Did I outstay my welcome and it was his way of showing me that?

And while I wanted to get up and look for him, it also felt awkward. Just like the rest of his house, Soren's room looked like a museum, with each piece of furniture carefully selected and put in place. So much so that I was scared of ruining the order by mistake.

On the side of the bed was a large glass closet that displayed his folded clothes, all organized by color. Although, I could only spot black, white, and gray there. Behind it was another bathroom, not the one we used yesterday. Yet, the most noticeable part of his room was the wall facing the bed.

Dozens of photos, all framed with a white background and black frame, hung on the wall in what looked like a precise pattern. There was something almost compulsive in the way those monochrome images were hung, perfectly aligned with each other.

Rising up so only my lower body was covered with the comforter, I began examining some of those images when someone cleared their throat, and I looked aside to find Soren leaning against the doorway. He was shirtless, with one hand shoved in his joggers while the other held a glass mug. And if he wasn't sexy enough already, he also wore a pair of black-framed glasses I'd never seen him with before.

"I didn't know you needed glasses."

"I've got a low prescription, so I only put them on sometimes." Taking the glasses off, he checked them out before wearing them again. He then glanced at me. "How's your wrist?" he asked, and I then remembered I'd injured it.

Raising my arm up, I waved it with a slight smile on my face. "It's okay." My eyes went back to his wall. "How many pictures are there?" I tried to count them all but kept messing up the numbers.

"Two hundred and twenty."

My eyes snapped to him. "What?"

Pushing from the doorway, he walked further into the room and stopped beside me.

"I had to extend the wall so this exact number would fit," he said while fixing his glasses to sit better on his nose.

"To extend the wall?"

"Yeah. Nothing some renovation couldn't do."

My lips curved up, and I shook my head, unable to hold back from laughing.

"You think I'm joking?" He raised one eyebrow at me while slowly sipping from his coffee.

"Wait, you aren't?"

He snorted and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm afraid not. In fact, I can't fall asleep until I count them all," he said casually, a small smile on his lips.

"That's…"

"Crazy?" he offered, and I almost jumped from my place while shaking my head.

"No! Not at all," I mumbled, searching for the right words. Oh my God , did I just call him crazy?

And while I panicked, Soren didn't seem offended as he laughed.

"Relax, Ashton, I was just messing with you." He pinched my cheek, and then his expression turned serious. "Do you know what OCD is?" After shaking my head, he went on. "It stands for obsessive-compulsive disorder."

A disorder?

"Is it something you have?"

"Yes."

Worry filled my gut. "Is it serious? A-Are you going to survive?"

Soren's eyebrow perked up, and a second later, he burst out laughing. And while I didn't understand what he found so funny about him being sick, he took his sweet time to calm down. Taking off his glasses and putting them aside, he wiped the corner of his eye.

"It's nothing like that," he said, taking my hand in his. "It's a mental disorder, one that involves intrusive thoughts that lead to repetitive behaviors, such as excessive cleaning, rearranging objects, or counting the two hundred and twenty photos I have on my wall to help me fall asleep."

Still trying to understand what he was saying, I scratched my jaw. "W-Why?"

"That's exactly the point. A person without OCD wouldn't understand the reason behind it because, to them, there are none, but for me, it just puts things in order. Gives me control. It helps me to ease my mind."

That sounded almost mystical. "So, it's like some sort of a ritual?"

Soren chuckled. "I guess you could say that."

"But wait." I paused and perked up. "My mom also always cleans the house and likes to have things in order. So what's the difference?"

Soren pulled his shoulders. "We all have intrusive thoughts, but it's a question of quantity, what we do with them, and how much those compulsions interfere with functioning. If they do , that's when you know you have a problem. Besides, assuming every person who has OCD is obsessed with cleaning is a stereotype." His voice was calm and even.

"Oh… I'm sorry for assuming that, then." I swallowed hard. "And does it? I mean, your thoughts, do they interfere with your life?"

Taking another sip from his coffee, he nodded. "They do. But that's what medication and therapy are for."

Therapy? Like a shrink? As a kid, after my dad died, Mom tried to make me go and see one. Thinking about those times brought back bad memories. I remembered how different sitting in his room made me feel, how each of his questions felt off and wrong. I hated it so much and fought Mom about going there. I finally stopped seeing him after Aiden suggested he teach me how to surf. I didn't understand how it was a replacement at the time, but now I did. Surfing was my way of coping with my feelings and problems. The ocean holds no grudge.

"I don't like therapy," I said after keeping quiet.

"That's because you haven't met the right therapist yet." Taking my hand, he tangled our fingers together. "Finding one that fits is just like finding a partner."

My face heated up until I could feel the blush in my ears. Not wanting him to notice, I focused my eyes on his coffee. The mug was almost empty, with just a bit of liquid left at the bottom.

"There's a misconception regarding mental health and therapy, and in most cases, people tend to have prejudice about the subject. I'm not crazy, as some would like to think, and I'm not weak for meeting up with a therapist twice a week."

The last impression I'd ever have about Soren would be that he was either of those things. He wasn't crazy and most definitely not weak. He was intelligent, bright, confident, and strong. To believe anyone would ever think otherwise was absurd.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked, meeting his beautiful eyes.

"Before? This is our fifth date." He laughed. "Would you rather my first words to you were ‘I have OCD'?"

Shrugging, I huffed. "Well… when you put it like that, probably not."

"I'm not ashamed of who I am, Ashton. Having said that, I don't see my disorder as something that defines me as a person, and therefore, I don't feel the need to tell every single person I meet about it. I shared it with you because if we're going to take this further, it's only fair."

To take this further. My heart missed a beat, and I fisted the sheets in my hand.

"D-Does that mean you want to be in a relationship with me?" The mere idea that Soren would want me was insane. It became even more surreal when he tilted my head back and took my breath away in a heated kiss. He tasted like coffee, and hungry, I darted my tongue over his soft lips.

"I thought I made that part clear already," he whispered after breaking the kiss, and I frowned at his words.

"But we haven't even slept together yet."

Cupping my jaw, he softly caressed my cheek.

I loved it when he did that.

"We'll get there, too. Don't worry." He smiled. "I just like taking my time with you."

Closing my eyes, I leaned into the touch of his palm and nodded, allowing the comfort he offered to brush away my shame because while he was being honest with me, I wasn't. Instead of telling him, right there and then, about my age and my being in high school, I kept my mouth shut and allowed him to be fooled.

Was lying that bad? I mean, if it would get me a few more days, or hours , with Soren, it would be worth it. After all, how could something that felt so good be bad?

"What are your plans for the day?" he asked, pulling me back.

"I don't have any."

"Good."