Disasterology 101 by Taylor V. Donovan Page A

twenty-six and had only recently started to really interact with other people.
     
    He hated feeling exposed.
     
    He hated being prevented from performing the rituals that reduced his anxiety a little.
     
    He hated that he’d done relatively well when they went to the theater a week ago, but that today, he was going out of his mind.
     
    He hated Dr. Black’s often radical treatments, and he especially hated his horrendous taste in restaurants. He understood the need to avoid exclusive places but seriously, the Olive Garden in Times Square was pushing it.
     
    If Cedric hadn’t noticed he’d gained some control over his compulsions since they started taking these road trips three months ago, he would’ve told the good doctor to go boink himself.
     
    But he wasn’t stupid.
     
    He was desperate for some relief from his condition, and being treated by Dr. Black gave him hope that someday he’d be able to achieve some level of normalcy. He wasn’t about to turn his back on progress…no matter how badly he wanted to chop off his own hands because he couldn’t wash them for almost two hours. At least his clothes protected the rest of his body, as he refused to not wear his customary three layers of shirts during their outings.
     
    Cedric put a small piece of bread in his mouth and listened absently to Dr. Black’s conversation with Clare, the one lady in their group with dissociative identity disorder. She’d been Trina, the five-hundred-dollars-an-hour escort while they waited for their table, but going by her comments about the upcoming elections, at some point she’d turned into Marla, the self-righteous Republican campaign manager.
     
    Cedric found her multiple personalities fascinating most of the time, mainly because they made him feel a little better about himself. As much as his condition limited his existence and activities, listening to her talk put things into perspective. Cedric was scared of germs and had a close relationship with the number three, but his mental issues were nothing more than a nuisance compared to Clare’s.
     
    Today though, he was having a hard time concentrating on whatever she was saying. He was too busy trying to come up with ways to keep Kevin Morrison from seeing how much of a freak Cedric really was. If he didn’t, it was very likely Kevin would run in the opposite direction, and Cedric didn’t want that. Not even after finding out the man was divorced and had kids, something that would make going out with Kevin even more complicated.
     
    “Are you okay?”
     
    Cedric realigned his cup of water and his spoon and glanced at Evan Campbell, the 9/11 survivor, an agoraphobic chap he’d become sort of friends with after meeting him at Dr. Black’s office.
     
    “Peachy.”
     
    “You’re twitching.”
     
    Cedric slid his hands along his thighs and glared at Evan. “I certainly am not.”
     
    “That gesture confirmed it.”
     
    “I’m not twitchy.”
     
    “Uh-huh… Is Manhattan getting to you?”
     
    Evan lowered his voice enough to keep their conversation private but not so much that he had to lean toward Cedric in order to be heard. That was Evan Campbell: always conscientious about other people’s boundaries. It was one of the main reasons Cedric liked the chap so much.
     
    “I’m used to Manhattan.” Cedric clenched his jaw and glanced around the restaurant. “I’ve been coming here since I was a child, and it isn’t like I moved here yesterday.”
     
    He needed to believe that. He needed to feel that Manhattan wasn’t as foreign to him as every other place he’d ever visited or lived in, including his home in London. He needed to feel he knew his way around. This was the city where he’d chosen to start anew, and he needed to feel like he belonged.
     
    “I don’t really think the vacation trips you used to take with your family count.” Evan put a forkful of salad in his mouth and chewed slowly. “Your mom always kept you inside your