Addendum to previous disclaimers: I don’t really know anything about Turrette’s syndrome and I imagine that people with the syndrome are nothing like what I portray here. I’m sorry if I’ve offended anyone. Also no infringement intended by using names of TV personalities and characters. Trust me, no profit will be gained. For original disclaimers see part one.

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On with the story….


Something I Said

Part 2 A


I stared at her in utter disbelief, releasing her arms from my grip. I stepped back, watching the smile fade from her lips. Her pink, sensuous lips.


I couldn’t believe this. The first time in forever that someone took an interest in me and it was because of an affliction I had no control over. That hurt more than I cared to admit.

"What what?" she asked, apparently confused by my sudden change in demeanor.

I shook my head and hurried from the room, tearing off the ridiculous maid’s apron as I went. I had to get away from her before the Turrette’s overrode the silence my hurt was causing.

"Was it something I said?" I heard her calling after me.

Believe me, the irony of that statement was not lost on me. In fact I found it funny, in a dirty whore fucking sort of way.

The walk home was such a nightmare that I vowed I wouldn’t leave my crummy slime licking apartment for at least three weeks. I didn’t even care if I starved in the mean time. The sting of profanities that had come from my mouth in the aftermath of that awful situation was beginning to offend even me and I’d finally had to put both hands over my mouth in an effort to hold it in. It worked, sort of, but people were looking at me like I’d just stepped out of an alien carnival show.

In a way, I figured, I was right about the carnival. I felt as if I belonged in freak show or a loony bin, whichever I could be directed to first. I was a freak, plain and simple. Those social workers that had been hounding me for two years were right. I should just accept the disability check that the state wanted to give me each month and stop trying to convince myself that I could fit into normal society. There was no place for someone like me out in the world. What if I gave some poor unsuspecting old lady a heart attack or something? I’d never be able to live with that.

I sat on my dilapidated couch and held my head in my hands, unable to stop the tears of sadness and self-pity that were staining my cheeks.

I finally left the apartment four days later. I had run out of food two days before, and when the cockroaches started looking good I knew I had to draw the line somewhere. I scraped up the last bit of change I had and decided I’d walk the six blocks to the nearest Kentucky Fried Chicken- cole slaw and gravy was sounding extremely good.

Having sated myself I meandered home, perusing my situation along the way. I always seemed to think better when I was outside, especially on a beautiful fall day such as this. I was admiring the hues of yellows, reds and oranges adorning the trees and thought about the change in season coming. It was time to change my situation as well. I had to make up my mind whether it was time to settle for that disability check the state wanted to provide for me or get a job that I couldn’t screw up in a matter of minutes.

I’d always considered myself a smart person even if I did have a disease that was at times laughable, even if only to others. It seemed that my intelligence was failing me at this point in time because I’d been through more than my share of jobs for a life time and I still hadn’t found one that I could keep.

Knowing that people skills were not my forte, over the last several months I’d tried to avoid those types of jobs. But it seemed that even jobs with relatively little contact with humanity could get me into hot water.

As I neared my apartment I slowed down wanting to enjoy the last few minutes of the walk home. I didn’t feel like being there but didn’t really feel like going anywhere else just yet. I sighed, my thoughts returning to the other side of the coin.

If I didn’t get a job I’d have to accept the money that the state and social workers had been encouraging me to take for the last two years. But what if I did that? Would I just sit at home and rot my leprosy rat shit brains out? I knew I’d be crazy after two weeks of sitting around my roach infested apartment. I needed stimulation, to know I existed outside my own mind, to-

‘Dirty anus-hole hair!’ my mind screamed out.

Dammit! I had just started feeling like I was on to something. Now my train of thought was derailed.

I hate it when that happens.

I sighed and plodded up the stairs and into the corridor that led to my apartment. That was it. I’d just have to go on Jerry Springer and plead my cause to the masses- well, only if they didn’t make me strip or do weird things with midgets.

I dug into my battered sweat jacket for my keys just getting them into the lock on my door when a warm hand covered my own.


I jumped back and clutched my chest, now sure how the old man from Sanford and Son felt when he did the same thing and said he was having the big one.

What- or who- I saw when I finally could think again did nothing to ease the stroke I was sure I’d just had. It was the blonde from the hotel. The beautiful, stalker blonde from the hotel.

"Dick-shaft gimp!"

Not only was I terrified that she meant to do me bodily harm after I ran away from her that day, I was thoroughly embarrassed that she now knew what a dump I lived in.

"Hi," she finally said.

"What do you want?"

Did I mention how charming I can be?

"I suppose I deserve that."

Or what a silky voice she has?

I stared at my shoes, vigorously twirling a strand of hair around my index finger until it hurt. "You never answered me." I stopped talking and looked at her, trying to figure out how I could keep her from noticing that my finger was now stuck in my hair.

"I- I just wanted to be sure you were okay."

"How do you know where I live?" I shot back, kneading the muscles at the back of my neck nonchalantly, still trying to pretend nothing was wrong. I was convinced now that I’d have to cut my hair to free my hand.

Her cheeks turned the cutest shade of red and I had to remind myself that I was dealing with a dangerous stalker. It was harder to keep that in my head when she started shifting her weight nervously back and forth on her feet. It was strangely endearing.

"I followed you when you left the hotel the other day." Now she was looking at her feet. At least she wasn’t watching me trying to untangle my finger.

"Oh. So now you’re trying to sweet talk me in to letting you in so you can- sticky booger fart- bludgeon me to death?"

My ire over the whole situation was causing me to talk with my hands and I’d already had to clench my teeth several times when I’d yanked on my hair.

"Are you alright?" she asked, now looking pointedly at the hand that was caught.

"I’m fine!" I answered a little more forcefully than I ‘d intended.

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing more about it.

"Look, now that you’ve established that not all the circus freaks retire to Gainesville, Florida for the winter, you can be on your merry- asshole blower- way! Just leave me alone!"

Forgetting once again that my hand was practically crazy-glued to my head I reached for the doorknob and almost knocked myself over. By this point I was more humiliated than Gerald Ford tripping and falling in front of the whole world. I was quite ready to die.

"Your hand is stuck. Let me help you, she offered, laying a soft hand on my forearm.

Short of crying I could think of nothing else to do but let stalker-girl into my apartment so she could kill me and put me out of my misery. But when I looked into her eyes I saw nothing but compassion. I decided to ignore my gut- either way this would work out. I’d either soon be dead or at least have free use of my hand again. A bonus either way.

I pushed the door open and let her in.

Shutting the door behind me, I closed my eyes and awaited my fate. Death was an absurdly comforting idea and I was eagerly anticipating it. After several moments passed and nothing happened, I cracked open one eye. She was standing there watching me expectantly.

"Are you going to let me help you with that?"

My mouth opened but nothing came out- I was in shock. No death?

"Yeah. Sure," I finally managed to say. Sometimes my powers of articulation amaze even me.

I plunked down on the couch and leaned forward so she could reach the offending digit. I was disappointed that she hadn’t killed me but at the same time strangely excited that she hadn’t. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know what I was feeling right then.

After several painful tugs my finger was free. I wiggled it just to be sure that it still worked right and looked at her in awe.

"I was sure I’d have to cut my hair to get it out!"

"You’re welcome."

She grinned at me and I melted. Her teeth were white and straight and her nose crinkled in the most adorable way.

‘Uh-oh Conner,’ I thought to myself. ‘You’re in big trouble now.


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