Iris & Robert 1: Making me complete
Author's note: This is not a story to wank to; if anything, you might find it quirky when compared to other stories. If you came here for sexual gratification, you're likely to be disappointed. There is sex, of course, but it's not the main focus.
This is the first part of five. It has been edited following helpful feedback from readers. It's written in UK English and contains a fair bit of British colloquialism, although nothing that should detract from understanding what is going on.
Bear in mind, though, that the perspective is that of a person with a cognitive development disorder. This is reflected in the narrative. So if you think 'what the...', that's probably because the protagonist has a very different way of thinking from you.
All characters in this story are fictitious, and if you think there's any resemblance with your actual life, your undoubtedly strained relationship with the rest of your family is probably a bigger problem.
* * *
The bus was late. Or at least it was going to be late. It was supposed to arrive at 16:32 and it was 16:31 and it still wasn't in sight. If it were to arrive at 16:32, it should have come across the corner by now. But it hadn't.
It was 16:32 and the bus still wasn't there. It was definitely late now. That made me nervous. I don't like it when things don't happen as they are supposed to. My therapist told me that it didn't matter. The bus would arrive sooner or later. Maybe there was a lot of traffic, or perhaps there were a lot of people getting on and off the bus.
But that got me worried even more. Maybe my favourite seat had been taken. Maybe there would be somebody else sitting where I wanted to sit. Where would I sit in that case? To try to calm down, I closed my eyes and put my fingers on my temples. I rubbed them gently. This always helped to calm me down whenever I got stressed.
However, I couldn't do that too long, or I might not see the bus. It was 16:33 and
finally
the bus came around the corner. It would be 16:34 before it arrived at the stop. I just hoped that my seat would be empty.
Thankfully, it was. That, at least, was a blessing. Now the bus would arrive at 16:50 near my flat. Or more likely, at 16:52.
I counted red cars on the way home, like I always did. I like red cars. After graduation and getting a job, I wanted to get a red car for myself. Preferably something sleek and sporty. Maybe that would help me to get a girlfriend, because I wasn't very good at that.
Four red cars so far. There was a fifth one, and a nice one at that: a 2013 model Nissan 370Z. A bit out of my budget range, though. Unless I'd buy it second-hand, but I didn't like the idea of that. I didn't want a car that belonged to someone else before. Six red cars now. And here was my stop.
* * *
There was a red car parked on the other side of the road. But it didn't count, because I wasn't riding on the bus anymore. Although the car had been there when the bus arrived at its stop, so perhaps I should count it anyway? On the other hand, I hadn't seen it until I alighted from the bus.
I was still considering whether or not to count the parked car when I arrived at the front door of the flat. The door wasn't locked, which meant that Iris was in. 'Hi Iris,' I called as I came in. 'I'm home.'
'Hi Robert,' she replied. 'You left the salt on the table this morning.'
'Oh, sorry,' I said. 'Won't happen again.' That was a lie, obviously, and both of us knew that, but it helped her relax.
Iris didn't like it if things were out of place. In her own room, everything was always in exactly the same position --the correct position, according to her-- and I rarely went there, for fear of disturbing something and getting her all upset. My own room was perhaps not so perfect. It wasn't exactly a mess, but Iris didn't like to come in, because she would inevitably start moving my things around, which would get me annoyed.
So we compromised by avoiding each other's rooms, and by keeping the communal parts clean, with things in the right place. More or less, at least. Iris had to learn to be more flexible when it came to the spaces that we share, but it was still a bit hard for her, especially if she was stressed.
'I saw six red cars on the way home,' I told Iris. 'Or perhaps seven. I haven't yet decided yet.'
'Uh huh,' she replied. Iris didn't particularly care about cars, not even red ones. I knew that, but it made me feel better when I talked about them. Most people didn't understand, and didn't accept it either that I always talked about the same things.
But Iris does. Iris understands me so much better than anybody else. She accepts my peculiarities, just like accept hers. You see, Iris is my sister -- twin sister even. Although she likes to call me 'little brother' because she was born fifteen minutes before I. Those fifteen minutes make absolutely no difference over those nineteen years, but she's always been protective of me. And I of her, for that matter.
Iris is very much like I. And I don't just mean that we're twins. I have rather soft features for a male, and we have the same hair colour, and the same colour eyes. People did mistake us for twin girls when we were younger, also because we both had our hair long. Having my hair cut freaks me out completely. It hurts having my scalp touched, so our parents decided to be practical and leave my hair long. Iris has the same problem. These days, my hair is shoulder-length, kept in a ponytail, whereas Iris's hair is loose and goes right to her bottom. The hair is how you can tell us apart, aside from the most obvious difference of course: that she's female, and I'm male.
But the similarities aren't just physical. She has the same condition that I have, that condition that went undiagnosed for too long, and which nearly cost our parents their marriage, and which, quite frankly, has fucked up our lives quite nicely.
Always being the odd one out. Always being the one who makes an awkward comment without realising it. Always feeling that there's something wrong, without knowing what. The bullying. Never really trusting anybody. But mostly, the not knowing. That is, until a psychologist friend of our parents suggested that we might have Asperger's syndrome. Not immediately obvious, but just enough to make social interactions really difficult.
After the initial denials --'that's just the way they are' -- there had been a diagnosis and therapy, but it had been little, and late. Our parents still had trouble accepting the fact, and blamed inoculations, or the wrong kind of food, or whatever else, except the real reason: their genes. Blame everything except themselves. It's not like they could help it, don't get me wrong. And don't blame them for it either. Why should I? You can't blame somebody for who they are, even though that had happened often enough to Iris and me.
The one positive aspect of having Asperger's syndrome is that we did really well in school, without having to try hard. But truthfully, I would have settled for having to work hard, if that would have meant that my childhood would have been easier.
'One of the red cars was a Nissan 370Z,' I said. 'The 2013 model.'
'Is that a nice car?' asked Iris. It was nice that she asked, even though she didn't care much about cars. But she cared about me.
'Yes, it is,' I replied. 'I wouldn't mind having one. But it's too expensive for me. I could never afford it, unless I get a really good job and save up for several years.'
'You should get a good job,' said Iris. 'IT people will always be in demand.'
That was true, I probably should get a good job once I finished university. So should she, once she received her mathematics degree.
I'm usually not very good at gauging people's moods, with the exception of my sister. Something was bugging her. I could tell by the way she talked, and that she didn't chat about elliptic curves or some other security-related subject --she was fascinated by cryptography-- and quite simply by the look on her face. It was not a happy look.
'What's wrong, sis?' I asked.
She didn't say anything for a couple of moments. Finally, she spoke.
'You remember that guy that I mentioned, the one I was dating?'
I remembered him. I'd met him once, too, and decided I didn't like him very much. I'd said this to Iris, who got offended. It was actually the first time she had dated, and she became like a different person. She suddenly was concerned about her looks, something that hadn't really been on her radar until then. I had envied her, because I think it's much easier for girls to get a boyfriend than the other way around.
Or at least, it's easier to get someone to have sex with you. Although I'd read that women want more from a boyfriend than just sex. Heck, I'd settle for sex right now. It looked like Iris was going to get just that before I did, and it made me both jealous and envious. Envious, because I wanted more from life. I wanted someone that I could share everything with, including sex. And jealous, because it looked like this loser was going to take Iris away from me, even though she was an adult and had her own life.
She didn't mention his name, and she had said '
was
dating,' like it was in the past. Could it be...?
