They Turned My Phobia Into a Game

The ultimate penalty of the escape room was a mystery box filled with live, crawling roaches.

Charlotte, my so-called best friend, shrieked and recoiled in disgust. But as she backed away, she instantly grabbed the hand of Brandonmy boyfriend of five years.

She looked at me. Chloe, you do it. Come on, this is the perfect chance to cure your phobia.

Brandon chimed in, squeezing her hand. "Charlottes right, Chloe. You have a panic attack every time you touch something dirty. You need to get over this."

The coworkers around us started chanting. "We all did our parts! Your group is the last one!"

Brandon walked over and forced his hand over mine, locking my wrist. "Look at me. Just look at me."

The three of us had been friends for over a decade. They knew damn well this would nearly kill me.

I have severe OCD. Mysophobia, to be exact.

Since we were kids, Charlotte had been pulling these stunts under the guise of "curing me." Shed stuff dead bugs into my backpack, or mix spoiled food into my lunch.

And Brandon would always back her up, telling me she only had my best interests at heart.

But every time I forgave them, it only paved the way for their next, even more ruthless prank.

My stomach was churning, acid rising in my throat. But looking at them now, the roaches didn't even seem like the dirtiest things in this room anymore.

Brandons grip on my wrist was like iron. Even though my face was paper-white and cold sweat was pouring down my neck, he wouldn't let go.

The moment he finally loosened his grip, I yanked my hand back with everything I had.

"See? I told you it wasn't that hard," Charlotte clapped, giggling.

Brandon smiled, nodding. "Exactly. Overcoming a phobia only takes a second of bravery."

As they both reached out to pat me, I took a massive step back.

"Don't touch me. You're dirty."

The entire room went dead silent.

Charlotte and Brandons hands froze mid-air.

A coworker whispered in the back, "What did Chloe just say?"

No one answered.

Charlotte was the first to break the awkward silence, forcing a laugh to smooth things over.

"Shes just startled. Its fine, guys, don't take her seriously."

She turned to me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"Chloe, your hands are shaking so bad. Brandon, babe, rub her back. Comfort her a little."

I didn't look at her. I only stared at Brandons hand.

That hand had just been squeezing my wrist, his thumb pressing against the inside of my pulse point.

That was our secret signal, one we had used for five years.

It meant, Don't worry, I'm here. But the very next second, he had let go.

All because Charlotte had looked over.

I turned on my heel and headed for the exit. "I'm leaving."

No one ran after me.

I stood in the dim corridor outside the escape room for a long time. It wasn't until the game officially ended that the heavy doors finally pushed open again.

Charlotte was clinging to Brandons arm, laughing and joking with the rest of the team.

She spotted me immediately, her grin widening. "Look at her, Brandon. She touches one little dirty thing and goes completely mute. She actually walked out by herself."

The smile on Brandons face faded slightly. He walked over and stood beside me. "Are you mad?"

"No."

"Then lets go. Ill drive you guys home."

When we reached his car, Charlotte naturally opened the passenger door and slid right in. She did it so casually, as if that seat belonged to her.

I pulled open the back door, just like I always did.

As Brandon started the engine, Charlotte began babbling about how fun the escape room was and who screamed the loudest.

Halfway through, she suddenly spun around in her seat and reached back, trying to pat my knee.

"Chloe, you were so brave today!"

"If we practice a few more times, youll definitely be able to live like a normal person."

She leaned further back, her hand moving toward my leg.

I slammed myself against the car door, flinching violently away from her touch.

Charlottes hand swiped empty air. She pouted, looking incredibly hurt.

She pulled her hand back, her smile tightening. "I was just trying to compliment you."

Brandon glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Chloe, shes trying to be nice."

Charlotte turned back around, but a few minutes later, she spoke up again.

"Chloe, are you feeling better? Back in the room, did you get that urge to wash your hands again?"

"No."

"Liar. You always do that when you touch something gross."

She let out a soft giggle. "But you really did improve today. Remember in middle school? You used to pass out if you saw a bug."

I stared at the textured pattern on the back of the driver's seat.

She remembered that I used to faint.

That was exactly why she had pushed that roach box in my face today.

When the car pulled up to my apartment building, I opened the door and got out immediately.

Brandon rolled down his window. "Ill pick you up for work tomorrow morning."

"Don't bother."

"Chloe." His voice carried a heavy sigh of exasperation.

"Stop acting like a child. I'm going to drop Charlotte off now. Wait for me to get back."

I stood on the sidewalk, looking at him.

He was wearing the navy-blue jacket I bought him last year. One of the cuff buttons had come loose last week, and Charlotte had been the one to sew it back on.

"Okay," I said quietly. I turned and walked into my building without looking back.

The second I stepped inside my apartment, I ripped off my jacket, threw it straight into the laundry basket, and ran to the bathroom.

I turned the faucet on high, letting the freezing water rush over my hands.

I pumped a massive glob of soap and began scrubbing. Over and over.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Forty minutes.

I didn't stop until the skin on the back of my hands was raw, bright red, and bleeding from the microscopic cracks.

As I finally turned off the water, my phone buzzed.

It was a notification from Snapchat. Charlottes story.

I tapped it. It was a group photo from the escape room. Everyone was smiling, except mebecause I wasn't in it.

The caption read: "Such an adrenaline rush today! Best squad ever (minus one)!"

Someone in the comments asked: "Wheres Chloe?"

Charlotte replied with a laughing emoji covering its mouth.

I scrolled down. Brandon had liked the post.

The next morning at the office, I pulled open my desk drawer. My fingertips brushed against something cold, slimy, and gelatinous.

The repulsive texture sent an instant shockwave through my system.

My breathing caught. My stomach violently cramped.

The modern office desk in front of me suddenly blurred, transforming into my 8th-grade classroom.

I saw the boys laughing as they stuffed dead, rotting insects into my backpack. I saw my teenage self reaching for a textbook, only to pull out a hand covered in green, oozing slime.

The entire classroom was roaring with laughter.

"Chloe is a slimy freak! Touch her and she pukes!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. The physical pain dragged me back to reality.

I pulled out a sanitizing wipe. Holding it like a shield, I picked up the stress-ball Charlotte had left in my drawerthe one that had burst and leaked slime everywhereand threw it into the trash.

When I was fifteen, I had completely broken down and cried because someone put a dead rat in my locker.

Brandon had shown up.

He didn't say a word. He led me out of the hallway, went into my room, and stayed there for five hours.

He threw away everything that had been contaminated and bought me brand-new replacements, arranging them exactly the way they were.

The next morning, I woke up to a single text from him.

"Your room is clean now. Its okay if the world is dirty. You have me."

I had kept that promise close to my heart for ten years.

"Chloe? Earth to Chloe. What are you daydreaming about? Lets grab lunch." Charlottes voice shattered my thoughts.

At lunch, Charlotte used her own fork to stab a piece of beef from her plate and dropped it onto mine.

"Try this. Its absolutely amazing."

I looked down. The edges of the meat were grayish-green. The color was completely off.

I laid my fork down.

Charlotte frowned. "What now?"

"The meat doesn't look fresh."

"Oh, come on. Everyone else is eating it. You're the only one being dramatic."

She turned to Brandon. "Brandon, back me up here."

Brandon glanced at my plate. His lips twitched slightly.

"Its fine. If you think its dirty, just throw it away."

Charlottes face fell. "Dirty? What do you mean dirty? Chloe, you are literally pathologically sensitive."

I stared at the graying meat.

"I can't eat this." I pushed the plate away.

Charlottes expression hardened.

"Chloe, I was just trying to share my food with you. How can you be so cynical?"

"Is my friendship just 'dirty' to you too?"

People at the neighboring tables were starting to stare.

Brandon reached over and pushed the plate back toward me. "Just eat it, Chloe. Don't make a scene for Charlotte."

I looked into his eyes. "You honestly think there's nothing wrong with this meat?"

He didn't answer. He just repeated, "Just eat it."

I picked up my fork. I stabbed the gray meat.

I put it in my mouth and swallowed it.

Charlotte instantly beamed. "See? I told you you were exaggerating."

Brandon let out a sigh of relief and patted the back of my hand.

I immediately ran to the restroom and threw up.

I stood over the sink, staring at my pale, ghost-like reflection in the mirror.

It wasn't because of the bad meat. It was because Brandon had seen it toohe knew it was badand he still made me swallow it.

That afternoon, we had a department sync. Brandon sat next to me. He suddenly leaned in and whispered:

"For tomorrows client presentation, let Charlotte do the speaking."

I froze. "What?"

He tried to soften his words.

"Charlotte is great on her feet. I want her to co-present with you."

"You do the slides, she does the talking. How does that sound?"

I looked at him, my heart aching. "You think I'm an embarrassment, don't you?"

Brandon was silent for a few seconds, his gaze shifting away.

"I didn't say that. I just don't want you to push yourself too hard."

He lowered his voice further. "Chloe, just trust me on this."

I didn't reply. I stood up and walked out of the conference room.

That night, I stayed late at the office alone, practicing the presentation deck until midnight.

I wiped down my keyboard with rubbing alcohol three times before I started typing.

As the alcohol seeped into the raw, cracked skin on the backs of my hands, the pain was blinding.

The next afternoon, the main conference hall was packed.

I walked up to the podium, holding the clicker.

The massive projector screen lit up. I pressed the button to advance the slide.

Everything went smoothly at first. But then, a high-definition, giant close-up of a cockroach filled the entire screen.

The audience gasped. I instinctively took a sharp step back, my heart hammering against my ribs.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a Snapchat from Charlotte.

"Added a little appetizer to help you train your nerves. Surprise!~"

My fingertips went completely numb. My hand was shaking so violently I could barely hold the clicker.

"Apologies. A slight technical glitch."

I forced my trembling fingers to double-click the button.

The disgusting image disappeared, replaced by our quarterly data charts.

For the rest of the presentation, my voice was steady, clear, and articulate. I didn't miss a single data point.

But by the time I walked off the stage, my back was soaked in cold sweat.

The room erupted into applause. Even the Regional VP nodded at me in approval.

Brandon stood up.

"We all know how capable Chloe is," he announced to the room.

"That slide was just a harmless little joke. Well handle the technical side internally."

"To cover what Chloe might have missed, Charlotte will now take over for the Q&A."

I watched him. I watched Charlotte walk up to the stage with her USB drive, looking like a victorious queen, taking credit for my hard work.

He had still managed to put her on stage.

At the after-party that night, the atmosphere was lively.

Charlotte was sipping her cocktail, laughing loudly.

"You guys have no idea how bad Chloes OCD actually is," she announced to the table.

"Back in college, our roommate accidentally touched her water bottle."

"Chloe literally threw the whole flask in the trash and cried under her blanket all night."

The table burst into laughter. "Seriously? That is so extra!"

Charlotte nudged Brandon with her elbow.

"Brandon, you were there. Tell them, isn't it true?"

Brandon held his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. He shot a quick glance at me but said nothing.

I set my glass down and looked straight at her. "Charlotte, I want an apology for the cockroach slide this afternoon."

The laughter at the table died instantly.

Charlottes smirk froze. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears.

"Chloe, it was just a joke..."

"I was literally trying to help you overcome your fear. You don't appreciate it, and now you're humiliating me in front of everyone?"

"That is so hurtful."

Brandon set his drink down, his brow furrowing.

"She didn't mean any harm, Chloe. Besides, your presentation went great, didn't it?"

"Charlotte was just trying to help. Don't make things ugly."

I looked at Brandon, and the last embers of my love for him turned to ice.

Seeing Brandon defend her, Charlotte grew bolder. She pointed toward the dirty, ash-stained tray in the middle of the table.

"If you really think I'm trying to hurt you, why don't you prove you aren't just being dramatic?"

"Go wash this ashtray."

"You wash it, and Ill apologize."

My stomach turned. I stepped back. "I'm not doing that. Move it away."

"Oh, come on! What are you scared of? Touching it won't kill you!"

Charlotte suddenly grabbed the dirty ashtray and shoved it right into my face.

I dodged backward so fast my leg slammed violently against the sharp corner of a chair.

A blinding pain shot up my leg. I lost my balance and crashed onto the floor. My knee scraped against the hardwood, blood instantly pooling through my torn tights.

With a loud clatter, the dirty ashes and wet cigarette butts from the tray spilled all over my clothes.

"Oh my god!"

Charlotte shrieked, backing away and waving her hands frantically.

"I... I didn't mean to! Why did you react so dramatically?!"

Brandons face went pale. He took a step toward me but abruptly stopped.

I remembered. He always said we had to "keep things professional" at work events.

Instead of helping me up, he pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket and handed them to Charlotte.

"Hey, don't cry. It was an accident."

I didn't look at either of them. I dragged myself up using the wall for support and walked out to call an Uber.

On the ride home, my phone buzzed continuously with texts from Brandon.

"I know you felt wronged tonight. Charlotte went too far, but she knows she messed up. Shes crying her eyes out wanting to apologize to you."

Followed by a second text: "But Chloe, think about it. If she hadn't been pushing you all these years, would we even be this close?"

"We are getting married in five days. Shes doing this because she cares about our future."

I stared at the screen and didn't reply.

When I got home, my mother was sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. On her screen was a Snapchat photo of Charlotte smiling through her tears, surrounded by coworkers comforting her.

I limped into the living room.

Hearing my footsteps, she looked up. The smile on her face vanished.

"Look at Charlotte. Shes so mature, she knows how to handle herself in public. She makes everyone look good!"

She threw her phone onto the coffee table.

"And look at you. You can't even finish a simple dinner without throwing a tantrum. You embarrass me!"

I stood in the center of the room, looking at her.

"Mom, my knee is bleeding."

"Bleeding?"

My mother let out a cold sneer.

"Your father divorced me because he couldn't stand your dramatic, high-maintenance OCD! Understood?"

"What, are you trying to drive Brandon away now too?"

She pointed a finger at me, her voice shrill.

"You think you're hot stuff? You're lucky Brandon even wants you!"

"If Charlotte wasn't constantly smoothing things over for you, he would have dumped your crazy ass years ago!"

"Honestly, Brandon and Charlotte make a much better couple than you two ever will!"

I had heard these words so many times I was entirely numb.

Without a word, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

I slid down onto the cold tile floor. I grabbed the showerhead and let the cold water blast over the bloody scrape on my knee.

The stinging pain kept me grounded.

Under the cover of the rushing water, I dialed my bridesmaids number.

Five days later. Our wedding day.

I sat in the bridal suite in my white gown, my fingers subconsciously wiping the edge of the vanity over and over.

Kathleen, my bridesmaid, stood behind me, adjusting my veil.

Her fingers accidentally brushed against the back of my neck, and I instinctively flinched.

"Its just me, Chloe," she whispered gently.

I nodded at her, trying to breathe.

The ceremony went by in a blur, and soon, we were at the reception party.

Charlotte took the microphone and walked onto the stage, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Family and friends, we are going to play a very special game tonight!"

"Blindfolded Touch!"

"We are going to blindfold our beautiful bride. Then, well have various mennot just the groomtouch her, and she has to guess which one is Brandon!"

She paused, raising her voice over the microphone.

"Think of it as a special exposure therapy game!"

"Chloe, you've been wanting to cure your OCD forever, right? Today is the day!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

I froze on the spot, the blood draining from my face.

Blindfolded. Touched by random men.

I whipped my head toward Brandon, my eyes begging him for help, filled with absolute terror.

He looked at the laughing guests, then back at me. He walked over and picked up the black silk ribbon.

"Just play along," he whispered, his voice low. "Its just a game. Don't worry, I'm right here."

My vision plunged into total darkness. The sounds around me became distorted and muffled.

A rough, calloused hand grabbed my left arm.

My entire body locked up. My stomach did a violent flip.

Then, another hand stroked down my spine, slow and heavy.

I began to hyperventilate, my chest heaving.

Someone in the crowd yelled, "Who is it? If you guess wrong, you have to take a shot!"

A third hand reached from behind, grabbing the back of my neck.

In that fraction of a second, the suffocating trauma of when I was thirteen rushed back, drowning me.

"No! Stay away!"

I shrieked, ripping the blindfold off. I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball and wrapping my arms tightly around my head.

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, and then an even louder wave of laughter exploded.

"Oh my god, she is so dramatic!"

"It was just a touch, its not like it killed her!"

Charlotte was holding her phone up, recording me, laughing so hard she was shaking.

At the VIP table, my mother was laughing too, leaning over to talk to our relatives.

"I told you shes too delicate. How is she going to live with a husband if she won't even let men touch her?"

Charlotte crouched down next to me, whispering in my ear.

"Chloe, I know you're scared. But you can't expect Brandon to walk on eggshells around you forever."

"Hes too good for you. I'm doing this for your own sake, okay?"

The moment she finished speaking, Brandon walked over.

He didn't try to help me up. He just stood over me, his forehead creased in irritation.

"Chloe. I approved this game."

He looked down at me, his eyes full of disappointment.

"I was one of the people who touched you. Weve been together for five years. Are you telling me you can't even recognize your own fiancs touch?"

I slowly let go of my head and stood up.

My hands were still trembling, but my eyes were dry. I wasn't crying.

I looked at Charlotte. I looked at Brandon. I looked at my mother.

I reached up, unpinned my veil, and tossed it onto the table next to me.

I turned to walk away.

Brandon rushed forward, grabbing my wrist.

"Chloe, stop making a scene."

His voice was a harsh, impatient whisper.

"I know you're mad. We can talk about this when we get home. Don't make us a laughingstock in front of everyone."

I looked at his hand clamping my wrist. I didn't say a word. I just yanked my arm back with a cold, terrifying strength.

He blinked, startled by my defiance, and instinctively let go.

He watched me walk toward the exit, but he didn't pursue me.

In his mind, I just needed some space to cool off. He believed I would crawl back on my own.

In the parking lot, Kathleens car was already waiting, engine idling.

"You finally did it," she said as I opened the door. "You should have done this five years ago."

I got into the back seat, changed into my regular clothes, and tossed the white wedding dress out onto the pavement.

Before the car pulled away, I took one last look at the glittering lights of the hotel.

"Lets go."

Ten minutes later, inside the reception hall.

It was time for the wedding toasts. Brandon went to the bridal suite to find me, his face wearing a smug expression of lets see how you apologize for this.

The room was completely empty.