DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 13
𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵.
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )
The living room is
dimly lit. But in the center,
a disturbing sight awaits:
Plankton's convulsions,
his tiny body writhing on
the floor. His antennae
twitch erratically, his eye
squeezed shut.
"Plankton!" she cries out,
rushing to his side. His
seizure is intense, his
limbs flailing uncontrollably.
The room seems to pulse
with his distress, a silent
scream of neurological
turmoil.
Chip stands in the doorway,
frozen in shock. He's never
seen his dad like this, so
vulnerable and helpless.
The sight of Plankton's
tiny form convulsing on the
floor fills him with a fear
like none other.
Karen is already beside
Plankton, her hands hovering,
knowing better than to restrict
his thrashing body.
"Mom," Chip says, his voice
trembling. "What do we do?"
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's contorted form,
her face a mask of calm
determination. "We stay here,"
she says, her voice steady. "We
keep talking to him, let him
know we care."
Chip nods, his own eyes
filled with fear. He takes a tentative
step forward, his voice shaking.
"Dad," he says softly, "it's me,
Chip." His words are met with
only the sound of Plankton's
labored breathing and the muffled
thuds of his convulsions.
Karen's gaze flicks to Chip,
her expression a mix of pride
and anxiety. "Good boy," she whispers,
before turning back to Plankton.
"Shh, baby," she says, her voice soothing,
like a lullaby in the chaos. "We're
right here."
Chip watches his mom, her
hands a gentle presence near his
dad's body, her voice a lifeline in
the storm of his seizure. He wants
to help, to do something, anything,
but he's paralyzed by fear.
Karen's eyes flicker to her
son, her expression a silent
plea for him to stay calm. She
knows Plankton's sensitivity to
stimuli, the way his condition can
spiral if overwhelmed. "Talk to
him," she whispers, her voice
barely audible over the sounds of
his distress. "Tell him you love him."
Chip nods, his voice shaking.
"Dad," he says, his voice
trembling. "I love you." His
words hang in the air, a soft
contrast to the harsh sounds
of Plankton's seizure.
Plankton's body continues
to convulse, but Karen notices
his antennae twitch slightly,
his eye fluttering open for a
moment before it squeezes shut
again. She sighs with relief,
knowing he can hear them.
"Keep talking," she whispers
to Chip, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "Tell him
you're here for him, that you're
sorry."
Chip swallows hard, his
throat tight with fear. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he says, his voice
cracking. "I didn't mean to make
things worse."
Plankton's antennae
quiver slightly, his seizure
lessening but not abating.
Karen's eyes are filled with
desperation as she whispers,
"Keep talking, Chip. He needs
to hear it."
Chip's voice is shaky,
his eyes never leaving
his father's trembling form.
"I'm sorry for what I said,"
he murmurs. "I didn't mean
to hurt you." His words
are a gentle coax, trying
to guide Plankton back from
the edge of his breakdown.
Karen's eyes are glued
to Plankton's seizing body,
"It's okay, baby," she says,
her tone a soothing melody.
"You're not alone."
Chip watches his mom's
steady hands hover over
his dad's shaking form.
He takes a deep breath,
his voice a shaky thread.
"I'm sorry," he repeats,
his words a quiet promise.
Karen's eyes flick to him,
a silent thank you. The room
seems to hold its breath,
the air charged with hope and dread.
Plankton's convulsions start
to ease, his breaths coming
in shallower gasps. Karen's hand
reaches out, brushing his
twitching antennae with a gentle
touch, a silent reassurance.
Chip's voice is a soft
whisper, a beacon in the
storm of his father's distress.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I
don't want to fight."
Karen's hand rests gently
on Plankton's back, her touch
as light as a feather. "It's okay,
sweetie," she says, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "We're
here for you."
Plankton's seizure starts to
subside, his body gradually
stilling. His antennae
drop, his breaths slowing.
The tension in the room
eases like the retreating
waves of a storm.
Karen's hand remains on
his back, her eyes filled
with a love that's fierce
and tender. "It's okay," she
whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're safe now."
Her words are a gentle
reminder that their love is
his anchor.
Plankton's body relaxes
gradually, his antennae
stilling. His eye opens,
slowly focusing on Karen's
face. His voice is weak,
his words a soft rasp. "K-Karen?"
"I'm here," she says, her voice
calm, her hand still
on his back. "You're okay."
Her eyes are filled with a love
that's stronger than steel,
her presence a comforting
weight.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking rapidly
as the world swims back into focus.
He looks up at her, his gaze
uncertain. "I... I-I'm s-sorry,"
he whispers, his voice
a reed in the wind.
Karen's eyes are filled with
pain and love. She gently
guides him to sit up, her arms
supporting him. "Don't be sorry,"
she says, her voice a balm.
"We just need to talk."
Plankton's antennae quiver,
his eye searching hers. "Talk?"
he repeats, his voice weak.
"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her arms around him. "We need
to communicate better, all of us."
Her gaze includes Chip,
who's still standing awkwardly
in the doorway, his eyes
fixed on his father.
Chip's heart pounds in his chest,
his fear giving way to
determination. He moves to
his mother's side, his hand
tentatively reaching out to
his father's arm. "Dad," he says,
his voice a gentle touch.
Plankton's body jerks at
his son's touch, but Karen's
calming presence helps him
steady. His antennae quiver,
his eye flickering between
his wife and son, the confusion
giving way to a hint of
understanding. "Chip?" he asks,
his voice a whisper.
Chip nods, his eyes filled
with unshed tears. "Yeah, Dad,"
he says, his voice cracking.
"It's me." He takes a deep
breath, his hand shaking slightly
as it rests on Plankton's arm.
"I didn't mean what I said."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye blinking rapidly as he
tries to process the situation.
"You... you didn't?" he
stammers, his voice filled with
disbelief.
Karen nods, her eyes
never leaving his. "Chip didn't
mean it, Plankton," she says
soothingly. "He's just scared,
and he loves you."
Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye misting with tears. "But
I scared him," he murmurs, his
voice barely audible. "And you."
Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she shakes
her head. "It's not your fault,
baby," she says gently. "Your
autism doesn't make you a
monster."
Chip nods, his hand still
on his father's arm, his voice
steady. "Dad, I know it's
not your fault," he says,
his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm
sorry for not understanding."
Plankton's antennae lift slightly,
his eye focusing on Chip's face.
"You do?" he whispers, hope
flickering in his gaze.
Chip nods, his own eyes
brimming with tears. "I do," he
affirms, his voice stronger.
"I'm here for you, Dad."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye searching Chip's face
for signs of sincerity.
The silence in the room is
heavy, a tangible entity filled
with unspoken words and
apologies. Then, ever so slightly,
Plankton's antennae bob, a sign
of his acceptance. "Okay," he says,
his voice still shaky. "We'll talk."
Karen's eyes fill with
relief, a soft smile playing
on her lips. She squeezes
his arm gently. "Thank you,"
she whispers, her voice filled with
gratitude. "We're in this
together."