DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 18
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 )
Jill, the new hygienist,
is a whirlwind of activity, her
movements swift and efficient.
But she's not the same. The comfort
of familiarity is replaced
with the cold embrace of the
unknown. Chip watches, his
heart racing with his father's.
Jill doesn't notice Plankton's
growing distress. She's too busy
preparing the chair, her eyes
flicking over the chart. "Open
wide," she says, her voice a
sharp command. Plankton's eye
flutters, his antennae drooping as
she holds up a periodontal probe
explorer. Plankton shakes his head.
"Ms. Jill, I ha-"
But she cuts him off with a
wave of her hand. "We're all set.
No need to be nervous." Her tone
is brisk, dismissive of his fear as
she leans in with the sharp probe.
But it's not okay. It's not
okay at all.
Plankton's antennae thrash wildly,
his eye wide with panic. "No,"
he whispers, his voice lost in the
buzz of the room. "No, I need... I
ca--" Jill's eyes narrow, her hand
poised with the probe. "Mr.
Plankton, you need to relax,"
she says, her voice a
stern command.
Karen steps forward, her voice
calm but firm. "Jill, my husband
is autistic. He has specific
needs during these types
of appointments." But Jill,
focused on her work, doesn't
look up. "We don't have all
day," she says, her tone
implicitly dismissing Karen's
concerns. Yet the sharpness
of the probe is painfully unbearable
the second it touches Plankton..
Plankton's body jerks back, his
voice rising in panic. "No, no,
please!" he cries, his antennae
thrashing. Karen's eyes
narrow, her patience wearing
thin. "Jill," she repeats, "my
husband has an autistic condition."
The words hang in the air, a
plea for understanding.
Jill's eyes snap up, her hand
still gripping the probe.
"Autistic?" she scoffs. "You're just
trying to get out of the cleaning."
Her dismissal is a slap in
the face, her ignorance a
barrier to the care Plankton
desperately needs. "Relax or we'll
have to hold you down."
Plankton's antennae flatten, his
body shaking with fear. "Karen,"
he whispers, his voice a thread
of desperation. "Make i---"
But Jill already has the probe
in her hand, moving towards
his mouth. Plankton's panic
spikes, his antennae flailing.
"Please," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. "I can't handle it."
Yet Jill doesn't heed his needs.
Her grip is firm as she
pries open Plankton's mouth,
his eye watering. Chip's fists clench,
his heart hammering. He wants to
shout, to make her stop, but his
throat is tight with his own
fear of causing a scene.
"Jill, wait," Karen says,
her voice firm but calm.
"You need to understand,
Plankton's autism means he's
sensitive to changes in routine
and can't handle certain sensory
inputs." But Jill's expression is
unyielding, her eyes cold.
"I don't care about your
excuses," she says, her voice
sharp. "You're here for a cleaning,
and that's what you're getting. If you
can't hold still, then we'll need
to have your family hold you down
or kick them out." Plankton's antennae
drop limply, his body trembling.
Karen's eyes flash with anger,
but she remains composed. "Jill,
you're not listening," she says, her
voice a tightrope of control. "This isn't
about avoiding a cleaning. It's abou–"
But Plankton's distress reaches
a breaking point. His antennae
whip around, slapping against the chair
in a frantic effort to escape the probe.
"No," he whispers, his voice a
plea. "I can't..."
Karen steps in, her voice firm.
"Jill, please," she says, her hand
on Plankton's arm. "We need to
adjust th-"
But Jill's had enough. "If you
can't keep still," she snaps, her
hand tightening on the probe,
"Then I'll do it myself." Plankton's
eye widens in terror as she
holds his mouth open, the probe
poking him too hard.
Chip can't stand it anymore.
He steps forward, his voice
steady despite his fear. "No,"
he says. But Jill
pulls away, her eyes flashing.
"This is none of your concern,
kid," she sneers. "Now move."
So Chip sits back down as
Jill prods Plankton's mouth once
more. But Plankton's distress
only grows. His antennae
twitching, his body
shaking uncontrollably.
"Stop," he whispers, his voice
desperate. "Please."
Jill's eyes narrow, her grip
tightening. "You need to sit
still," she says, her voice
a harsh reproof. "This won't
hurt if you just cooperate."
But Plankton can't cooperate.
He's lost in a world of sensory
overload, the probe in his mouth
a burning tormentor he can't escape.
Karen's voice is calm but
insistent. "Jill, please. We
can reschedule with someone
more understanding." But Jill
waves her off, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's terrified gaze.
"Interrupt me again and I'll make
you sit in the waiting room area."
Chip's heart races as he watches
his dad's distress. He's torn
between protecting him and
avoiding confrontation. The
probe's cold touch is a violation,
a symbol of the world's
harshness invading their safe
space. Plankton's whimpers
turn to sobs, his body rigid
with fear as she starts again
with the probe, her movements
becoming more aggressive.
Plankton's antennae are a blur,
his voice a garbled mess of
pleas and pain. Karen doesn't
want to have him unnecessarily
suffer, yet she also doesn't want
to be sent out.
The room seems to close in,
the lights too bright, the sounds
too loud. Chip feels a knot in his
throat, his eyes stinging with
unshed tears. He looks to his mom,
her face a mask of calm, but he
can see the tension in her eyes,
the tightness.
Plankton's sobs grow louder, his
body jerking as Jill continues
to ignore his pleas. She only holds
on tighter. Her movements become more
aggressive, her eyes narrowed
with determination.
Karen's patience snaps like a
taut rubber band. "That's enough,"
she says, her voice sharp. She
moves to stand between Jill and
Plankton, blocking the probe.
"You're causing him unnecessary
pain."
Jill's eyes widen, but she
doesn't relent. "Ma'am, I'm just
trying to do my job. Now let me
work. If you stay in here, then
hold him down. We're not finished
until we get this done."
Karen's face is a picture of
frustration and concern. "This
isn't right," she says, her voice
steady. But with a sigh of
defeat, Karen sends Chip out into
the waiting room as she holds
her crying husband down.
"I'm sorry, love, we have to get
through th-"
But Plankton's cries only
intensify. The room feels like
it's closing in on him, the
lights piercing his eye, the
smells overwhelming him. He
wants to escape, to retreat
into a bubble where everything
is safe.
But the probe is in his
mouth, the chair is too cold, and
Jill's touch is too rough. Yet
Karen holds his limbs tightly.
"Open wider," Jill commands,
ignoring the tears streaming
down Plankton's cheeks. The
probe scrapes against his
teeth, a grating sound that
makes his skin crawl. His antennae
are a blur of motion, a silent
scream of distress.
Karen's voice is firm. "Jill,
this isn't working," she says,
her eyes never leaving Plankton's.
"We need to find another way."
But Jill is unmoved. "I've got a
schedule to keep," she snaps,
her movements growing more
forceful. "You're not special."
The words hit Plankton like a
wave, his heart racing. He tries
to speak, to explain, but the
probe is in his mouth, silencing
his voice. He feels the beginnings
of a seizure, the edges of his
vision blurring.
Jill's eyes flicker with
impatience, her movements
quickening. Karen's grip on
Plankton's arm tightens, her voice
a firm plea. "Jill, please,
stop. He can't take it." But
Jill's voice is cold. "This is
standard procedure. I don't
have tim-"
But Plankton's
body seizes, his
limbs thrashing
wildly. The probe
clatters to the
floor, Jill's eyes
widening with
shock.
"He's having
convulsions,"
Karen says quickly,
her voice sharp.
Jill's eyes dart
to Karen, then
back to Plankton,
his body convulsing
slightly in the chair.
"What?" she asks,
confusion marring
her features.
"He's having
an autistic
shutdown," Karen
explains, her voice
calm but urgent.
"This happens
when he's
overwhelmed.
Let. Go."
Jill's grip finally
loosens, her eyes
wide with fear.