DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 11
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 )
Karen stirs in her sleep.
Her eyes fly open. She sits up,
as Plankton comes back
into their room.
His antennae are drooping,
his eye filled with a sadness
that makes her stomach clench.
"What happened?" she asks.
Plankton avoids her gaze, his
body language tense. "It's
nothing," he mumbles, his
voice tight with anger, mostly
at the thought of Karen hurting
and being tired of him.
Karen's heart breaks at the
sight of his pain. She knows
his condition is a daily
battle, one that often leaves
them all feeling defeated.
"Plankton," she says gently,
reaching out. He flinches.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body tense. "Don't," he
says, his voice gruff. "I don't
want to talk about it." His eye
darts around the room,
avoiding hers.
Karen sighs, her hand
dropping to her side.
"Okay," she says softly, her voice
filled with understanding.
She knows his walls are up,
his antennae a shield. "But
if you ever do, I'm he-"
"I said don't!" Plankton
snaps, his antennae shooting
up. His voice is loud,
his fear of burdening Karen
turned into anger. Karen's
heart clenches at the pain
in his voice.
She sits up slowly, her
movements deliberate. "Okay,"
she says calmly. "We don't have
to talk now. But remember, I'm
always here for yo-"
Plankton cuts her off, his antennae
quivering with anger. "I said
I don't want to talk about it!"
his voice echoes through the
tiny room, bouncing off the walls
and filling the air with a tension
that feels like a storm. Karen's
eyes are filled with a sadness
that's almost palpable. She nods
once, her hand retreating. "Okay,"
she says, her voice low. "I'm just
here, Plank..."
He turns away from her, his
back a wall of pain. She can
see his shoulders tense, his body
a tightly wound spring. "Just
leave me alone," he says, his voice
a whisper of defeat, unable to bear
the thought of possibly hurting her.
The room feels smaller, the air
thicker. Karen's eyes fill with tears,
but she knows better than to push.
Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle
to solve, but a dance to learn,
a delicate balance of space and
support. She nods, her heart
aching. "Whenever
you're ready, I---"
"Just leave it, Karen," he says,
his voice a mix of anger and sadness.
He doesn't look at her, his
eye fixed on the floor. His antennae
are still, a rare sign of his
overwhelming emotion. Karen
swallows hard, her hand hovering
over his back before retreating.
"Okay," she whispers, her voice
a balm in the tension. "I'm
here when you're re---"
But Plankton's antennae shoot
up, cutting her off. "Why?" he
demands, his eye flashing. "Why do
you keep saying that? What do you
really think of me?" His voice is
sharp, his fear of her pity
lacing his words. Karen's eyes
widen, surprised by his accusation.
"Plankton, what are you talking
about?" she asks, her voice
gentle. "I love you, just as you
are." But he's not listening,
his antennae twitching rapidly.
He turns to face her, his eye
filled with doubt. "But do you
really?" he asks, his voice
quavering. "Or do you just
stay because you feel sorry for me?"
Karen's eyes widen, the
accusation like a slap to her
face. "Plankton, no," she says,
her voice trembling. "You know I
don't—"
He shakes his head, his
antennas waving erratically. "No, I don't
know," he says, his voice
cracking. "You're always so
calm, so... so patient with me. And
then I just—" His words taper off,
his antennae drooping as he
fights back a sob.
Karen reaches out, her
hand hovering near his shoulder.
"Plankton, sweetie, I love you,"
she says, her voice soothing.
"I love all of you, not just the
easy parts."
But Plankton's antennae
twitch, his doubt a
barrier between them.
"How can you love this?"
he whispers, his voice raw with
emotion. "How can you love
someone who can't even tell
you when they're about to—"
Karen's eyes fill with tears,
but her voice remains steady.
"I love all of you, Plankton,"
she says, her hand still hovering.
"The good, the bad, the seizures—
it's all part of who you are."
Her voice is a lifeline, a gentle
reminder that she sees him,
not just his condition.
Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye clouded with doubt.
"But it's not fair to you," he
whispers, his voice trembling.
"I know you're tired, I see
it in your screen." Karen's hand
hovers, unsure if touch will
make it better or worse.
"Plankton," she says softly,
"you are my everything. I
chose to be here, with you. I
chose to love you through the
seizures, through the tough
times." Her words are a gentle
caress in the stillness of the
room, a promise of unyielding
support.
But Plankton's antennae
wave in doubt, his body a
testament to his inner turmoil.
"You don't have to," he murmurs,
his voice a whisper of pain.
"You could leave."
Karen's eyes are filled
with love and sadness, her hand
still hovering, unsure of how
to bridge the gap between them.
"Leave?" she echoes, her voice
gentle. "Why would I ever
leave you?"
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye averted. "You wouldn't
have to deal with this," he
says, his voice barely a whisper.
"You could have someone who doesn't
make you sad, or scared." His words
hang heavy in the air, his fear
of driving her away a palpable
presence in the room.
Karen's hand falls to her lap,
her heart aching. "You're not
a burden, Plankton," she says,
her voice firm with conviction.
"You're the reason I wake up
every morning, the reason I
smile." She pauses, her eyes
shimmering with unshed tears. "Your
seizures don't define you, and
they don't define us."
But Plankton's antennae continue
to quiver, his doubt a living
entity in the room. "You don't
have to say that," he murmurs.
"I guess I'll never be whaa-"
Plankton chokes back a sob.
"What even Chip says you deserve!"
Karen's eyes widen, her hand
now resting on his shoulder.
"Wait, what did Chip say?"
Plankton turns away, his antennae
drooping. "JUST FORGET IT!" He stomps
out of the room, slamming the door
behind him, the sound a stark
contrast to the quiet sobs
that follow.
Karen remains still for a moment,
her heart racing. Then, with a
deep breath, she slides out of
bed, her movements deliberate.