DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 8
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 )
"Let it out. You're safe."
Karen's hand hovers, a silent
offer of support. Plankton's
antennas twitch, his eye
flitting between her and
the chaos he's created.
With a sudden jerk, he
throws the pillow aside, the
feathers fluttering to the
ground like a defeated
battle flag. He turns to her,
his breaths coming in ragged
gasps. "I hate this," he
whispers, his voice filled with
despair. "I hate that I can't—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Instead, he starts to shake, his
body convulsing with the
force of his emotions. Karen
knows he's about to have
seizure convulsions.
With swiftness borne of
practiced experience, she
moves to catch him.
"Plankton, it's okay," she
coos, her voice a lifeline in
the storm. "Let's sit down."
Gently, she guides him to
the bed, her eyes never
leaving his. His body
spasms once, twice, before
settling into a tremble.
The room is still, the
only sound his ragged breathing
and the occasional quiver of
his antennae. Karen's heart
is racing, but her hands are
steady as she takes his.
"Breathe with me," she says,
her voice a soft rhythm.
"In, and out."
Plankton's eye locks
on hers, his pupil dilating
as he focuses on her words.
He takes a deep breath, his
body shuddering with the effort.
"Good," Karen whispers, her
thumbs gently stroking his
wrists. "Again."
The tremors slowly
ease, his breathing evening out.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
says, her voice a lullaby.
"You're okay." His antennae
twitch, his body relaxes.
For a moment, there's
only the sound of their
breaths mingling in the quiet.
Then, with a sigh, Plankton
slumps against her, his
body limp with exhaustion.
Karen wraps her arms around
him, her heart aching. "I'm
here," she whispers. "I'm not
going anywhere."
Plankton's antennae
quiver slightly, and he
nods, his eye closing.
Karen can feel the tension
leaving his body, the storm
of emotions retreating. His
breathing slows, his antennae
falling still.
For a few moments,
the only sound in the room
is their synchronized
breathing. Then, with a
shudder, Plankton starts to
cry.
Karen holds him tighter,
rocking him gently as he sobs
into her shoulder. His
tiny body shakes with
the force of his pain, his
antennas drooping.
"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers,
his voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't mean to scare
you." His words are muffled
by his tears, his antennae
twitching with each tremble.
Karen strokes his back,
her eyes filled with understanding.
"It's okay," she soothes, her
voice a balm to his soul. "You're
overwhelmed." She's seen
this before, the sudden
storms of feeling that
his autism can unleash.
Plankton's sobs come in
waves, his body jerking with
each one. Karen knows these
moments are like earthquakes
for him, shaking him to his core.
"You didn't mean it," she
whispers, her voice a
constant in the chaos.
"You just need a moment."
He nods against her, his antennae
still drooping. "I'm sorry,"
he says again, his voice
tiny.
Karen's heart clenches. She
wishes she could take away
his pain, but she knows that's
not how it works. Instead, she
simply holds him, her arms a
steady embrace in the tempest.
"It's okay," she repeats, her
voice a lullaby. "I'm here."
Plankton's crying slows
to a hiccup, and he pulls back,
his antennae drooping. He wipes
his eye, his face a mask
of regret. "I'm sorry," he says,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"I didn't mean to—"
"You don't have to apologize,"
Karen cuts him off, her eyes
soft with compassion. "You
can't help how you feel." She
knows the guilt he's feeling,
the weight of his own
frustrations. She rocks him
gently, her hand rubbing
his back in slow circles.
Plankton's breaths
deepen as he relaxes into
her embrace.
His antennae, which had been
quivering start to settle. The tension
eases from his body, and
his muscles loosen. Karen's
soothing love and gentle
touch are a balm to his
frayed nerves. He leans into
her, his head on her shoulder,
his antennae brushing against
her.
Karen presses a kiss to
his forehead, her hand
continuing to stroke his
back. "It's okay," she whispers.
"You're safe." Plankton's
body responds, his antennae
dropping slightly.
He sighs, his body going
slack against her. She can
feel the last of the tension
drain out of him, and his
breathing evens out.
Her voice is a soft
lullaby in the quiet, a
steady beat to match the
rhythm of his breaths.
"Just relax," she says, her
words a gentle command.
"Let it all go." And he does,
his muscles unclenching, his
mind drifting. "Thanks.." Plankton
says sleepily in her embrace.
Plankton's body goes lax,
his eye closing fully as he
surrenders to the comfort
of Karen's embrace. She
knows He's fallen into a
deep sleep when he starts to
snore gently, his antennae
still resting on her shoulder.
Karen holds him
closer, her hand continuing a
soothing pattern on his
back, each stroke a silent
promise. Plankton's antennae
rest gently against her,
his body curled into
her side.
The room is quiet, save for
his soft snores.
Her hand moves in gentle
circles on his back, the
motion soothing to them
both. She can feel the
tension slowly draining
from his body, his
antennae finally
still.
The soft light from the
moon filters in through
the window, casting a
pale glow on his features.
In sleep, Plankton looks
peaceful, the furrow in
his brow smoothed away.
Karen kisses his forehead. His
snores deepen, a testament
to his trust in her.
Her hand strokes his antennae,
now limp with sleep. He's just her
Plankton, her partner, her love.
Her gentle touch seems to
soothe his slumber, a
reminder of the sanctuary
their bond provides.