DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 14
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 three of them sit in
silence for a moment, the only
sound the echoes of Plankton's
ragged breathing. Then, Karen
clears her throat, her voice
calm but firm. "Chip, can
you help me get your dad
to his bed?" Chip nods. "Yeah, sure,"
he says, his voice still
shaky, as Plankton's still on
his side.
He moves closer, his
hand hovering over his dad's
shoulder. Plankton's antennae
twitch, his body tense. How
does he touch his dad without
causing more pain? Karen notices
his uncertainty and nods
reassuringly. "Just be gentle,"
she says, her voice a
whisper. "And watch his cues."
Chip's hand descends slowly...
As his fingertips
graze Plankton's
skin, he flinches, his
eye darting around
the room. "Easy, Dad,"
Chip says, his voice
gentle. His hand lingers,
seeking the right balance
between support and respect.
Plankton's body tenses,
despite realizing Chip's intent.
Karen watches. She knows
the fear behind Plankton's
flinch, the years of pain
and misunderstanding that
have shaped their dance of
affection. She offers a nod,
silently encouraging Chip to
persist. With trembling
hands, Chip slides his arm
under Plankton's.
Karen's own arms wrap
around Plankton's shoulders,
completing the circle of
support.
Plankton's eye meets Karen's,
his fear a stark reminder
of the invisible walls his
autism has built. But in her gaze,
he sees love, not just pity—
understanding, not judgment.
With a deep breath, he allows
them to help him to his feet,
his legs wobbly with the
aftermath of his seizure.
Karen's grip is firm but
gentle, her eyes speaking
volumes without a word. Chip's
hand is a tentative question
mark, hovering near Plankton's
shoulder, seeking permission
to touch. Plankton's antennae
quiver, his body tightening.
He's overwhelmed, his skin
a minefield of sensory input.
The slightest touch feels like
a storm raging in his head.
"It's okay," Karen whispers,
her voice a balm. "We're just
going to help yo--"
But Plankton's body jerks,
his antennae flailing as if
trying to ward off an invisible
assailant. "No more!" he cries,
his voice a shattered glass. "I can't!"
Karen's heart clenches, her
grip loosening as she pulls
back. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says, her voice a gentle
breeze. "We'll get you to bed, that's
al-"
But Plankton's distress
escalates, his antennae
thrashing wildly. "NO!" he
shrieks, his body rigid. "NO MORE!"
Karen's heart squeezes, her
grip on him loosening as
she takes a step back, her eyes
filled with pained empathy. "Shh, baby," she
whispers, her voice a gentle
caress. "We're not going to force
you."
Chip's eyes widen in fear, his
hand retreating. "Dad," he says,
his voice trembling. "It's okay,
we're here to he-"
But Plankton's panic is a wildfire,
his movements erratic and unpredictable.
Karen's eyes fill with
concern, her voice calm. "Chip,
let's just get him to the couch."
They move as one, guiding Plankton's
stumbling figure towards the
sofa, their movements a delicate
ballet of care and precision.
The couch is a mere few
feet away, a sanctuary of
familiar fabric and scent.
But to Plankton, it seems a
mountain to climb, each step
a battle against his own
body. His antennae thrash wildly,
his eye darting around the room
as if seeking an escape. Karen
and Chip move closer, their
presence a comforting warmth.
Their touch is gentle, a soft
whisper of reassurance amidst
his chaos. Yet, each step
towards the couch feels like
wading through thick, clinging mud.
His legs wobble, his breaths
coming in sharp gasps. Karen's
grip is steady, her eyes never
leaving his, a silent promise
that they'll get through this.
Chip's hand hovers, unsure,
his heart racing with fear. He
wants to help, but Plankton's
flinch is a stark reminder of
his own limitations. Karen's
nod gives him the courage
to reach out again, his touch
a soft question. Plankton's
body jerks.
"I'm sorry," Chip whispers,
his voice thick with regret.
He's trying so hard to bridge
the gap, to understand, but
his efforts seem only to push
his father further away. Karen's
face is a mask of calm, but
Chip can see the worry in
the tight lines around her eyes.
"Ca--"
But the word dies in his throat
as Plankton's body goes rigid,
his eye rolling back, antennae
freezing mid-thrash. His legs
buckle, and he crumples onto
the couch.
Karen's eyes widen with fear,
but her movements are swift and
sure. She's seen this before,
the aftermath of a seizure
taking its toll. Chip's eyes
are wide with shock, his hand
still outstretched, trembling.
"Dad," he whispers, his voice
a prayer. "Are you okay?"
Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye flickering open, a silent
plea for understanding. The
seizure's aftermath clings to
his body like a damp fog, his
limbs heavy with fatigue. Karen's
hands are gentle on him, her
movements measured. She knows
his pain, his fear, and the
thin line between love and
overwhelm.
"Chip," she says softly,
turning to her son, "this is part
of your dad's world. He needs
his space, and we need to
respect that." She sits beside
Plankton, her hand on his back,
feeling his erratic breaths.
Plankton's antennae droop, his
body a ragdoll's. "I'm s-sorry,"
he stammers, his voice
weak. "I didn't mean to..."
Chip's heart aches, his hand
still hovering, trembling. "It's
not your fault, Dad," he says,
his voice tight with emotion.
"It's just... hard to see you
like this."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye focusing on his son's
face. "I know," he whispers,
his voice a confession of
his own fears. "It's hard for me,
too." His admission is a
rare moment of vulnerability,
a crack in the armor of his
usual bravado.
Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "I want to
help," he says, his voice
desperate. "But I don't know
how."
Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye closing in exhaustion.
"We'll learn together,"
Karen says, her voice a gentle
guideline. "You don't have
to have all the answers, Chip.
Just be patient, and listen."
Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton's
exhausted form. "I'll try,"
he murmurs, his voice filled
with hope and uncertainty.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye fluttering
open. "I know," he says,
his voice a weary whisper.
"It's... it's not easy."
Karen's hand smooths over
his back, her touch a gentle
reminder of her presence.
"We're here, Plankton,"
she says, her voice a soft
promise. "We'll get through
this together."
Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye still closed.
"I know," he murmurs, his voice
barely a breath. "I just... I
can't bear the thought of
being a burden." The words
hang in the air, thick with
his fear and doubt.
Karen's hand pauses on his
back, her eyes filling with
sorrow. "You're not," she says,
her voice firm. "You're my
partner, my love." She takes
his hand in hers, her thumb
stroking his palm gently.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye fluttering open to meet
hers. "But what if... what if I
hurt you?" he asks, his voice
a whisper of doubt.
Karen's grip tightens, her
eyes filled with determination.
"You won't," she says, her voice
a promise. "We're a team,
Plankton. You're not alone in this."
Her words are a gentle rebuke
to his fears. "I'll find you a pillow
and blanket for out here."
As Karen goes back upstairs
Chip inches to the couch. "Dad
can I sit?"
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye still closed. "Yeah,"
he whispers, his voice a
wisp of sound.