DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 22
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 )
Plankton's mouth
moves with his
snores, the gauze
pads in his mouth
muffling the sound, the
crimson tinge to the
white fabric. His
drool pools and runs
down the side of his
face.
Karen watches, her
thoughts a tumult
of emotion. She's
relieved that the
procedure went well
but torn apart by the
knowledge that Plankton's
fear was so intense.
Her hand remains
steadfast on his, her
thumb brushing over
his skin in gentle
circles.
The doctor checks
his watch, his eyes
on Plankton's slack
form. "Almost time for him
to wake up," he says
softly. Karen nods, her
heart racing as she
braces herself for
his reaction. Karen
can't help but think about
how much he's been
through today, and she
wonders if he'll ever
trust her the same way
again.
The minutes tick by,
each one feeling like an
eternity. The only
sounds in the room are
the steady beeps of the
monitors and the soft
snores of Plankton's
slumber. Karen's hand
doesn't stop moving, her
thumb tracing comforting
patterns on his palm.
When Plankton stirs,
his antennae twitching
slightly, Karen's eyes fill
with relief. "Hey, baby,"
she whispers, her voice a
caress. "You're okay." His
eye opens slowly, blinking
against the light.
He looks around,
his gaze finally settling
on Karen. For a moment,
his expression is lost, a
swirl of confusion and
fear. Then he sees her smile,
and the world falls into place.
"Huh," he whispers, his voice
slurred from the anesthesia.
Karen's smile widens. The
numbness in his mouth is a
strange, disconnected sensation,
like his teeth are floating
in a sea of cotton.
Plankton tries to sit up,
his movements clumsy and
slow. Karen's hand on his
shoulder is firm but gentle,
guiding him back down. "Easy,
sweetie," she says.
The doctor nods, his
expression a blend of
concern and reassurance. "Just
give it a few more minutes,"
he says. "Let the anesthesia
wear off a bit more." Plankton's
eye focuses on her, his mind
fuzzy.
The gauze in his mouth
feels like a soggy sponge,
absorbing the blood from
his teeth. He tries to
talk, but his words are
muted and garbled. "Ma-"
Karen nods, her smile
understanding. "I know,
baby. It'll be okay."
The doctor checks the
monitors, his expression
calm. "Looks like you're
coming out of it," he
says. "Just a few more
minutes." Karen nods,
her hand still on Plankton's.
Plankton's body feels
strange, his movements
sluggish. The numbness
of his mouth spreads
to his cheeks, his
face feeling swollen and
alien. He tries to talk.
"Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma-" Karen
understands his attempt
at words. She leans closer,
smiling gently. "It's okay,
sweetie. You're okay."
Her voice is a soothing
song, a balm to his
fearful soul. His tongue feels
like a thick slab of meat,
unresponsive and foreign.
The drool continues to flow.
Plankton's gaze moves
from Karen to the doctor,
his eye wide and searching.
"Wheh...what...whath happen'd?"
he mumbles around the
gauze, his mouth feeling
like it's filled with
cotton. His tongue is a
dead weight, refusing to
form words.
Karen's smile is a
lifeline in the fog of
his confusion. "You had
a little procedure,"
she says, her voice gentle.
"The wisdom teeth are out."
Plankton's antennae twitch,
trying to remember the
conversation that had
led to this. The fear is
a distant memory now,
dulled by the anesthesia.
His mouth feels
strange, unfamiliar. He
reaches up to touch his
swollen cheek, his hand
shaky and clumsy. "Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma--"
He tries to form words,
his mind still sluggish.
Karen's eyes are
full of love and concern
as she gently takes his
hand. "It's okay," she says.
"The numbness will go away
soon."
Plankton nods, his
head lolling slightly as
his body adjusts to the
lack of sensation. His
drool pools on the
gauze pads, the saliva
spilling over onto his chin.
He's vaguely aware of the
mess he's making, but the
fear has been replaced
by a dull, heavy weight.
The doctor's voice is a
comforting murmur in the
background, talking to
Karen about aftercare
and pain management. Karen's
hand is still in his, her
fingers tight around his
own. He tries to squeeze
back, but his hand feels
floppy and unresponsive. "K-Karen
wiww I...?" he slurs, his
thoughts still tangled.
Her eyes are warm with
comfort. "You're going to be
fine," she assures him,
wiping away a stray drop
from the corner of
his mouth. "We'll go home soon."
He perks up. "Thoon?"
The doctor nods. "We'll
keep an eye on him for
a bit longer," he says.
"But you can take him home
once he's more awake." Karen
nods, her thumb continuing
to trace gentle circles on
his palm. Plankton's eye
is glazed with the
remnants of anesthesia, but
his antennae twitch with
excitement.
The room spins around
Plankton, the walls a blur.
He tries to sit up again,
his body fighting against
the lingering effects of
the drugs. Karen's grip is
firm but loving, keeping
him anchored to the chair.
"Just a bit longer," she
soothes.
His mouth feels like a
cavern, the gauze thick
and unyielding. He tries
to speak, his tongue a
traitor against his will.
"Doeth...doeth it huth?"
The words come out
garbled, a nonsensical
string of syllables.
Karen nods, her smile
understanding. "Your mouth
will feel funny for a bit,"
she explains, her voice a
soothing hum. "It's normal,
just give it some time."
Her thumb keeps moving, a
small, reassuring gesture.
The doctor's words drift in
and out of Plankton's
awareness. "You'll have to
take it easy for a few
days," he's saying. "No
crunchy foods, lots of ice
for the swelling." Karen
nods, her eyes on Plankton's
face as she listens.
Plankton's tongue is a
sluggish weight in his
mouth, his teeth a distant
memory beneath the
cottony numbness. He tries
to form a full sentence.
"Muh...muh...muh... Yith?"
Plankton's voice is a garbled
mess, the words sticking to
his numb tongue like glue.
Karen's heart squeezes in
her chest as she tries not
to laugh. "What did you
say, sweetie?"
He sighs, frustrated,
his antennae drooping. "I thaid,
doth Chip know?" His speech
is still slurred, the words
coming out like a drunken
mumble. Karen nods. "He's
waiting outside," she says.
"He's been worried about
you."
The mention of Chip
seems to anchor him. His
eye brightens, the
confusion in it clearing
slightly. "Chip," he murmurs.
Karen smiles. "Yes, Chip,"
she repeats, her voice a
soft echo. "You remember
now?"
Plankton's antennae twitch
in affirmation. "Muh...mouth."
Karen nods, her expression
full of understanding.
"It's okay," she says. "Your
mouth will feel normal
again soon."
The doctor's voice is a
steady stream of instructions,
his words a lifeline in
Plankton's foggy reality. "Keep
the gauze in for an hour,
chew gently to keep the
blood flowing," he says,
his tone calm and
soothing. Plankton nods, his
eye unfocused.
Karen's hand is a
comforting weight on his
shoulder, her voice a
lullaby as she repeats the
instructions back to him.
"We'll go get some ice
cream," she says, her tone
hopeful. "Something soft
and sweet to help your
mouth feel better. Ready to
meet Chip out in the lobby?"
Plankton nods, his
movements jerky and awkward.
The numbness in his mouth
still lingers, his tongue a
dead weight as he tries to
speak. "I-I...finks...sho."
His voice is a slurred mess,
but the meaning is clear.
Karen laughs gently, her
hands moving to help him sit
up. "Let's go, then," she
says, her voice filled with
relief and love. Plankton's
eye widens slightly as he
takes in his surroundings,
his movements still slow and
sluggish. The doctor nods,
his expression a mix of
pride and sympathy.
Her arm is around him,
supporting his weight
as she helps him stand up.