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“I didn’t get him arrested.”
“He’s been different since that night.”
Concern drew my brows down, and I stepped away from the panel toward Kruger. “Different how?”
Kruger looked at me, and I could practically hear him measure and weigh every word he thought about saying. His hesitation brought a tidal wave of fury over me. The idea that he would keep anything about Matthew from me was frankly unacceptable.
“You can’t say something like that to me and then slam your usually flappy lips shut.”
He gave me a dry look but didn’t acknowledge the insult. “How much do you know about my brother?”
Yes, I noticed the my brother comment and the ownership it implied.
“I know about the misophonia. The tinnitus. The sensory issues and anxiety.” I laid it out. “I also know about the panic attacks.”
Kruger’s two-toned eyes widened. As unintimidated as I was by him, being watched by one green eye and one brown one could be unsettling. “He told you about all of that?” Then he held up his hand, seemingly offended. “He told you he had sensory issues?”
“Strong likes and dislikes.” I corrected him.
He nodded once. “That’s more like it.”
“Technically, he didn’t tell me about the panic attacks, but he had one.” Or more. “That night in jail.”
“He punched a cop that night too,” Kruger said, watching me carefully.
“Yeah, I know he has aggression issues.”
Kruger lifted his chin in challenge. “And what if he loses it and clobbers you?”
A whole host of reactions unleashed in me at that unexpected question. I didn’t know which one to react to first. “Has he ever hit you?” I heard myself ask.
“A long time ago,” Kruger replied but instantly went into defense mode. “But it wasn’t his fault. It was a bad situation. I got in his way…”
“I’m not blaming him.”
“Yeah? You’d be the first.”
“Does he, ah, do this often?” I asked, not sure how to phrase it.
“Throw punches?” Kruger went right to it. “Nah. The last few years, he’s been better at regulating his emotions.”
“You mean his reactions to outside auditory stimuli that he has no control over.”
Kruger blinked. “Yeah. That.” Then, “How much do you know about misophonia?”
“The minimum,” I answered truthfully. But that was going to change. I was about to be more informed than even most doctors.
“Can I ask you something?”
He shrugged. “You can ask. Might not answer.”
Fair enough. “Is he autistic?”
“Bro. Don’t you know the PC term is neurodivergent?”
“I also know that neurodivergent and on the spectrum are terminology that refers to several diagnosed disorders, and I am asking you specifically about one thing in relation to your brother. I’m trying my best not to be a dick about it.”
Kruger studied me a moment. “He’s never been diagnosed.”
