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I mean, there are bars on my window. How could I sneak out—or come back without anyone realizing it?
Dean shuffles into the day room, muttering to himself as he does. It never makes any sense—not to anyone but Dean, anyway—and I zone him out, too, until he plops his wide body in the gap left between me and Kim.
Suddenly, I’m paying super close attention.
It seems to happen in slow motion. The couch gives a small bounce at his weight, my body jolting just enough to shift sideways. His Black Pine t-shirt clips the side of my left hand. I sense the faint brush of fabric against the edge of my glove. My reaction is as immediate as it is over the top: my whole body stiffens for a heartbeat before I jerk and leap away, desperate to put some space between us.
One problem with that. I must have been sitting on the edge of the seat or something because, when I jump, I end up in a pile on the floor. Like, my ass slides right off before hitting the carpet with a muffled thump.
Pain shoots up my spine. I ignore it. All I can think about is how close Dean came to brushing his arm against mine.
Just like I’m used to the other kids’ quirks, they’ve all seen me at my worst. A couple of months ago, I was banned from the day room for seven straight days because I swung a remote at Jeffrey all because he thought it would be funny to stand in front of me, his hand extended, mockingly repeating, “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you,” over and over again. I missed, since I didn’t want to get too close, but I lost a couple of points for that fight.
It was worth it.
Dean didn’t do it on purpose. I know he didn’t.
; Now if only I could convince myself that.
Because they’re used to me reacting like this, none of the other patients do anything to help me. It would only make things worse. The last thing I need right now? A panic attack. I don’t get as many now that my meds are regulated, but when I do get them, they come fast and terrible.
I can already tell my heart is racing. My breath is short, my body tight. I feel like I just missed getting hit by a car.
That’s what Dean’s touch feels like to me. Like a car accident.
I try to take a deep breath and choke on the air. My head is spinning. I can’t get up off of the floor.
It’s the new technician with the long blonde ponytail that tries to help me. She had poked her head in the day room, checking up on us, gasping when she sees that I’m sprawled on the floor. She’s a blur of pale blue scrubs as she hurries into the common area, hiking her pants up as she squats by my side.
She holds out her hand.
Her pale, unscarred hand.
I flinch.
To me, it’s like she’s shoving a poisonous snake in my face. Her skin is that dangerous.
“What are you doing down there? I know the floor can’t be that comfortable. Come now, take my hand. I’ll help you up.”
No.
No.
The words won’t come. I shake my head frantically, pulling away from her.
Her hand follows me.
No!
“No… no touching,” I wheeze. The words are garbled, harsher than I mean, almost like I spit them out at her. I can’t help it. “Back off.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want to help.”
She just wants to touch me.
“I said back off!”
