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Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of everything going on around me. I can hear every goddamn noise in this place amplified by about fifty times. The laughter of people sitting around the restaurant isn’t just annoying; it’s like nails on the chalkboard. The ’80s music playing from the speakers sounds like noise from the pits of hell. The soft lighting in the bar is so fucking bright it’s causing physical pain behind my eyes. My head pounds, and all I can smell is the disgusting stench of grease and beer and old BO—so pretty much what any pub on the planet smells like.
A tidal wave of sensory information crashes down directly on top of me, drowning me. I can’t process any of the information coming at me because there’s just so fucking much of it, it’s impossible.
“Hey.” My voice is loud and angry as I shout at our server. “This isn’t what I ordered. You idiots screwed up our order, and this shit is disgusting. I’m not going to eat one goddamn bite, and I’m going to tell everyone I know to avoid this shithole because you can’t seem to get a fucking simple order straight.”
I am so out of it I barely know what words are coming out of my mouth. All I can do is feel, and there’s no escaping; I can feeleverything.My clothes are too tight, my breathing is too fast and irregular, it’s so hot in here sweat has started stinging my eyes. There’s the laughing, the crashing of dishes and pots and pans and together, the sound of people yelling and talking, cutlery scraping against plates…
I can’t keep up, my head so full of sensations and chaos that I’m barely aware of where I am.
On some level, I know I’m being irrational, and I even know how awful and humiliated I’m going to feel when this ends. But that’s the thing about a meltdown—once it starts, it’s like a runaway train, and there’s no stopping it. The only way out of it is through, and it can be a very rough ride.
Chapter 24
REED
JesusChrist.Dylan is wound up tighter than an eight-day clock. I know he’s struggling to keep his emotions under control, but I don’t know what to do. I thought giving him a few minutes alone might help since I didn’t want him to feel like he had to talk to me. His nasty reaction when I told him I was going outside for a cigarette not only shocked the shit out of me, but it pissed me off, so I need a few minutes myself to calm down.
Stepping back inside through the pub’s back door, I’m greeted by a bunch of loud, agitated voices. Rounding the corner into the main seating area, I nearly fall flat on my face as I take in the scene.
Dylan is laying into our server and the pub’s manager, yelling so loud he’s going to lose his voice.
His face is blazing red, his hands clenched into fists on the table, and he’s barely making sense.
My sweet, quiet, thoughtful Dylan Campbell looks like he’s been possessed. He’s enraged and completely out of control. Suddenly, he explodes out of his chair, not even noticing when it crashes down behind him, and starts jabbing his finger at the manager, his finger just a hair too close to the guy’s face.
Holy Christ, this isn’t going to end well.
I think I read about something like this while I was looking around for more info on autism. Whatever’s happening to Dylan is some kind of system overload experienced by lots of people with autism. Their nervous system can go totally haywire, and they can have a reaction that looks like a tantrum from the outside, but it’s definitely not. Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t know how to help him, but it’s obvious he needs to get the hell out of here before things get worse.
I race to the table to try to break up the yelling, but neither Dylan nor the manager will shut up and calm down. Dylan is barely making sense, ranting and raving, while the two of them edge toward each other, getting more and more up in each other’s faces.
Knowing Dylan won’t want to be touched, I reach out and put a hand on the manager’s arm. When he whips his head around and gives me a threatening look, I back off, both hands in the air in a “hey, I mean you no harm” gesture.
“Hey, man, my friend is just super stressed-out tonight. You know how the holidays are, right?” I offer what I hope is a disarming smile. “I’m going to take him home right now; we’ll get out of your hair.”
The guy is breathing heavily, and he looks like he’s ready and willing to throw down right now, but he shoots his gaze to Dylan, who has stopped yelling and turned away, so he takes a breath, rolling his shoulders back while giving Dylan a suspicious glare.
Muttering loudly to himself, which is almost worse than yelling, Dylan is attempting to clean up the drink he spilled all over the table with one sad little paper napkin. It only succeeds in making him all sticky and wet—and not in the good way. He’s acting a little odd. I can see him rocking forward and back on his feet from his toes to his heels. Apparently the manager notices too, narrowing his eyes as he watches Dylan try to regain control.
He snorts in derision as I grab my wallet, ripping out enough cash to cover our bill and handing it to him. Dylan, who still seems mostly unaware of anything going on around him, yanks his jacket off the chair that’s lying on the floor and charges toward the door like a bull in a china shop.
Thankfully, there aren’t many people in here on account of the holiday, but several tables have stopped eating and conversing as they watch Dylan make his way out of the restaurant.
The guy’s face morphs into an ugly sneer as he snatches the money from my hand.
“That guy needs some fuckin’ help. What is he, some kind of re—”
A burst of hot, white rage shoots through me. “Don’t say it,” I cut him off, my tone as sharp as a scalpel. Stepping closer to the asshole, I continue in a voice so threatening and cold I barely recognize it. “Don’t even fucking think it, you ignorant piece of shit. We’re leaving, and you’re very lucky we will not be coming back.”
I’d love to stick around and teach the prick a goddamn lesson in manners, but getting to Dylan is way more important than taking that fucker down a notch.
Grabbing my jacket, I race out the door as fast as I can get there.
Dylan’s already standing at my car as the rain pours down relentlessly. Hitting the unlock button on the remote, I run to him.
“Dyl, hey, are you alright?” I bloody well know he’s not alright, but what else do you say?
He turns in my direction, but his eyes are downcast, nowhere even close to meeting mine.
