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“Give them a chance, P.”
I was weary. Too worn out to argue and fight. Perhaps I was numb. Or resigned. Either way, I would do what he said.
He held open the door, and I went inside ahead of him. Elite was crowded on the large sectional, a muted, bad made-for-TV movie flickering on the screen. A lamp glowed in the corner, and the blinds were drawn over the front windows.
When I walked in, everyone looked up, but no one said a word. They heard everything at the police station, knew about my father and how I’d been disowned. But what they still didn’t know was why.
“I have misophonia,” I said, standing off to the side, away from the couch. “It’s a brain disorder where certain sounds can trigger an uncommon extreme reaction. Like a fight-or-flight response. I get angry, panicked, and irrationally annoyed. It’s why I always wear these,” I said, pulling the AirPods out of my pocket and holding them up. “They help block out some of the noise and keep me calm. I have tinnitus too, which is ringing in the ears. It’s pretty much constant, but sometimes it’s worse than others.” Like right now. “For someone so averse to sound, it can also be rough.”
The words left me feeling hollowed out and exposed. Though it was just a short explanation and a measly description of what I lived every minute of every day, I felt like I’d been talking for hours, and my battery was drained. Still, I persisted, wanting to get all of it out. Better now than to do this again and again.
“I’m sorry I never told you. It’s hard to talk about, and I didn’t want anyone to know. My entire life has revolved around what’s wrong with me. How to control it. How to hide it. Being rejected because of it.”
“You mean by your parents?” Landry asked, voice subdued.
Did I ever mention she has a nice voice? Even and calm.
I nodded. “When I was small, misophonia wasn’t really a diagnosis, so to everyone, I was just an aggressive problem child. My father refused to have me tested for autism, saying that was just a way to excuse bad behavior. He, ah, told me I was a disappointment and tried to punish it out of me. In kindergarten, the school administration moved me into special education classes, and it basically sent him through the roof. He told me I was an embarrassment, a liability, and he wished I’d never been born.” It didn’t even matter that they soon realized I didn’t fit into those classes either. I didn’t fit anywhere. Not even at home.
Oomph. The air was knocked out of me when something heavy and wide thumped into me. I blinked, squished against a broad chest.
“We love you, bro,” Jamie said, his voice right beside my ear. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I never registered to vote. But I sure as shit am now because I’m gonna vote against that abomination every opportunity I get.”
A half laugh, half groan burst out of me. “What?”
“Also, I’m sorry I chew so much. That probably hurts your head.” He patted the back of my head like he was apologizing to it too.
His chewing did make me crazy, but I’d never tell him that. Instead, I laughed, tears blurring my vision. “It’s not you, bro. It’s me,” I told him.
His arms tightened, and it made me realize he was still hugging me. Like really hugging me in front of everyone. Even after I told him everything. “None of this is your fault,” he told me, so sincere.
“He’s right,” Madison said, adding her arms to the hug.
Jamie, Rory, and Wes piled on. Soon, I was the middle of a giant Elite sandwich.
Coach’s whistle filled the room. “Back off! Oxygen is only optional in the pool. Let him breathe!”
Everyone backed off, but then Coach moved in to hug me too. “Greedy mouth breathers,” he muttered, patting my back. “You ever need anything, you come to me, son. I mean it.”
I bobbed my head, too overwhelmed to speak. I wondered what Coach would say if he knew he was the only man to ever call me son.
“I get why you didn’t tell us,” Ryan said, stepping forward when Coach stepped back. “But I’m glad you finally did.” His face darkened. “Even the choice was taken from you by a dick.”
“A very small dick,” Win put in.
“I’m glad because now we can tell you we support you.” Ryan continued. “We like you for who you are, disabilities included.”
“We’re your friends no matter what,” Wes added.
“Really?” I asked, overwhelmed by the absolute support. It was a good thing, something I hadn’t let myself hope for, especially everything that happened at the station. But even being good, it was still a lot to process, and I could literally feel the tug-of-war going on in my head between remaining present and disassociating.
“Bro, sure.” Jamie agreed. “Lars is probably hella relieved he isn’t the only one with an allergy around here now.”
Lars made a face. “I’m not?”
“Yeah, bro. You’re allergic to nuts, and Prism’s allergic to noise.”
“He’s not allergic to noise, dumbass,” Max retorted.
