Page 216 of Disarm
My handwriting goes a little jagged at the end.
“Alright,” she says. “Thoughts?”
A girl two rows ahead raises her hand. “It’s… sad?” she says. “That even when things get better, their brains don’t really… let them feel safe.”
“Good,” Dr. Han says. “Anyone else?”
A guy behind me says, “I mean, some of these kids probably had it worse than others, right? Like, not all neglect is equal. Some people just… toughen up.”
If I turn around, I might throw something at him.
My chest hurts.
In for four.
Hold.
Out.
Someone else says, “It kind of makes sense they’d crave intensity, though, right? If everything used to be life-or-death, ‘normal’ probably feels boring. You’d want something big enough to drown out the noise.”
Crash.
There it is.
I feel myself step half an inch sideways in my own skull, the way I did in the restaurant bathroom before Miguel grabbed myknees and made me breathe.I’m still here. I’m still sitting in a lecture hall with bad carpet and worse lighting. But the edges of the room have gone fuzzy, like someone smeared the picture with their thumb.
“Caleb?”
The sound makes me jump.
Martin’s voice, low. “You okay?”
I nod once, shortly. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Just… taking notes.”
It’s technically true. My pen is moving, except the notes just look like…
not destiny
but feels like prophecy
I make it through the rest of the lecture by sheer stubbornness alone. When it’s over, I stand too fast and the room tilts.
“Hey,” Martin murmurs, touching my elbow. “You sure you’re good?”
“I have therapy,” I say, the words coming out clipped. “In, like, twenty minutes.”
His face softens. “Okay,” he says. “Text me after. Or, like, send me an emoji that tells me you’re not emotionally dead.”
“I’ll send you the skull,” I say automatically.
“That’ll be confusing.” His face scrunches. “Pick a different one.”
I huff something that’s almost a laugh and push out into the hallway.
Therapy.
Good timing for once.
