“Oh.” My eyes catch on his sweet smile. The fact that he’s this protective this early on feels really good. “Thank you.”
Oak turns around again. I look over the new test, confused by the questions. It’s asking about my daily habits, about things that bother me, about things that distract me. Weird.
“I don’t think I need a good and bad version of this test.”
“That’s fine.”
I can tell he means it.
Refocusing on the questions, I carefully fill in each answer in blue. In all my years of being poked, prodded, and questioned, I realize that with Oakley, I don’t feel rushed. He really seems okay with me taking as much time as I need.
This questionnaire goes more quickly than the first.
“I’m done.”
He spins around and takes the paper from me, a grin forming as he scans my answers. About halfway down, he laughs, shaking his head.
“Iknewit,” he murmurs.
I’m desperate to ask him what he knows, but Oakley isn’tthe kind of guy to tease a result. So, I let him finish his review unbothered.
If I happen to take the opportunity to enjoy the way the sunlight streaming into his office turns his beard red, that’s no one’s business but my own.
I get a little lost in the process and startle when he sets aside the paper.
“And?”
He leans forward, clasping his hands on his desk. “As I said, you are not a psychopath. You are, however, on the autism spectrum.”
For the second time in several minutes, I’m shocked by what he’s telling me.
“Autism?” I tap my lips, trying to remember. “Are you sure? Wasn’t I tested for that early on?”
“You were.” He tilts his hand side to side. “However, it’s well documented that trauma can skew multiple test results. Not just psychiatric test results, but endocrine, growth, inflammation… It screws everything up. And what that means is that for a long time, you probably had a trauma diagnosis, and the people closest to you operated from that vector. Which was appropriate in its acute stage. You should have been retested, though, when you hit puberty.”
Oh.
“What’s this look?” he asks, pointing at my face.
“This genetic modification?” I start, letting my eyes turn black. “It intensifies during puberty. I’m guessing the test results at that point would have been bad too.”
Oakley takes a deep breath.
Damn.
“Sorry if the eyes weird you out,” I say, switching back.
“Don’t apologize. Do what comes naturally, and I’ll get used to it.Promise.” He drums his fingers on the desk, then nailsme with brief but intense eye contact. “Say more about how puberty intensified things for you.”
So many memories hit me all at once, none of them good or peaceful. “Imagine a genetically modified rage organism,” I say, using his words, “with wildly fluctuating hormones.”
He sucks in air through his teeth. “So…basically every parent’s worst nightmare.”
“Exactly.”
He pushes his fingers into his beard, the way he does when he’s lost in thought. “I heard Uncle Eddie helped you.”
“He was my mentor.”
