Page 8 of When In Doubt

FREYA

I miss you too.

I’d better go to bed, I’ve got to get to the shop early to start prepping my Denver stuff.

I’m running a stand at a craft fair in Denver in a month, but I’m already swamped with prep. Hopefully sometime soon I’ll be able to hire some help at the store, but right now I’ve still got to manage everything on my own.

LUCI

Nightie night pookie

Love you

FREYA

Love you too.

I plug in my phone and lie down, pulling the covers up to my chin. I listen to the soft hum of the dishwasher through the wall, whooshing gently, almost in time with my own heartbeat.

The silence of the apartment prickles, that lonely feeling I try so hard not to acknowledge starting to make itself known in my chest. It’s a physical sensation, a pit somewhere inside me that yawns open, threatening to swallow me whole. Sometimes it comes as an itching in my palms, like my skin is reaching out, begging to touch someone. Last week I shook hands with a new supplier and nearly cried, I was so starved for the contact.

People often assume that because I’m Autistic, that I don’t want to be touched. They’re not completely wrong, light touches and unexpected contact are uncomfortable for me, but nobody ever asks that far. They stay away, thinking that’s what I want. It’s like being in a bubble, I can see everything going on around me, I can get close, but I’m never quite part of it.

I pull my weighted blanket over the comforter, hoping that’ll help. The pressure is nice, but there’s something cold about it. I can’t shake the feeling, the hollowness that’s invaded my body. I just want a hug. Someone here to hold me until I don’t feel so much like I’m gonna fall apart.

I don’t remember the last time I was held.

Definitely not with “I’m not much of a hugger” Aaron. The one time I asked if we could cuddle, he said he didn’t see the appeal in lying there sweating on each other. I should have known then that he was bad news, but apparently I’ve never been able to see what’s right in front of me.

I roll onto my side, hoping that my brain will calm down enough to let me sleep. When that fails, I pull on my headphones and lie back, opening my sleep sounds app and hitting play on one of the “ASMR Boyfriend” audios I have saved.

I know that it’s pathetic, pretending there’s someone there, saying sweet things to me and telling me they love me, but pretending is better than the alternative.

Chapter Four

OSCAR

Ican feel Harvey’s judgy stare as I add milk to my oatmeal.

“Dude, give it a rest,” I call over my shoulder. I get some rustling in reply. I turn, leaning back against the countertop and meet his gaze.

His head tips to the side, one of his long ears flopping against the straw. It’s like he knows. Maybe he can sense my guilty conscience.

“I’ve got to go into town tomorrow anyway. I’ll swing by and apologize.”

His nose twitches. I might be projecting and he just wants to be let out of his hutch, but he won’t stop staring me down with those black rabbit-eyes.

“Harv, can you give me a break?”

Not a chance. He starts turning in circles, kicking his straw against the mesh. What the fuck is his problem? I let out a long sigh, dropping my untouched breakfast on the counter.

“Fine, I’ll go now! Happy?”

Nothing.

I slip on my boots and grab my coat off the hook. Hopefully once I’ve made things right with Freya I can finally have some peace, and the image of her sad eyes will stop haunting me at every hour. Then I’ll drop off the yarn with my mom, kill two birds with one stone.

I couldn’t face her yesterday, knowing she’d take one look at me and force the whole story out. If she ever finds out about how I acted, she’ll drag me over there by my ear to apologize, like she did when I was seven and hit a baseball through Mr. Chen’s window.