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Most days, Quinni would tell you she’s proud to be autistic. That what makes her different is what makes her strong. Some days, she’d tell you that isn’t the truth. Because when she’s sitting on the floor of a dirty cubicle, skin under her nails and blood dripping from her thighs, she feels nothing but shame. She lost control. Again.
Nothing even happened. A stupid offhand joke from Darren, a flickering light, the sound of shoes squeaking on the floorboard. An empty notebook in front of her, unable to bring the words to paper. Once, Quinni thought she was talented. The very best. But now, she can barely string a sentence together. She stared at that empty notebook, as the room became too loud, as everyone laughed over a joke she didn’t understand. And then she left.
She ended up here. Crying, and hyperventilating, hands clawing at her skin like was trying to rip it off. Useless girl with useless dreams, curled up on a bathroom floor.
She doesn’t know when she stopped hyperventilating. But at some point her body became too exhausted to keep up the dramatics, and now she lays here on the floor, unable to bring forth the strength to rise. Not that she’d want too, even if she could. Just the thought of returning embarrasses her, with bloodsoaked nails and tearstained eyes, barely able to keep her balance or force a word from her lips.
God, she needed to sleep.
The door to the bathroom opens. Quinni is sure she’s visible under the door, but she has no energy left. She can’t move. She’s sure whoever it is is laughing, going to head out to their friends and tell them about the weird girl on the bathroom floor. And on that bathroom floor, the weird girl will rot.
“Sparkles?”
Taz. Fuck. fuck, no Taz can’t see her like this. She’s going to make fun of her, she’s going to tell everyone, she’s going to-
“Quinni, I know that's you, nobody else is wearing glittery crocs.” she teases.
Quinni desperately wants to run, to fight, to say something to make this any more normal. She doesn’t do any of that. Her body betrays her, and she lays on the floor, a sitting duck.
Taz’s tone sounds strange as she speaks again, “Okay, I’m going to open the door now.”
The door opens, and Quinni is exposed. She summons the strength to curl into herself slightly, but it does nothing to protect her. She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the sound of laughter.
It never comes. Instead, she hears the sound of knees hitting the floor, beside her. Of Taz’s panicked cry,
“What happened?”
She doesn’t respond, too ashamed to speak, not capable if she even wanted to.
“Who did this to you? Where the fuck are they?”
Quinni’s brain slowly processes the information, Taz thinks someone else did something to her. She is going to fight whoever did it to her. Quinni didn’t think Taz liked her, especially not that much. Maybe she’s just an aggressive person, but that doesn’t feel right. It feels like she cares. Quinni needs to tell Taz she did it herself before she starts a fight. She needs to be able to speak.
She drags her eyes open, and is shocked to see the rough girl's eyes wide with concern. Quinni ignores it, focusing on her goal, throwing her arm in the air in an attempt to grab her bag off the hook. She fails severely, but Taz gets the point and passes it to her. Quinni fumbles with the zipper, fingers feeling too big and chunky, but eventually she pulls it open, and slips her hand in, grabbing her communication cards.
Communication cards were a vulnerable language, and Quinni felt as if she had been stripped naked as she turned a card to face Taz. One simple word, ‘Meltdown.’
Taz stares at it. Blinks. Blinks again.
“Okay. You're okay. What, uh, what do you need?”
Quinn flicks through her card. ‘Headphones.’. A point to her backpack guides Taz to the right spot, and soon enough the other girl is carefully placing her headphones over her ears.
“Better?” she asks.
Quinni nods. Barely, but the white lie is worth it to see Taz grin like that. It’s an addicting smile.
“What happened to you, though, Sparkles? You’re covered in blood.”
Quinni gestures to herself, and then mimes scratching. The look of realization that crosses Taz’s face causes Quinni to slam her eyes shut again, humiliated. She listens to the dead air of her headphones, and tries to pretend she’s anywhere but here.
“Shit. You do that often?”
Quinni holds up the meltdown sign again.
“Right, okay. Bloody hell. Well, uh, we gotta get you cleaned up? Wanna walk to the nurse?”
Quinni shakes her head so vehemently she cracks her neck.
“Okay, understood, no nurse. But Quinni, you’re covered in blood.”
Quinni sighs, dragging her eyes back open once again. She shoots Taz a harsh glare, but it is immediately softens when she sees how worried the other girl looks. She sorts through her communication cards, eventually holding up a ‘first aid’ and pointing at her backpack.
“You are really prepared for anything, huh?” Taz remarks as she pulls the emergency first aid kit from her bag.
She’s only so prepared because of her dads, but she doesn’t say that. Instead, she watches as Taz takes an excessive amount of care to open the case, to look through each item, and to size up her legs. It’s probably unnecessarily thorough for a couple scratches, but Quinni has never seen her care about anything, so she doesn’t stop her.
“I’m not a professional, Sparkles, remember that.”
Quinni hisses. It stings like hell.
“I don’t know how to make it not hurt, I’m sorry.”
Quinni wiggles and whimpers as Taz slowly makes her way through each scratch, gentle and caring in a way Quinni would have assumed her to be incapable of. Once all the wounds are disinfected, she goes about placing a colorful band-aid on each and every one.
“Need anything else?” she asks.
Quinni shakes her head. She fiddles with her cards, holding up one that says, ‘Thank you’. It feels stupid. She doesn’t have the cards, or the words, to express the sheer amount of gratitude and confusion she feels in this moment. But thank you is what she has, so thank you will have to suffice.
“Anytime, Sparkles. Now, I’m gonna be honest, this place smells like piss and I think we should bounce. How about the sensory room?”
Quinni has regained some of the energy, but she is still not certain she can make the trek to the sensory room. Whatever her face reads, Taz understands it, and promises not to let her fall. It’s paired with an exaggerated wink that almost has Quinni rolling her eyes, but instead has her grasping Taz’s outstretched hand.
The walk is slow and embarrassing, but Taz lets her do it in comfortable silence. Plus, Taz is scary enough that anybody staring at them moves on quickly.
When they make it to the sensory room, Taz helps her recline in a beanbag. Any lingering negativity fades, and Quinni is left just tired. Not sad, not angry, not scared, just tired. Taz lays down besides her, not touching, but there.
Their careful silence is broken by the sound of a book being opened. Then, the sound of Taz's voice. Slowly and quietly reading aloud the opening passage of Angeline of the Underworld, book 3.