This is the safe version of Somewhere Else, chapter one. It doesn't have the trigger warnings anymore, so it may not make as much sense and the writing is shortened, but I understand not everyone wants to hear about that kind of stuff. Small TW: Minor injuries (a twisted ankle and scrape), and only mentions. Chapter One: I stare transfixed at the rain pattering outside. Each raindrop shimmers from the sun peeking behind the rain clouds. They almost look like little diamonds falling from the sky. Although some people think I’m crazy for it, I love the rain. And magic. And cats. And The Owl House (on Disney+). My doctor calls it special interests. My doctor says that they’re obsessions, and obsession are unhealthy, blah blah blah. I wouldn't call it an obsession. Maybe I do like them more than other people like certain things. I don’t see how it’s bad. My name is Brook, and just last year, I was diagnosed with autism. Autism isn’t caused by vaccines or milk or whatever those people think. It’s something I was born with. My parents only realized something may be different about me when I had a small meltdown in school last year. I have always dreamed I’d be strolling along, then, “Hey, look! It’s a portal. I’ll hop inside!,” then I’d be in a dimension where I can be a new person. Make new (real) friends. Get a new life. A happy life. Bonus points if the portal goes to the Demon Realm. So far, that hasn’t happened. I doubt it ever will. I’m an only child, just like Luz Noceda, except I live in a town in Ohio, not in a town in front of the woods in Gravesfiel, Connecticut. My mom, dad, and cat live there with me. My cat’s name is Ghost (she’s a white cat with blue eyes) and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Sure, she hates me along with everyone, but she’s adorable. And, when she wants snuggles, she’s perfect at making you feel better. Anyway, back to the rain. I’m doing homework, hands poised over the keyboard on a Google Doc. It’s some assignment for History, but I’m distracted. I can’t help it. The rain patters, speeding past the window, splattering on the ground. Just a subtle tap as it hits the ground. I’m sitting at the kitchen table. It’s made of spruce wood, cut, shined, and then polished. Then sold at Ikea. For $299.00, if I remember correctly. The table is by a window, which, in my opinion, is a bad idea. People can easily get distracted by the rain when they’re doing an extra-credit History assignment during the summer. My parents didn’t think of that, apparently. “Honey,” My mom calls from the living room, “Can you come here for a moment?” My heart sinks, then begins quickly pounding. It doesn’t help that the rain suddenly grows thicker, the drops pounding the ground instead of tapping it. Omen omen omen, my brain screams, Run. I don’t run. I can’t. I scooch my chair backward, and slide out of it. I walk into the living room, dread pounding through me, where my parents are sitting on the couch. Waiting for me. I cautiously sit down in between them, where they’ve made room. To distract me from the anxiety flooding me, I take a closer look at them. My mom’s skin is a dark sandy color. It goes well with her hair, which is a deep brown. Her dark brown eyes seem kind but concerned, and they’re framed by long lashes. She’s wearing a casual blush pink top with black leggings, which indicated that she had been doing yoga earlier. Her legs are long and slender, which I get from her. Everyone assumes that we must do ballet or have done it in our lives, but neither of us have never even done a plie. My dad is square-shouldered with pale skin. His hair is an obsidian-black. He’s wearing a gray shirt with jeans. My mom doesn’t like how he wears jeans in the house, but he doesn’t stop. He wears them everywhere. I get my jade green eyes and skin color from him. “We’ve noticed a change in your behavior lately,” My mom said, glancing at dad from the corner of her eye. He nodded. “You’ve been very focused on a lot of things recently,” He explained, “The doctor thinks your special interests have been getting worse, and your… conversations have been a little rough.” I winced. By conversations, he probably meant lack of conversation. It’s not my fault no one wants to talk to the girl who doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s lonely, sure, but also risk-free. Most of the time. “Not only that, but your teacher says you're getting more easily distracted and not finishing your work in class,” My mom adds. I furrow my brow. “Who cares?” I ask, not meeting eye contact, “School’s over, and I always end up turning it in anyway.” My parents exchange looks. They seem to have forgotten my GPA of 4. So, some of the assignments I turned in were late. It’s hard to focus in a loud classroom. It’s even worse when my teachers won’t let me listen to music. Music. I wish I had my headphones.
(cont'd) “These problems might come back in the future, honey,” My mom said gently, “So we want to get rid of them before they begin to interfere with your life. In the future, when you have a job, your boss won’t like it if you do stuff late. We only want what’s best for you.” My mom hands me a brochure. On it are smiling boys and girls, holding hands. In big, bright letters it said Autism Wellness Summer Camp. The colors are too bright. Have the people who made it ever heard of saturation? My heart pounds in my ears. “We’ve decided to send you to this summer camp,” My dad explains. My hands shake as I struggle to unfold the brochure. I try to focus on the words, but I simply can’t. I read them, but they don’t stick in my head. Already, I can feel everything becoming too much. The rain’s too loud, the ceiling light is way too bright, the colors on the brochure are too vivid, and my emotions are way way way too much. Every muscle in my body clenches, and my breaths become short and sharp. “It will help you, honey,” My mom explains. She starts talking about what a wonderful experience it is, which seems kind of stupid to me since she hasn’t gone and doesn’t know, but her words get slurred and jumbled up in my head. My hands fly up from my lap to flap, and my dad tries to hold them down. For some reason, everyone hates it when I stim. I try to tell my hands to stop, but they don’t. My thoughts scramble and blur and clash, until they finally settle on one single thought. A thought that gets repeated, my mind screaming it at me. Run. My legs (which originally felt limp and useless) gain control so I can jump off the couch and straighten. “Honey,” My dad asks, his voice full of warning, “Sit back down.” I feel my head whip from left to right. My heart pounds in my ears, and tears begin to flood my vision. My mom starts to stand, but my legs switch into motion. I race out of the living room, into the hall, and to the front door. It feels good to run. “Brook!” My mom calls frantically, but I’m not listening. After all, she’s close behind me and I need to leave. I fumble with the lock at the front door until it clicks, unlocking the door. I swing it open, and the sound of the rain pounds and beats at the ground. I sprint outside, unaware of the slick ground and the rain thundering onto me. My clothes become drenched in seconds. I keep running. My mom arrives at the front door, darting after me, with my dad close behind. My dad pauses at the doorway, however, unlike my mom who ignores the downpour. “Come back here this instant!” My dad yells, which only motivates me to go faster. Tears come faster and faster, flowing down my face with the rain. All I can feel is fear. I can’t go to that camp, with the smiling kids holding hands. I can’t. I can’t stay here. I run onto the road, forgetting to look left and right. I usually do. Now I can't. My mom yells, but her voice gets drowned out by the rain. I feel a small jolt of freedom before I slip on the slick road and fall. I almost land facefirst, but I twist my head to the side just in time to land on my cheek instead. Pain shoots through my cheek and my left ankle. I can barely feel the pain before something happens. The whole road flashes a blinding yellow. Then I'm gone. Spoiler: Everything's a-okay :)
